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.
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
Alison,
I met my wife in Ireland and very happy memories of the isle. I have no idea why i used “thru” – certainly not because of the syllable count! And the “ballinacloona” slipped the editorial eye as well! (I have made the update – thanks to your sharp eye)
Miss the communal singing – could enter any pub in the area and there’d be a room for the musicians and the singers……
bhi
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
CW, with the lockdown my eye and pen have turned to the kitchen and the stomach and more and more those themes are creeping into my writing. And I prefer supple sentences which span across lines and in this poem to weave the last two stanzas together.
Glad you enjoyed.
bhi
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.
Thank you for reading, Gee. They were beautiful times, and can’t wait until this pandemic is under control and we can get back to enjoying the company of friends.
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
Dougie
Dougie,
Glad you enjoyed this.
The family is descended from Da Vinci, surname changed to one with an Irish lilt now, and the Eabha is one of the foremost photographers in the green isle.
bhi
Thanks bhi, When I googled Eabha, I got a very attractive lady singer – must be more than one perhaps?