Leaving is the Hardest Part

 

leaving is always the hardest part

not knowing if we will ever return

holding tight to all the memories made

as we climb the steps for the long flight home

it was all I had imagined and more

castles and strands, blue skies and rain

medieval banquets, bread dipped in salt for friendship

oh, how I would go back again!

this small country in a big sea

it’s always been part of me

travelling narrow roads and byways

filled with love for this distant land 

we were smitten from the start

held enrapt in the palm of their hand

with stories and tales passed down through time

how the locals charmed us

on this trip that we’d scrimped and saved for

not knowing what was in store

filled with anticipation, so we embarked

a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step

© Ginny Brannan 2024

Photo by author

Day 28 Prompt from Writers .com:

Write a poem that begins at the end of something, then moves backwards.

 

the last line is taken from a Chinese proverb.

Where my heart lies...

Ireland I am coming home

I can see your rolling fields of green

And fences made of stone

             ~ Garth Brooks 

Petergate, with a view of York Minster, York, UK photo by Tess Kincaid

Unknown…yet familiar,

we walked the cobblestone streets—

jaws dropped agape into

“Pinch me, am I really here?”

position

Were we actually on foreign soil,

or had we finally found our way

‘home’

© Ginny Brannan 2015

Photo: G.Brannan, Kilkenny, Ireland 2006

Photo: G.Brannan, Galway, Ireland 2003

Written for Magpie Tales #261, inspired by Image taken by Tess Kincaid.

           She provides the image, we the story!

Ireland

Resharing this early poem, 'tis the season! Newly added reading at the bottom.

My heart belongs to Ireland, green isle across the sea--

oh Ireland, dear Ireland, why do you call to me?

Oh lovely land of ancient ruin and mystic Celtic lore,

of leprechauns, and fairies, and swans along the shore;

of northern causeways made of stone where giants once did roam,

of poets and of famous saints who called this island ‘home;'

of thund’ring waves against the cliffs, and wind upon the strand--

even non-believers must surely see God’s hand.

White sheep dot the patchwork fields along the winding road,

rainbows sail ’cross dampened skies and promise hidden gold.

‘Tis here the gift of eloquence is but a kiss away,

and there’s naught quite so lovely as sunset on Galway Bay.

But sure’n it’s the people so warm and filled with grace,

with lilting voice and open heart, that makes one love this place.

Oh Ireland, dear Ireland, green isle across the sea…

you took a piece of my heart, and now are part of me.

This poem comprises everything that I love about this country.

© Ginny Brannan 2010

Photos: Ginny Brannan - Above: lace stone walls near village of Cong, County Mayo, Ireland
Below: O'Brien's Tower, Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland, 2006

A Lot of Blarney

....a wee little limerick in honor of St. Paddy's Day!

His peers often questioned the relevance

of seeking the fine gift of eloquence

when he kissed an old stone

someone’s privy once owned

they suspected grand loss of intelligence

© Ginny Brannan 2013

The Blarney Stone (Irish: Cloch na Blarnan) is a block of bluestone built into the battlements of Blarney Castle, Blarney, about 8 kilometres (5 mi) from Cork, Ireland. According to legend, kissing the stone endows the kisser with the gift of great eloquence.

Who wouldn't want to visit the famous Blarney Castle?!! Kissing the Blarney Stone was a must on our first trip to Ireland in 2001. A gray day it was when we climbed the 127 uneven steps to the top of the battlements. 

(If you scan up from the doorway past the three windows, you will see a hole, that is actually what one leans over to kiss the stone!)

At the top of the castle lies a narrow path around the battlements. The wooden floors that once graced the castle rotted centuries ago and are long gone. Now one looks straight down through the center several stories.  A fun walk for someone who fears heights--like me--but nothing was going to prevent me from kissing the stone, after all, I might never visit Ireland again!

... here I am, braving the heights and laying backwards in less-than-graceful position, so that I may procure my gift of fine eloquence!!

**By the way, for those who might not brave the steep climb, 'tis said if one kisses someone who has kissed the stone, then they too will receive the fine gift of eloquence!!

Sharing at d'Verse Poetics: It's not easy being green, and also Poetic 3/17/13

Addendum for d'Verse:
So tis ‘green’ they’d be wantin’ at d’Verse
and it seems that this’ll be me curse:
that I saw a bit too late
now am livin’ with me fate
that I didn’t check Poetics out first!

Baile Átha Cliath

Black pool

Viking invasion

Brit occupation

evolution, revolution

bullet hole-riddled soul

ancient, urban, modern

U2 rock me;  you, too,

call me, back 
to you

©  Ginny Brannan August 2010      

Image by author

Dublin, Full of youthful exubrance, an amazing city of contrasts. It's history includes Viking, Norman and Anglo invasions and revolution, and it is known for its famous politicians, poets, writers, saints and entertainers. One of my all-time favorite places to visit.  Shared at d'verse Poets Pub, Poetics~Going Urban
Photo: Daniel O'Connell's statue, Dublin~scarred with bullet holes from the 1916 Easter uprising (Anglo-Irish War)