A weekend at Ballinacloona

spending a weekend with friends in Ireland – a time when we could travel


slow down, she says, we’re nearly there,

past that bend, that’s Ballinacloona.


the house stands half buried, the slope

behind a barrier muffling

tyre sound from the road, a windbreak too,

keeping warm Da Vinci’s Irish brood:  

Eabha, capturing human forms

eye lensed true through her Hasselblad;

Dalaigh, wigged, Dublin seated

dispensing judgement, lauded much

at the bar for his singing prowess.


this is my family, she states;

three years a nanny to their children,

the youngest, Ronan, I could call mine!


we feast on pea soup, thick chunked bread,

then salmon, string caught each morning,

bedded with potatoes, roasted long,

and a slothful, sensuous white

bonding spice and speech, fortifying

us for the night’s final reverie


when we retire to the orangery

glasses brimmed, apple crumble steaming,

and ranged in front of the burner

sing in turn of love, loves lost,

hearts emptied, the rapt fire forging

another truly resilient bond.

© Bhi 2023
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So very descriptive I could have done with a plate of that soup and some chunky bread.

If I am to be totally honest, I don’t like lack of capitals especially on names “ballinacloona”

I don’t care for Americanizations like thru either, call me old fashioned. 😉
It almost all sounds too perfect too (like an old black and white movie) but it is well written and maybe I am just yearning for the wild charms of the Cairngorms and the Moray Firth on the open road.
best wishes
Alison x


Flowing word choices and always like taste and the other senses into a poem. Fresh caught salmon only way to go. Well done and earned the “nib.” Although they are sometimes necessary, I’m kind of growing weary at the negative outbursts that too many writers engage in. More joy poems are needed.

I could not agree more. In these dark days we need to feed our souls. I do anyway. If we stay on a higher vibration the powers that rule this world will be on another level.

If I was to think about what is happening I would go stark raving mad. So I go within, to the calm in the centre of the storm (when I can)

I think you know what I am trying to say. x


This is beautiful. So deliciously descriptive, it felt as if I were there, and I read it and smiled, because it brought back memories of times very much like this.


I slipped into this – like a straight pint glass of Guinness. I googled Eahba – must follow her up; but couldn’t grok Da Vinci’s Irish blood – but never mind that – It lifted my spirits.

Bice one Bhi



Thanks bhi, When I googled Eabha, I got a very attractive lady singer – must be more than one perhaps?

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