LAND LORD

Deep in the lowlands of Co. Armagh

Less than a mile from Ardmore Church.

There’s a yard where my grandfather worked

from, trees covering most of the land

except the ones cut down.

 A bank of turf to separate the fields

To let each governor know what

they own, what they neighbor.

 Birds song can be heard, an old blue

Truck parked up for years now nature

holds it firm, with briers entwined spilling

from the open doors.

 Taking pride of place in the yard

Is a grey diesel circular sawbench

Holding a large rusted blade.

Looking around the yard now on

a brisk Saturday morning in February ’23.

Remembering my father’s accident 

almost losing an eye.

 Pressure from the engine's power freed

the sharp chunk and with the speed

of a bullet from a Gun, It struck the left

eyebrow of my father.

 

Seeing now through my eyes

behind the clearing is the old pear tree

I progged as a kid. Planted in my grand-

fathers place.

 An old wheelbarrow tipped upright like

A man called nature with the handles

Pointing to the sky surrendering.

THE RED FORD

Driving home the car packed up to

the rafters. A red ford my father

drives, I’m too young to know

the precise model.

We’ve just been to my grandfather’s

yard, and filled the car with trees, 

well, off cuts anyway, to keep our

fire going. We make this trip every

Saturday, rain, hail or shine.

The back seats are down and I’ve a

load in here with me, it takes about

20-25 minutes to get home, but my

Da would do it quicker if I wasn’t

sitting in the front, with my seatbelt

rubbing my ear.

My Da feels proud at the amount

he’s managed to squeeze in, he’s

done quite well, but when we’re

home more work begins as we’ll

have to unload.

Tea ready, sausages, beans

and chips, Saturday’s favourite

with plenty of red sauce, or brown

as dad would use, some bread and

juice to wash it down.

Boy I’m tired, a relaxing night is

planned, a video rented from the

man who visited on Thursday.

We find our treats and snuggle up

The videos soon commencing, the

fanfares loud and lights are

dimmed, as we all watch.

When all is done and the hero’s

accomplished, It’s off to bed we go

a quick brush and wash of the face

a climb into bed and that’s me, 

good night.

 

Killultagh

 

The great forest of Ulster

Tucked beneath the sky

In the north of the islands

Beauty east of Eireanns eye.

 

A Strong Fortress on Clan-

brassil terms. A Bog of

preservation. A place where  

men place their chances on

a meal, and children spawned. 

 

 

This wood of fresh air

is clean, we hide and salvage.

We care for our own,

In this our ancestral home.

 

Settlers took our land, 

The land we rightly own,

The land we all share 

Instead, we’re cast outside.

 

 A place of parentage scripture

No Tenants, lords kings or queens

The laws of the land, teach obedience.

 

Wolves roamed this land hold

And ravaged through the night

Feeding on what was caught

Flesh stripped of wild deer

Delicious to the hound pack. 

 

The earth of the Forrest

will always be free in 

the earth of Killultagh trees.