IN NOVEMBER OF 2023, CLOGH WRITERS GROUP LAUNCHED ‘WHERE I AM’, A COLLECTION OF POETRY AND PROSE FROM ELEVEN DIFFERENT WRITERS. AS CO-ORDINATOR OF THE WRITERS GROUP JANE MEALLY SAID: “WHERE I AM” IS A PUBLICATION WHERE EACH WRITER COMMUNICATES THEIR PASSION TO THE READER.”

Having attended the launch in Clogh, The Kilkenny Observer Newspaper was quite taken with not only the publication, but the work ethic of the writers group. Over the next 11 weeks we reproduce some of that work, and are delighted to work hand in hand with this North Kilkenny writers group.

WEEK 6: This week we feature the work of Jim Browne

Lightbeams Of The Moon

A red moon is resting On the rim of the sky Its huge orb is burning

In the blackness of night Slowly climbing

Its path through the sky Changing in colour

As it reaches its height Washes the earth

In a mantle of light Yellows the gardens

The hedgerows, the trees Silvers the rivers

Silvers the streams Bathed in magic Mystery and light

I see your face clearly

As you gaze on the scene I will see it again Tonight in my dreams

I hope in the morning’s Light of day

This magical evening Shall not fade away.

Jim Browne

 

Mona Chroí

Mona Chroí Mona Chroí Forever in my heart

It’s a place that I knew well When I was just a lad

It stood set far back in the fields A large house built of stone Nestled from the western wind Rimmed by tall dark trees

In summer days when we were young And days seemed twice as long

We’d wander off across the fields In sheer abandonment

To Farrells’ house we’d mostly go And wander through its ruins

A dark haired chap and a fair haired lad With nothing else to do

We’d mooch about among the woods Clamber through where windows stood Looking for a pot of gold

Hidden in some secret hole

That place was spooky, I recall Moaning trees and cawing crows

An old wine door that dragged the floor It mostly stood ajar

From two stout piers an old gate hung Crafted by some artisan

Its worn bars wrapped in weeds Rotted iron, broken dreams

Then back through heavy fields we’d trudge Where unkempt hedges stretch and lean Slow our passage through tangled weeds Over pathways once kept neat

We’d hurry to the kitchen press To satisfy our need for bread

Strawberry jam piled thick and high To keep us alive till dinner time

Then after dinner the call went out The voice of our father

‘It’s Rosary time, down on yer knees boys And say yer prayers’

And my mind on an old house far away.

Jim Browne

 

My Innisfree

I like my small fields Where high hedges Stretch their leafy arms To earth

Black cattle

Graze in contentment Always close to shelter From sun or rain

No noise here

This is my Innisfree.

Jim Browne

 

They Too Are Gone

Bright September morn Silver cobwebs tremor Laden with heavy dew drops Stretched between the spikes Of dark green needles

On tiered furze bushes

‘Come on Kitty

We’ll be late for school

You can look at them this evening,’ ‘No I can’t

They’ll be all gone Who makes them?’ Kitty asks.

‘The spiders,’ ‘Ah Mary-Ann

You’re codding me,’ ‘No Kitty,

The spiders make them.’

Jim Browne

 

Red Roses

I’ll place red roses in the snow Across this bog I used to know When I was young and free Free of heart and fleet of limb Fleet of mind and free of doubt Life was something to explore And mystery lay everywhere

Now I’m old And not so free

My mind and limbs Play tricks on me But still this place Has magic yet

Memories that I’ll not forget

The roses are for the girl I’ve loved Who walked the walk with me.

Jim Browne