the defining spark


those roots grab you back

coffin laden on barley

lifted on the wind,

your voice  i heard once

as cars exploded on the streets

and police batons fell,

i grew listening to you

embracing my heritage

not strangers to a landscape,

scattered  with grass seed

upon heavy peat bogs,

alone with your pages

paper yellowing in the sun

i got to know what

rhythm made the music inside

and caught magical light,

you where a viking

a warrior of words

forged by the great anvil,

i still read you

as many do

your place is deeper

than sinew and bone

you are a molecule

of a fresh soul

coming to a brighter

day

poet, ireland, seamus heany, nobel prize

Seamus Heaney
1939-2013

2 thoughts on “the defining spark

  1. They do not die, these poets, they are absorbed, slowly by the year, feeding the tongue’s root, weighing the worth of hearts, swinging from page to page, a rustle of birdsong in the morning, a glimmer of twilit truth, always gold, not tarnished, never fading….

    Like

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