From Ireland

A four-part postcard.

The Cobblestone

(24th of November, 2024)

So there in the pub we were standing;
Not a seat there was left for a landing.
The Guinness was cream,
The music, a dream,
Every note in my chest was resounding.

And packed in that place like sardines,
As the minstrels unfurled in rich reams,
A melody sweet,
An unquenchable beat,
I felt as at home as I've been.

It shouldn't have been a surprise,
For it's in every Irishman's eyes;
They're mystics at heart,
As they've been from the start,
And they've surely no stomach for lies.

The Sundering Sea

(28th of November, 2024)

To gaze upon that western sea;
To wish for roads that used to be
Straight until the setting sun,
But bent each time that Britain won.
The long and loathsome war goes on;
Though many battles have gone wrong,
Logres endures in Númenórean hearts,
As, in faith, their souls depart
Along the bent but hallowed road
To Venus, where they lay their load.
Undying islands, welcome them,
And keep them safely in our ken
Until the days of their return,
Until the rings of Saturn burn.

Galway

(27th of November, 2024)

Merchants here dropped anker,
And betwixt here and Spain there was trade.
A saint here once sailed to Newfoundland,
So stoutly were Irishmen made.

Repelling the Romans and Vikings,
Receiving Saint Patrick as kin,
Have you not heard the grand tidings?
The Irish are in it to win.

Brian Boru

(26th of November, 2024)

I'm told, in jest, there was a man
Who claimed that he should wear the crown
Because, of the good folk around,
He owned the most of the cows.

Now some may think this daft,
For the proof of the claim to be calves,
But I, for one, do think,
That it's not such a bad kingly link.

For David was a shepherd,
And a bard, much like this man,
And so I think it stands
That this man could rule the land.

Miscellanea from Dublin.