Castletroy Words

Christmas in Limerick So I’m here for Christmas, just as I wished and prayed, I’ve seen the lights on O’Connell Street, and the tree. I’ve been to Mass, watched candles flicker in the glow, sung the familiar carols, and greeted friends I know. I went to Dublin, exchanged gifts, cards, and words, walked the dog on the beach in the dark, and watched the Christmas lights shimmer across the water, then I came home. My only home. Limerick, my last stop. Tonight the cold blue sky faded into a glorious sunset as Mass began. The church was crowded, families returned, and I was so happy just to be here. It was all I wanted: to share this joy with strangers who feel like family, to stand in the city I love, my last stop, my home. Joy and tears carry this Christmas in, here in Limerick, my last stop.

I'm recovering from the 2025 winter flu and It leaves deadly tiredness. It's 8 days from Christmas and in the last few days I've gone into town but I get too tired to do anything about Christmas. Today and yesterday the same, I go in with lists, I can't do anything, everything is so busy and crowded and I get tired and hopeless, I get milk for tea and I get food for supper and I come home and back to bed. Several high profile musicians and singers have said bed is a good place to be if you need inspiration, and I wrote a brand new poem in bed today, it's 'Galtymore, my compass, and the words for it have been blooming over the past few weeks, waiting to be arranged:  Galtymore, my compass. Here we are in our little world, guarded by the Silvermines, the Galtees curled. Seen and unseen, they shelter us all, and Galtymore stands, my compass, my call. If we’re driving down Mount Meelick’s way, the Galtees wave on the horizon, capped in grey. If I go down to bel...

Sitting in bed and working through poems published and unpublished. Even though I've been coughing a little bit of blood, I'm breathing well enough to get the all clear for now, so I'm home in bed, I probably shouldn't be looking at a computer screen while my head is raging, but I was never good at sleeping off sickness, I slept part of yesterday and that should suffice.  I'm showcasing Monaleen Church as I think it's one of my best. It's a story, a conversation with and about a number of people but two leads. When it talks about the Easter Vigil, that's me. Or is it? You can all see that stretch of Dublin Road in the poem. Monaleen Church I remember from childhood, the rain on the stone and earth of the walls at Castletroy. I remembered—but couldn’t tell you—the feeling: sitting in the day services, looking out at the rain. I remember you. I could read you, though you didn’t know. You meant well. I miss you. I remember Groody and Golf Links, Dublin Road...