Time again for one of the very few poems I've written that I'm actually fairly happy with, especially the third verse. I wrote this quickly on my phone while walking along Sandymount Strand on a cold night. It's a lot better than many poems I laboured over for hours and days.
Bridget, Mary of the Gael
Your fire has never ceased to burnA glow by which we live and learn
And when spring dawns our thoughts return
To Bridget, Mary of the Gael.
You are no pagan deity
But God bathed you mysteriously
In lights of ancient piety
Dear Bridget, Mary of the Gael.
Within the Bridget's Cross we find
The fabric of the Gaelic mind
Folklife and faith securely twined
Dear Bridget, Mary of the Gael.
With Patrick and with Colmcille
You guided us to do God's will
In these dark days, be with us still
Dear Bridget, Mary of the Gael.
Ar uair ár mbás bí linn go fóill *
To watch, to comfort, and console
Spread out your cloak upon my soul
Dear Bridget, Mary of the Gael.
* In our moment of death be with us still.
A few years ago, near St. Patrick's Day, an acquaintance of mine greeted me by saying: "We have to brace ourselves for all the Paddywhackery now". I liked him until then. I've never really liked him since then. If you can't get into the spirit, what's the point of anything?
I dislike anyone who is:
1) Anti-sentimental
2) Anti-romantic
3) Anti-nostalgic
4) Anti-hype. (Unless it's hype about something intrinsically bad.)
5) Anti-craze. (As above.)
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