Originally posted on Captain´s Log:
? St. Brigid´s Cross, Sea grass, handmade – photograph by Andrea Connolly ? Reeds her home Sea grass her cloak She weaves And breathes life In brokenness Brigid upon the isle . ©By Andrea Connolly #AndreaCConnolly #Lore #Saints #Folklore
What is in a word? The difference between speaking and being silent The importance of sounding right The essence of connecting or disengagement A word can be heard when someone listens A word can be read if someone sees A word needs senses to understand and to be understood A word can heal or […]
The mystic blackforest The sky threw a shroud Too flimsy to cover it all The colourful tree tops That root in brooked valleys Thread autumn to grey-cold The gust of wind-strewn Time-worm ochre, sienna Tinged sap and wine This is the fabric of fairy-tales 30.10.2018 © By Andrea Connolly
Through my eyes my soul flies to glints of reflection. A mosaic opens a window that is there and is not there. Drawn to an artists impression of a crowned lady. Connection in my heart to our lady. Angels flutter and kneel. The king, the queen, human beings and yet not so much. An image […]
We want to retain what we cannot. We feel the velvet of summer, the tenderness of living and the depth of warmth. Fragrance lingers but for a while. Our eyes drink and our mind holds dear connecting senses to heart. The heart of May. The woman in us, all of us, unfolding our gentle hearts and […]
Originally posted on fromfourlanes:
a blackbird’s journey written in blue dusk on snow these shadowed footprints sharp as the thought that sent it skittering under the hedge two stuttering hops and then the smooth skim of wings out beyond my words
Originally posted on fromfourlanes:
light drops a gold word in the heart of a thornbush naming a blackbird
Lovely poem! It’s a very difficult language Andrea….when I went to school we had to answer “Anseo” to the roll call…it means “Here” in Irish… we never spoke Irish at home, so as a four year I was totally confused. I never forgot that word!!
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The sound of Irish lured me to go, yet I was not prepared for all the others knowing Irish from childhood, though in a beginners class. It will come back to you, they said. All that came back to my mind were words in my native German dialect, a soft spoken, warm and earthen one. Aye, there´s the rub!
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I wouldn’t worry Andrea, there’s people here their whole lives who couldn’t say their names in Irish! Really really lovely poem though! Love the “It looks not like it sounds” part, very true! Well done!
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