Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page
| If you have a poem you'd like to see published in The Irish Examiner then send it to:
The Poetry Corner
The Irish Examiner USA
1040 Jackson Avenue, Third Floor
Long Island City
NY 11101
or, preferably, you can email it direct to
ronniemcginn@eircom.net.
If possible keep your poem to 20 lines. You may choose any subject you like, in any form you like as long as it's original. We look forward to hearing from you. |
Inch or to give to give the town it's Irish name - An Inse - is in Co. Clare, in Ireland. Inch is located about five minutes drive from Ennis along on the scenic route to Miltown Malbay.
It is a perfect location from which to visit many of the sights that Co. Clare is famous for: the Cliffs of Moher, Bunratty Castle & Folk Park, the Burren Region. The Atlantic coast beaches on the West Coast are just 30 minutes driving time away.
Our poem this week comes from native Inch man Tommy Maher. Tommy emigrated to Cork many years ago, is a very popular figure amongst the community in the entire Douglas area and beyond.
As well as being a master at his trade in home heating and plumbing, his amiable personality and fine singing voice make him welcome where ever he goes. This week he surprises his many friends and neighbours by displaying another hidden talent with a lovely nostalgic poem.
"Dreaming of Inch"
There are memories in life that never go,
Sadness and joy, hot summers, winters with snow,
Growing up in Inch when I was a boy,
Most of my memories are-laughter-and joy.
When the sun came out in April or May,
Our shoes came off we were ready for play,
After school squelching your toes through hot tar,
Walking the road no sight of a car.
Holidays and weekends were filled to the brim,
Hurling, football and fishing, or maybe a swim,
A wattle when hunting, our aim it was true,
Oh, the aroma of roast, or rabbit stew.
The smell of hay in the meadow, recently cut,
With me till I die and wherever I'm put,
To the well for water we had to tramp
Night time reading from a Tilly lamp.
The classroom in Winter when the snow came,
Ice on the inside of the windowpane,
Out to the woods went handpicked boys,
Fuel to put a glow in teachers green eyes.
I remember in February 1959,
Out in the schoolyard at dinnertime,
The print of newspaper wrapping stuck to my bread,
I ate the news Buddy Holly was dead.
Now I've always liked music and song,
I felt guilty that day, but hunger is strong
Today, You'll see kids reading at dinner or brunch,
I bet you won't see them reading their lunch.
You could write forever about good times and bad,
Things we didn't have, and things that we had,
My mind starts to wander, myself I've to pinch,
Was I just dreaming of my boyhood in Inch.
© Tommy Maher
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