Mayo

Mayo, may I place you in context

A bare brown tooth in a vacant grin

Shaped by the savage sea.

Your cliffs carved from the limestone

For the enchantment of Lir.

 

Air trapped in watery caves

By blustering waves,

Whoofs through bronchial blowholes;

Wafting their grassy verges

Like old men’s moustaches.

 

Rivers rush the browned rainwater seaward

Searching for the way,

While hills shyly shoulder each other

As if to let a priest pass

At a crowded mass.

 

Mayo played a sea mist on my face;

An Irish benediction.

My bare feet were washed in rocky pools

And dried by yellowed grass

In the manner of The Magdalene.

Comments about this page

  • Amazing memories of a childhood in Mayo.

    Love this ‘hills shyly shoulder each other.’

    By Noelene Beckett Crowe (10/11/2021)

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