“Dingle Bound Epiphany”

Rewrite of a pome – it’s the closing one for my book going to printer next week. No new stuff at the moment as I’ve been busy editing pomes I thought adequate but clearly weren’t. Hopefully by the final rewrite Dec 31st they will be good enough – albeit ‘good enough’ ain’t good enough.


A drunken punt on Slippy Blue,

Winner of the Greyhound Derby

At seventeen to two

Meant I was rich – temporarily.


So I set off on a random journey.

Heading for the airport maybe,

Take the first flight anywhere.


A “Holiday in Ireland,” poster

On the railway station wall

Appealed to me. 

I bought a coach ride to Tralee,


The stretch, from Dublin to Kerry passed 

In a manner best described ‘hazy’.

I blame the Guinness I drunk on the ferry.


Strangers, new friends, 

Fellow travellers 

Dissolved from the coach.

Melting into alleyways 

Of unremarkable villages

Promising to keep in touch,

But never would.


Each parting is a little death. 

A warm up for the bigger deal.
We hug goodbyes, offering,

“Call in any time you’re passing.”


Empty words to ease the ache of separating.


Sitting in a Tralee café,

Drinking sour tea from a dusty cup,

A placard announced the Dingle Fleadh –


 “Grand Craic – And Not That Far From Where You Are.”


I thumbed a lift with a sheep farmer.  

He stopped at a fork to drop me off.

“Dingle’s that way. Sláinte.”


I was still hung over, 

Retching behind a dry stone wall

Regretting rancid tea

And Guinness excess on the ferry.


A passing goat gobbled a sandal.

I whacked at the bastid with the other till

Off it shot, with its mouthful of leather.


I looked West where the sun

Should have been setting. 

Instead the sky had turned

An effulgent golden bluish.


The deep Kerry silence was short lived

From behind a back-lit

Thicket of thorns,

With ‘Charlton Heston’ thunder,

A Sinaitic voice intoned,



A bald fact baldly stated.

Take it or leave it – no debate.


Like Moses struck that desert rock,

Setting off a gushing flow,

That, “You will never know…”

Was a smashing blow.


My rock hard heart split open

Tears flushed from me

Not misty eyed snivelling  –

But stomach churning 

Visceral shuddering sobs 

Erupting from a dormant 

Internal artesian well.

Cars slowing to offer lifts

Sped away at the sight of me.

No one wanted a crazy,

Dripping, shoeless, hippy

Soiling their shiny vinyl

Leather look upholstery.


I climbed aboard a rattling bus, 

Crammed with catholic mothers 

These crossed themselves and

To avoid the gaze of the 

Wild eyed guy stumbling the aisle

Stared fixedly through dirty windows

Fascinated by the all too familiar view.

The only space was at the back 

Beside a seat half eaten by 

A ruminating tethered goat that

Cast a weather eye over my feet

Then carried on consuming

The remains of the seat

He had been gnawing.


Dingle was packed for the fleadh.

I squirmed into Feeney’s Bar.

The place was rammed.

Standing room only

Except where I sat 

Steeped in misery.


Nobody joined me.
Cain’s mark set me apart.


The call went out for a

Volunteer floor singer

While the band took a break

For a pee and a pint.  


I cannot explain the whys and hows,

But I found myself on my feet, compelled to sing

By some burning bubbling up within me.


The bar filled with a ‘Presence’

As I sang – ‘sean nos’ –

In a tongue unknown to me –

A song that quieted the crowd

With its lilting melancholy.

One or two hummed along with me.


I was uplifted beyond ecstasy.

Flooded with unspeakable joy –

Years later I wallow in the memory.


Owing to Guinness flowing freely.  

Laughter too with new best buddies

The song faded – I wish I could recover it.

I know I’ll sing it again some day

Not in this lifetime perhaps.


The night passed as a dream and

The next and the next after that. 


Homesickness and dwindling cash

Caught up with me.


I hailed a taxi to Tralee. 

Making the driver stop  –

“Just a moment, please.”

At the fork where ‘Heston’ intervened

And pulled my rug of life away.


The driver thought I was a ‘header’

Shouting at a vacant sky  

Asking God why

He wanted to spoil my holiday 

With that prophecy


 “You will never be truly happy…”


Or if He was after marking my card

That life is always going to be hard


And decided to enlighten me  

Somewhat enigmatically?



The unknown song from Feeney’s Bar


Tiocfaidh A Samhradh      


Tiocfaidh an samhradh              
Agus fásfaidh an féar
Tiocfaidh an duilliúr ghlas
Ar bharr na gcraobh
Tiocfaidh mo rúinsearc
Le bánú an lae
Agus buailfidh sí túin suas
Le cumha ‘mo dhiaidh


Summer Will Come:


Summer will come
Grass will grow
Green leaves will sprout
On the treetops
My true love will come
At the break of day
And strike up a tune
Out of loneliness for me.









© coolhermit 2022
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Bejaysus that was different. It wasn’t Puckoon you went to by any chance? Very ‘Milligan-esque. Thoroughly enjoyed.


Good luck, I hope it proves popular and sells a lot.


Fine, you can’t go against your beliefs mate. I hope you gain a great deal of satisfaction from it.


Love this Coolhermit, Im in Limerick at the mo so I’ve dangled a bit on the dingle dipped in guiness myself 🙂 great story well told, I like it all but the goat on the bus glancing at you’re feet after the previous goat eating shoe fest was inspired. Best Keith


You blew me socks off!

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