Ballyferriter Poem by Niall OConnor

each little house with a world of its own
safely tucked beneath a grey shell
for a generation, or two

and when the sea is full
it calms
content to nestle up against
the warm heart of a supine earth
a surface for living laid down
by hard men with gentle souls,
the cloak of Brigid
over this land of rock and sea

and always the wind
and what it carries
blowing from beyond the edge
of the earth,
out there where the sun goes each evening
hardening into a flattened disc before slipping down
into the otherworld
out there where the holy ones sent their
sacrifice and prayer
and against whose threat
kings erected ramparts of stone
that have since been overthrown
by science and new beliefs.


Now we face east.
east to await the risen Christ,
east to the bigger island,
east to the Empire of Europe,
and still the wind and what it carries
comes from over the edge of the earth,
bringing the first breath... and its promise.