Capturing the world with Photography, Painting and Drawing

Irish coastline

The waves below the Metal Men , Tramore, County Waterford

Waves below the Metal Men
Tramore
county Waterford
January 2020

I am so desperate to go for an evening walk along Tramore beach again I could pop !!
for the moment this image taken before the lock down will have to do !!
I can still here the wave and the gulls above !
For me this is essential travel !!!!

Anyway one day soon and when it does happen it will feel like heaven !!!!


The Kite flyer, Charcoal on Paper

The Kite flyer
Charcoal on A2 paper
County Waterford
Nigel Borrington 2019


Hook head Light house county Wexford, Charcoal and Pastel, Nigel Borrington

Hookhead lighthouse
County Wexford
Charcoal and Pastel Nigel Borrington Feb 2019


Friday Charcoal and Pastel drawing

The lighthouse at Hookhead, county Wexford – Drawing using Charcoal and Pastel on a sheet of A2 cartridge paper.

I have wanted to include the hookhead lighthouse in drawing for sometime so today I used a photo taken about 6 years ago taken one February evening on a walk around the base of the lighthouse looking out to sea. It was late evening just after sunset and light had just just been turned on, a magical moment to be there.

The drawing today took about four hours to complete and is one of the drawing in the last week that I have enjoyed working on the most 🙂 …..


An Autumn Sunset By Edith Wharton

Autumn sunset
County Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington 2018

An Autumn Sunset

By Edith Wharton

I

Leaguered in fire
The wild black promontories of the coast extend
Their savage silhouettes;
The sun in universal carnage sets,
And, halting higher,
The motionless storm-clouds mass their sullen threats,
Like an advancing mob in sword-points penned,
That, balked, yet stands at bay.
Mid-zenith hangs the fascinated day
In wind-lustrated hollows crystalline,
A wan Valkyrie whose wide pinions shine
Across the ensanguined ruins of the fray,
And in her hand swings high o’erhead,
Above the waster of war,
The silver torch-light of the evening star
Wherewith to search the faces of the dead.

II

Lagooned in gold,
Seem not those jetty promontories rather
The outposts of some ancient land forlorn,
Uncomforted of morn,
Where old oblivions gather,
The melancholy unconsoling fold
Of all things that go utterly to death
And mix no more, no more
With life’s perpetually awakening breath?
Shall Time not ferry me to such a shore,
Over such sailless seas,

To walk with hope’s slain importunities
In miserable marriage? Nay, shall not
All things be there forgot,
Save the sea’s golden barrier and the black
Close-crouching promontories?
Dead to all shames, forgotten of all glories,
Shall I not wander there, a shadow’s shade,
A spectre self-destroyed,
So purged of all remembrance and sucked back
Into the primal void,
That should we on the shore phantasmal meet
I should not know the coming of your feet?


An October Sunset, Duncannon Beach, County Wexford, Ireland

A collection of images, all taken on my favorite beach in county Wexford – Duncannon beach, with its fort overlooking one end of the beach and a view down toward hook head at the other. The Sunsets here in October can be amazing and full of Autumn light 🙂 🙂

There are also pictures here of Molly, our much loved golden retriever, she is sadly no longer with us but she is always remembered and missed for moment like these ones. It was always great fun watching her exploring beaches and the sea, she love swimming so much she would spend hours returning sticks and balls from the water 🙂 🙂


Sonnet to Collecting Seashells

Sonnet to Collecting Seashells

During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin’s annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
daily did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not happy until married.

Original Poem


Irish landscapes, Curracloe beach,county wexford

Irish Landscapes
Curracloe Beach
County Wexford
Nigel Borrington

Curracloe Beach in County Wexford is one of the most popular beaches in Ireland. Located 2KM away from Curracloe Village, this soft-sand beach is frequented by sunbathers and nature-lovers alike.

During the summer months, you’ll find that the area is bustling with life, as holidaymakers leave their home counties to take up residence in the holiday homes, campsites, hotels and B&Bs that surround the area. Later on, during the autumn and winter months, Curracloe Beach and its nearby forest become a hot spot for dog-walkers, joggers and anyone else in pursuit of a peaceful stroll.

The area itself is suitable for bathing, as it has a Blue Flag certification. This certification, which is awarded by the Foundation for Environmental Education (FEE), serves as a notice to beach-goers that the area and its surrounding waters have lived up to a number of strict regulatory standards.

Its 7-mile-long beach is famous for its soft and fine sand, which puts it in contrast with many of the stony beaches that you will find around Ireland. The beach is guarded by a number of large and sprawling dunes, all of which are held together and stabilised by a seemingly-endless blanket of green marram grass. During the warmer months, these sand dunes prove to be extremely popular amongst visitors, many of whom will not pass up the opportunity to roll down them.

