Antrim

Colour me surprised.  In yesterday's post, I noted that I had written a poem about the Antrim Coast of Northern Ireland.  It was in a photo caption, in case you missed it.  Surprisingly, I've had a few different people ask me to post it.  Initially I didn't think I would, but hey, the whole point of whiskey week was to celebrate Robbie Burns, and I can think of little better tribute than sharing a poem — even if it is about Ireland, not Scotland.  So, here you go.  My only caveat is that I don't think of myself as much of a poet.  But I'll let you judge.

[caption id="attachment_2988" align="aligncenter" width="459"] Sheep Island, on Northern Ireland's Antrim Coast[/caption]

The fields fly by in blurs of green
Rocks and flocks and things I've seen
In dreams. The sun breaks the clouds
And the old songs ring

I soar out over bluffs and breaks
With wind in my hair and sun on my face
And the surf roars, like Fionn for a mate
But far hills do not reply

A bridge not far, that crosses the sea
Love's labour to tread and spirit set free
The rocks and pipes and angels sing
Grace for you and me

This rock is where the Norse would keep
The goods they'd steal; the local's sheep
They'd wait until men were in need
And sell them back again

The road winds on, stone walls and seas
With ruined castles and sites to please
And as the surf gives way to fields
There's spirit not far away

Copper pots and dark oak casks
Breathing stings, but taste does bask
The angels take their share and bless
The golden drink of life

The sun sinks low and turf burns hot
Pints are drunk and old songs taught
The fiddle strikes and stirs the soul
Good craic for one and all

And even when I'm far away
In a dark cold city with life's dismay
I can hear the surf and taste the air;
My spirit soars away