My father
was a lonely man
whose fifty years
at sea
had left
no deeper blue
in his eyes.
Once in spring
at Lissadell
he picked bluebells
for my mother
and his eyes
looked different.
He fought
death
a frightened man,
hauled
to unknown rocks
from an ocean
he could
not navigate.
I wonder nights now
what lonely bay
he sails in
and does he
quote his lines of Yeats
and smoke his pipe
and drink the whiskey
for the pain.
Music: Carrigdoun. From the CD "The Long Light of the Land: Selected Poems by Joan McBreen". Produced & recorded by Ernest Lyon Productions.
Copyright Joan McBreen 2003