Curracloe Strand, Ballinesker, was used for the filming of the D-Day sequence in Saving Private Ryan, due to similarity to Omaha Beach in Normandy. Filming began June 27, 1997, and lasted for two months. The village of Curracloe lacked 3-phase electricity but when the film company decided to film there, it was connected.

Curracloe Strand was also used for the Irish beach scene in the movie Brooklyn.


Monday Poetry : The Ocean Shipwreck Lord Byron (1788–1824)

The Ocean Shipwreck
Lord Byron (1788–1824)

(From Don Juan)

’T WAS twilight, for the sunless day went down
Over the waste of waters; like a veil,
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one who hates us, so the night was shown,
And grimly darkled o’er their faces pale,
And hopeless eyes, which o’er the deep alone
Gazed dim and desolate; twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.
* * * * *

At half past eight o’clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,
That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,
For yet they strove, although of no great use:
There was no light in heaven but a few stars;
The boats put off o’ercrowded with their crews;
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
And, going down head-foremost,—sunk, in short.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell!
Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave;
Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawned around her like a hell,
And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek—the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.


A visual tour of Spike Island, Located off Cobh in beautiful Cork Harbour.


Man and the Sea – Cyril Scott, Baudelaire: The Flowers of Evil (London: Elkin Mathews, 1909)

Man and the Sea

Free man! the sea is to thee ever dear!
The sea is thy mirror, thou regardest thy soul
In its mighteous waves that unendingly roll,
And thy spirit is yet not a chasm less drear.

Thou delight’st to plunge deep in thine image down;
Thou tak’st it with eyes and with arms in embrace,
And at times thine own inward voice would’st efface
With the sound of its savage ungovernable moan.

You are both of you, sombre, secretive and deep:
Oh mortal, thy depths are foraye unexplored,
Oh sea — no one knoweth thy dazzling hoard,
You both are so jealous your secrets to keep!

And endless ages have wandered by,
Yet still without pity or mercy you fight,
So mighty in plunder and death your delight:
Oh wrestlers! so constant in enmity!


Irish Landscape Images, Tramore Beach, County Waterford 2018

Irish landscape images Tramore beach
county Waterford Nigel Borrington


Street views, Cobh, County Cork, Ireland, April 2018

Street Views
Cobh, county Cork
Nigel Borrington
April 2018


Lighthouse Poetry : “The Lighthouse Keeper” by Phil Lindsey Jun 2015

Hook head lighthouse
at dusk
County Wexford
Nigel Borrington

Phil Lindsey Jun 2015
The Lighthouse Keeper

The keeper of illumination
Aye, the keeper of the light
Safety first, his fascination
Dusk to evening through the night.

Aye, the keeper of the light,
Every season, every day
Dusk to evening, through the night
He tends the beacon, shows the way.

Every season, every day
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
He tends the beacon, shows the way
The Fresnel lantern he prepares.

Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
Skyward, toward the landing high
The Fresnel lantern he prepares
Lighthouse beacon must not die.

Skyward, toward the landing high
Strike the match, produce the spark
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Guides ships safely through the dark.

Strike the match, produce the spark
Safety first, his fascination
Guides ships safely through the dark
The keeper of illumination.
Phil Lindsey 6/25/15


Irish Lighthouses : Valentia Island Lighthouse, in 10 images

Valentia Island Lighthouse

Built on the site of a 17th century fort, Valentia Island Lighthouse on Cromwell Point has stood against sea and invader for hundreds of years. Now, this gleaming white lighthouse on beautiful Valentia Island looks out across some of the most spectacular sights along the Wild Atlantic Way.

There’s much to enjoy in a visit to this lighthouse. Take a tour of the lighthouse tower and balcony. Be blown away by the dramatic scenery and big weather! Soak up the stories and the science as you learn about the people and technology that have guided ships safely home from sea over the years.

Valentia Island Lighthouse offers a great day out: fascinating history, inspiring views and a unique insight into island life.

A quick history

Valentia Island Lighthouse sits on the site of the 17th century Cromwell Fleetwood Fort, which guarded against the threat of invaders right up to the 19th century. You can still see the cannons overlooking the harbour.

The lighthouse was designed by George Halpin Senior, one of the most famous civil engineers of the time. The light was first exhibited in 1841.
A lighthouse keeper lived with his family on site until 1947, when the lighthouse was automated.


Snow on Curracloe Beach, County Wexford, March 2018

Snow on Curracloe Beach
County Wexford
Following Storm Emma
Nigel Borrington


Man’s Coiled Beacon by Rosie Howe

Man’s Coiled Beacon
Rosie Howe

A gleaming halo of light
Rotates around its fixed staff
Like a relentless lasso
Stretching across a chalky sea,
Covering all it touches
With an adorning hope
That cannot be seized.

At night, its light pulsates
Like a beacon, a constant blaze
Passing over a jaded path.
No footprints are left from
Its endless wanderings,
Repeatedly retracing its steps,
It coils. Built to forget.

