Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne Poems

If I should die tonight
and my bones laid in the earth
would my voice not be the wind
and the sun my smile?

You see black
I see a spectrum of invisability
the myriad shades of the dark rainbow
like the spread of raven's wing

One note rising on the wind:
piper play, the lament is called for:
lower him down and softly keen
Cu Chulainn's going to his rest.

In Nomine Patre
who art encountered
in the skies on
clouds with harps

A pooka grazes peacefully
where the river
meets the sea
In the ruins of a castle,

The wild west for us
was never the stone walls
and fragments of land between them
the ragged, wild, bog-spawned

Across the last plains
under leaden skies,
the ground peat-brown beneath;
Turf cutters pausing to point

When I couldn't bear it anymore
the nurse pointed to the glass door
and said:
the grounds are lovely

Do not awaken slumbering beasts;
They are guarding secrets

Cold light seeped in, through misted frames
Casting a golden glow over smoke rising
from the cigarette in my hand and hanging over the grill;
tobacco and bacon and fried eggs.

I was restored by the sight of her
my bustling nursing Sylvie with long smiles,
and I told her so.
She shook her head, still smiling.

In essence,
breath and bone;
light fingers tracing
gray stone;

I let myself in
with the key of the kings and
wrapped red ribbons
around my poor head.

Twitch! I think.
Twitch, I beg.
Stumbling over uneven ground
trying to feel with rods,

You can keep your snow-capped mountains
I can pass
on fields of virgin white.
The real power of snow is seen

these are the paths we walk

'I gave her my old phone, she was stone delighted, '
the Navan man said:
while his Cork culchie brethren
blew hot and cold into the headpiece

Renaissance and Restoration,
diffuse threads in that fraying coat, Time;
twisted, knotted, intertwined,
mine own heart and thine.

I was not well that day.

Two weeks of late nights and countless

Where once stood tribes
who rose and fell
on the bounty of a living land
soul and soil intertwined

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne Biography

Poet, and Musician from Dublin Ireland: born 1968, graduated UCD 1989, postgrad COCR 1990: worked in Advertising, Publishing and finally the family music business. Sings/composes Irish traditional Music, plays cello, mandolin, bodhrán: Editor/founding Editor of the Pagan Poetry Pages the pagan poetry movement explores our humanity through our relationship with nature and this physical reality. Blog: http: // Published in Anthologies, magazines and ezines: full list available)

The Best Poem Of Geraldine Moorkens Byrne


If I should die tonight
and my bones laid in the earth
would my voice not be the wind
and the sun my smile?
I am the blood in your veins;
all the lives I have lived
have been, in this way,
transmuted to new life
flowing from your heart to mine.
I am the beat of the Bodhrán
and the touch of the line on water
I am the thought unbidden
the instinct that springs -
If you listen not to me,
then you ignore yourself,
and silence your own voice.
I am the string plucked,
the note quivering
the dream sung by voices
you remember from your cradle.
I am the silent watch of the nights
and the first breath of morning
because you carry me always in your heart

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