On Muckish Peak
‘Cross springy grass with sodden shoes
where mountainside and valley fuse,
up zig-zag paths where slopes are steep
trod by the hooves of countless sheep;
and now we too traverse and climb
through clumps of clover, strewn with thyme.
Around the scree, across the rocks
and wind-whipped dandelion clocks
until atop that final knoll
where motionless we stood in thrall,
though winds cut like a surgeon’s blade,
to see the vista there arrayed.
Fast scudding clouds in sun-swept blue;
beneath, green fields of every hue
where cattle graze and cornfields grow
and through them lazy rivers flow,
until in distant majesty
the roiling white and azure sea.
Thu 2nd Feb 2023 21:36
A definite whiff of Betjeman about this, Trevor, although perhaps he would avoided the climbing. It reads so well. A lovely poem.
Thu 2nd Feb 2023 15:50
I am not usually one given to a lot of rhyming , but this works well in this piece. I was drawn in immediately by the title
Thu 2nd Feb 2023 13:43
Tá fáilte romhat, Uilleam, Yes the pubs can be distracting. But there are some hours when they're not open, so next time, take time to look around. This poem's about Muckish mountain which is in Donegal (in the top left-hand corner of Ireland! 😉)
And thanks John. It is indeed a timeless landscape that I enjoy every time I return. It sort of sucks the world's troubles out of your bones.
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh
Thu 2nd Feb 2023 09:41
Go raibh maith agat Trevor.
We've been to Ireland twice, but sadly didn't do any proper "hiking"-accosted as we were by pubs which had a habit of jumping out in front of us!
Thu 2nd Feb 2023 08:12
Wonderful and timeless imagery, Trevor, wrapped in a comforting rhythm.
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