The forgetful lantern swings,
Its pendulum never ceasing,
Gliding over lighted buoys,
And boat hulls, and
Dancing on the oily wings of
Cormorants as they plunge
Down to the dark depths

https://allpoetry.com/Rosie_Howe


Monday Poetry : The Valley of Unrest By Edgar Allan Poe

The Valley of Unrest
By Edgar Allan Poe

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood

.

Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
External dews come down in drops.
They weep:—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.


The week of the winter solstice – Ardgroom Stone Circle, County Cork, Ireland

Ardgroom Stone Circle, County Cork,
Ireland
Nigel Borrington

Ardgroom Stone Circle, County Cork, Ireland

The Ardgroomon stone circle is located on the Beautiful Beara Peninsula, county cork. It has to be one of the most magical of all the Irish stone circle, it also has the best of locations and views, sitting about the Atlantic ocean. There is something so exciting and mysterious about visiting a stone circle. The Ardgroomon circle is located in an area were there is an abundance of these historic sites, as well as wedge tombs, ring forts, boulder burials and fulachta fiadhs.

As well as being used for the Solar Spring and summer Equinox’s along with the Summer and Winter Solstice, many of these stone circles would also log the Movement of the Moon, Planets and Stars as during the year they changed their positions along the horizon. The standing stones in a stone circle would have in combination with a feature on local hill sides, have been lined up with astronomical objects(Sun, moon, planets and Stars). This would have given an almost daily measurement for months of the year.

The reason that ancient peoples needed to log the movement of the heavens was mainly for practical reasons such as farming, they needed to know when to sow seeds, bring cattle down from the mountains and bring in the crops, also they needed to know how long their store of food had to last before the new growing season started, no imports in those days.


Great Poems : A New Start. – by Bernard Shaw

A New Start. – Poem by Bernard Shaw

I have wiped the slate clean,
No more reminders from the past.
Memories of what I have been,
Have vanished at long last.

.

I look forward to my future new,
Where all is territory strange.
Soon I will be among the few,
That plans their life at long range.

.

I see my life laid out at my feet,
New friends shall rally at my call.
They will be the first I will greet,
At this my welcoming ball.

.

Soon all memories will depart,
Of a past left well behind.
I will get off to a new start,
With the best of mankind.

Bernard Shaw


Seven day Black and white photo challenge, Dunhill Castle, county Waterford

Dunhill Castle
County Waterford
Nigel Borrington
Black and white Landscapes

I own a big thank you to great friend and fellow photo blogger Sharon Walters Knight for tagging me last week on my facebook page, to take part in a Seven day Black and White photo challenge, I am really enjoying taking this on as its making me truly explore subject just for black and white images once again 🙂

This image of Dunhill castle, county Waterford, was taken during the last hour of bright sun light, this time of year the sun is very low in the sky so there is some great light to be captured, even more so later in the afternoon. Here I just loved the way the sun reflected on the old stone work of this great old building just moment before it set some distance away over the coast to the south.


Sailing to Byzantium, by William Butler Yeats

Sailing to Byzantium, by William Butler Yeats Image Nigel Borrington

Sailing to Byzantium

by William Butler Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
– Those dying generations – at their song,
The salmon‐falls, the mackerel‐crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing‐masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.


The Bay that never was, A Poem by : James K. Baxter (1926-1972)

The Bay

James K. Baxter (1926-1972)

SlieveLeague
Donegal
Ireland’s Most Beautiful Place‎s
Nigel Borrington

On the road to the bay was a lake of rushes
Where we bathed at times and changed in the bamboos.

Now it is rather to stand and say
How many roads we take that lead to Nowhere,
The alley overgrown, no meaning now but loss:
Not that veritable garden where everything comes easy.

And by the bay itself were cliffs with carved names
And a hut on the shore by the open fires.

We raced boats from the banks of the river
Or swam in those autumnal shallows.

Growing cold in amber water, riding the logs
Upstream, and waiting for the Sea Monsters.

So now I remember the bay and the little spiders
On driftwood, so poisonous and quick.

The carved cliffs and the great out crying surf
With currents round the rocks and the birds rising.

A thousand times an hour is torn across
And burned for the sake of going on living.

But I remember the bay that never was
And stand like stone and cannot turn away.


When the Fishing Boats Go Out , By: Lucy Montgomery

When the Fishing Boats Go Out

Lucy Montgomery

When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There’s joyance and there’s freedom when the fishing boats go out.

The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves,
And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin waves,
While routed dawn-mists shiver­oh, far and fast they flee,
Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea!

Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie,
Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky­
Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar
As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.

The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free,
There’s keenest rapture on its breast and boundless liberty!
Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out-blown,
And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his own.

Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows the breeze,
And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the combing seas,
Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea-gulls float,
And all the water-world’s alive when the fishing boats go out.


Images without words : The view from the Chairs …..