Bogland – Poem by Seamus Heaney
Bogland – Poem by Seamus Heaney
Image – Nigel Borrington
We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening–
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon,
Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
Of a tarn. Our un-fenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.
They’ve taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.
Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter
Melting and opening underfoot,
Missing its last definition
By millions of years.
They’ll never dig coal here,
Only the waterlogged trunks
Of great firs, soft as pulp.
Our pioneers keep striking
Inwards and downwards,
Every layer they strip
Seems camped on before.
The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage.
The wet centre is bottomless.
Nigel Borrington 
Just want you to know ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ Singing Your Praises for all you do Because Youre Awsome ♪(･o･)♪ this #ThankfulThursday ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ Thank You for your Kind Support !
January 19, 2017 at 3:34 pm
🙂 🙂 🙂 Thank you Morgan, please go and look at Morgans Blog and her posts + books, if your reading this 🙂 🙂
January 19, 2017 at 5:08 pm
You are so Kind 🙂
January 19, 2017 at 6:03 pm
Lovely walk and poem, Nigel. Thanks for sharing ❤ 🙂
January 19, 2017 at 5:10 pm
Thank you Hanna 🙂
Very pleased you enjoyed 🙂 🙂
January 19, 2017 at 5:16 pm
Very nice photography well done 📷
January 19, 2017 at 8:04 pm
Lovely combination of Heaney and Borrington.
January 19, 2017 at 11:40 pm
Haha thank you
January 19, 2017 at 11:41 pm
Thank you. Love Seamus Heaney and your photography. 0
January 20, 2017 at 8:35 pm