Barney Rooney

Veteran Poet - 1,805 Points (belfast)

Jimmy Whinnen Of Ballynalaney, Staffordstown - Poem by Barney Rooney

The house of Jimmy Whinnen was foursquare grey two stories high
in the shadowed gloom of a canopy of trees and to a passer by
on this road by name, though more a lane, no sign of human kind
a redrust harrow grown into the hedge entwined with columbine
a door that was always open a garden long run wild
a sepia room never touched by a broom where Jimmy Whinnen spent his life

by a slow fire in the floor of the hearth of the sooted chimney wall
poking at embers til flame licked the black of the pot where only potatoes boiled
hooked low on the chain that hung from the crane that swung over the heat
with the help of a cloth he'd lift it off with salt and butter complete
as spartan a feast as could serve as a treat washed down with a mug of black tea
and that was the sum of the washing for Jimmy Whinnen was free
from all judgement of others and seemed at ease with the price
of whatever he lacked as he swilled out the dregs and quietly gave in to his life

Topic(s) of this poem: ireland

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, August 27, 2015

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 5, 2016

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