ST Colmans Well – Oughtmama
ST Colmans Well – Oughtmama

Is there a code of seeing
what is or is not present?
This tree by Colman’s well
melted into its heartspace.
This coil of life in its own soil,
making its truest stand,
in its true place becoming itself.

Is it the light or is it the stone
the contours of the land its limbs follow
the sinew of moulded rock cleaving the valley
mirroring the arch of its salient life
the visible made invisible
the emerged merged in its world.

Up close the tree
is a reflection of the land it looks upon,
arching over those who have walked
millennium through millennium,
to tie threads and flame ribbons
to the ochre stems of winter fuchsia,
handmaid to the well stone.

One life listening to the whispered
admonitions of penitent selves,
to their ash-knotted, and leaf- blooming supplications.
This life in true regard of its true position,
at one with place as any one thing can be,
in place to home and home to heartsource both.

Frank Golden

Frank Golden is a Clare-based poet, novelist, and screenwriter. He has published five books of poems, the most recent of which was gotta get a message to you(Salmon Publications 2017) “This is a poet to get excited about. Risk-taking…rhapsodic…elevated.” Afric McGlinchy/Southword. His novel, The Two Women of Aganatz(Wolfhound Press), was described by Carol Coulter in The Irish Times as “uncomfortable, but compellingly and poetically described by a powerful imagination”. Golden’s novel The Night Game (Salmon Publications) was described by Declan Burke/The Irish Examiner as, “A challenging, transgressive, and gripping read.”

He has received bursaries and awards from the Irish Film Board, Clare County Council, and the Arts Council of Ireland. Frank Golden is Head of Creative Writing at the Burren College of Art.

www.frankgolden7.com

Ouevre

Declension in April

Poetry by Frank Golden

Lacking an ordained task, I sit in the blue chair facing south, rain on the circular field past Ballyhaine, rifts of blue opened by the wind, a taper of baling...
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All That is Given

Poetry by Frank Golden

Hard wind on the turn at Cappaghmore. You drive on, on the cusp of light, along the old road past Mortyclough. To think it’s taken me a lifetime to cool...
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Portrait

Poetry by Frank Golden

Oughtmama and the mists of late February fade Turlough Mountain and Moneen to a landscape of silhouettes in sheer cascade, only the immediate clear and nameable. I live here now...
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Anthology

Slowly we drift into shadows

Poetry by Pariksith Singh

Slowly we drift into shadows As twilight grows dun Selves of gray Disappear in the dark Our bodies buried Under their own Subliminal weight Slide into the murk In the...
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Be a moon

Poetry by Simran

Be a moon Float in the midst of An endless galaxy Be wild so the wolves will look up at night And howl Be peaceful in your solitude So the...
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Duet

Poetry by Sanaya

What I want is to have your fingers Play my tune We’ll play a duet You on black keys, me on White What I want is to hear Two melodies...
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