As The Oak Lies In The Acorn

As The Oak Lies In The Acorn

* As the oak lies in the acorn so
poetry comes from everyday life *

Your compositions showed me
That poetry lay in the soil
 And the smell of slurry,
The hayrick,
 And the competitive spirit
 Of  a gaelic football match…

I was inclined to look for it elsewhere
But through your art I met the Muse
In the streets of Derry and the fair at
Ballycastle... She, also, drank with me
In a Limavady  pub and swam the cove
Across from Mullaghmore as July rain
Peppered the sea birds.

An elusive maiden but one to be wooed
With persistence in consort with a
Nurtured awareness of ones milieu…
Therefore, I thank you!

So let us dig, fellow poets, amongst the pigeoners,
The potato gatherers, or whatever life bestows….