Born Rathfarnham, Dublin, Ireland of Waterford Chemist father and Longford mother
Educated De La Salle College, Churchtown, Dublin.
Holy Cross Seminary, ordained 1979.
Taught Religious Studies in Schools, Sallynoggin, and Balbriggan, Dublin.
Trained as a Freudian Psychoanalyst, Holds M.A. University of Sheffield,2000, and,
M.Sc.School of Psychotherapy, University College... more »
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Bernard Kennedy Poems
Old Faithful Dog
I never thought him dead. Only running in the park, and sitting stretched by fire, or with his paw,
Summer is brought through this lemon zest of colour- reflected under the chin,
Gypsy Dance Of Love
We danced like gypsies in the heat of day, and matched our colors bright and gay, and music strings brought tears of love, and bands of strolling players moved above,
A Birthday Celebration
A joy rings out, throughout, family, neighbourhood and clan, 'thou art here', born, now, joy is ours.
I was told, as a young boy, that the Magnolia is 'The prince of Shrubs'-on Zion Road, Rathgar.
I met my father, on the hill of the road, at kilmashogue. he was striding down from
July Morning Mindfullness
The summer morning, it rises to the sound of dogs greeting day, in garden near, and Fuschia, waking in the morn
from where? For Who? Coming out? Of What? If we view from the window we see a limited and framed
Pierre Loti Looks To Sligo Bay
From my eyrie, my high up, Eyup eyrie, at Ladies Brae in Skreen, at my hermitage, Patrick to Tara, I look down to Sligo Bay.
Traveller From Afar
I met a traveller from an antique land, and saw beneath that turbaned head not a visitor but brother too, though lineage was but black and white.
From main roads through the pass and there, beneath, as if a mountain gate over a valley, lake or bay
A Green Meadow
Easter brings up for me that old medieval hymn about 'now the green blade riseth, out of the buried grain'.
Antigone: La Lecon De Charcot
Cry out once more, Antigone, cry out, until the sentence is lifted, the sentence that keeps the feminine,
Old Faithful Dog
I never thought him dead.
Only running in the park,
and sitting stretched by fire,
or with his paw,
pushing the dish,
' more water now'.
And barking, for post,
and visitor, and exits,
from his home domain,
and up the stairs at ten,
and down again at six.
A rhythm of memories
Until his back legs gave,
and the vets scanning eyes
' he has had a good and happy life'.
And my heart sank.
I held him as he passed,
and watched him go,
to another field or park.
This time without a leash.
I can still ...