Dark is the night and the moon asleep In an empty dock it’s a lonely beat, Eerily quiet the abandoned quay With an icy wind that has no lee. The cranes are silent all ships long gone, No one seeing passengers off or on, No more boat trains with passengers full, No famous liners with… Read more »
Posts Tagged: Edward Coppinger
Who is the man in the corn we’d ask, Why is he so forlorn sad and alone, Then granddad used to take us to task Saying, “because the seeds are all sown”. His task is to scare the crows away Who steal the newly sown seed, And works so hard all hours of the day… Read more »
Farewell my old friend in your last sleep In a grave where the Clare flows past your feet, It isn’t your parish but I know you won’t mind, Your plot shared amongst your own kind. Friend of my youth from boyhood to man The last of your line—the last of your clan. We followed your… Read more »
It’s time to stand-to betwixt night and day As the god of the east sends darkness away, In grey mists of dawn amongst the bamboo, An alien wild world that few of us knew. A malaria tablet and a couple of salt pills, Washed down with rum the cure of all ills, Each man peering… Read more »
She was a bag lady lonely and sad Who wandered the roads of Galway, Wretched dishevelled and shabbily clad, Among boreens lanes and byways. Knowing the houses of welcome And ones that showed her the door, For all well knew she was irksome And yet part of our living folklore. My memory returns to childhood… Read more »
’t’wer on ’is Blackburn allotment while working with hoe an’t rake, came on a great big serpent that some folks now call a snake. He knew that something wasn’t reet amongst greens an’t curly kale, t’wer nearly all of seventeen feet from fangs to tip o’ ’is tail! He weren’t going to argue with Python,… Read more »
It’s a dreary stormy winter night With a watery ghostly moon, And angry flashes of dark and light, On the wind from Cahernahoon. The castle stands against the gale Now a shrieking howling moan, Sinister and eerie its whistling wail Over the fields of Cahernahoon. The ruin gives barely a tremble In answer to the… Read more »
This story is by poet, and regular contributor to Nuacht Chláir, Edward Coppinger. Up to the middle of the last century Co Galway was rich in characters who travelled about doing work such as clockmakers, thatchers, jobbing builders and rough carpenters. Part of the community, they were liked and respected, even if sometimes odd or… Read more »
Edward Coppinger who is a native of Lackaghbeg and is well known for his excellent poetry over many years has launched a book entitled The Poacher’s Son—Memories of Ireland and other Poems. Edward, who has been a regular contributor to the Claregalway parish magazine Nuacht Chláir (check out some of his local poems online here or… Read more »
Are you still there aflowing With Connaught blackwater you drain, That I loved so much agrowing My Clare I won’t see again. On your banks often went rambling ‘Twas mostly daydreaming in truth, Escaping during my wandering With a mind of untroubled youth.
It was County Mayo I was born in, Under the sign of a Horologist star, At dawn on a cold frosty morning Near to a town called Ballina. I roamed the byways of Connaught Practising my clockmakers art, The skill of my hands all sought— They knew I was good at my craft. Odd kinds… Read more »
Mighty the force of that lashing sea, The rigging trembled and moaned, In mountainous waves as none did see, On an ocean that boiled and foamed. That hurricane’s blast shook the mast, The decks were out of bounds, And men thought of sins long past— In the ‘eye’ of the storms sound. We pitched, rolled… Read more »