poetry

Butterfly
- Eimear Quinn and Brendan Graham

A bitter, barren winter

--A never-ending frost--

A piercing grip of solitude

Not with a sword were you vanquished;
The ink was indeed mightier.
The tyrant's words lodged in your throat.
His poisonous tongue, a yoke on your neck.

Gest of the Seafarers

R:

No key, this,

by no ring hung:

held aloft,

and with pride

loud-sung!

Opposed pride

so-rendered unstung.

Thus way is given,

and more than way:

kinship and fealty

play part in this lay.

C. I:

Yet not overlong.

For pride - even well-tended

- unchecked,

needs cause much

be broken,

be mended.

C. II:

What bites itself,

as stubborn buckle-strap?

R.:

From bearded mouth, a hope to glean;

its rede: to keep its host unseen.

Water issued to those water-keen,

succour offered to those dread-fleeing.

Water only now held aloft:

What is the name of this proud mouth?

C. I:

Which Ulmo booned, afore its need.

Toothless not, 'midst wind-sung beard.

What bonds proclaimed; what deeds slept near!

What songs thereby the eld did hear!

C. II:

In peace a charm, in war held the least,

its swallowing-up:

Why wentest thou a-roving? 

Oh why so far from me?

Where cold ground unforgiving

In halls are hung the storied webs, 

Tears of the world worked by hands 

Deftly moving warp and weft, 

The strum of the strings, stolen by howls 

of the frozen wind in fields forsaken

Fortune turned as faded strength

Bright eyed Baldric with battered shield

Dulled with dust, dented with blows