Last night I walked along the river, after the rain – Images and a Poem
Sunset along the river Suir, County Tipperary
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Sometimes when I am out walking and taking pictures, I also use my phone to jot down some words then later use these to write a Poem.
I feel that words and poems – along with images are connected with one another in a big way. I love to share both here on this blog and I often share poems from people who share their work on poetry web sites, matching them to what I feel are related images I have taken.
This time the post is mixing my own Poem and Images from an evening walk along the river Suir, after a rain storm at the start of June.
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Last night I Walked along the river after the rain
Last night in my dreams along the river I walked,
it rained and rained, The floods of June.
There will always be sunshine after the rain
Perhaps I walked , perhaps even ran,
Towards the Setting evening Sun.
.
It lights up the river, I see every rushing and flowing drop,
The warmth from its light can calm every dreaming fear.
After it sets below the trees,
my dreams much deeper,
still linger throughout the night,
But suddenly vanish at dawn’s early light.
Poem and images : Nigel Borrington
A Grain Of Sand, Poem by Robert William Service
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
A Grain Of Sand
Poem by Robert William Service
If starry space no limit knows
And sun succeeds to sun,
There is no reason to suppose
Our earth the only one.
‘Mid countless constellations cast
A million worlds may be,
With each a God to bless or blast
And steer to destiny.
Just think! A million gods or so
To guide each vital stream,
With over all to boss the show
A Deity supreme.
Such magnitudes oppress my mind;
From cosmic space it swings;
So ultimately glad to find
Relief in little things.
For look! Within my hollow hand,
While round the earth careens,
I hold a single grain of sand
And wonder what it means.
Ah! If I had the eyes to see,
And brain to understand,
I think Life’s mystery might be
Solved in this grain of sand.
Between The Sunflowers , Poem by : Andrew Lea
Sunflowers from the Garden
Photography : Nigel Borrington
Between The Sunflowers
He sat between the sunflowers, counting the ants as they crawled across his toes. “27”…”28″—He paused, swearing that he’d seen this one before. “What the hell, 29.”
He sat beneath the oak tree in his back yard, sticky from sunflower sap. The sun, hot and high, rested in the sky strait above him. He would often stare at it, until his eyes stung and he could see the purple spots even after he looked away.
.
He was running, through the halls in the decaying house. Running from the invisible phantoms with their malevolent smiles and sinister goals. Running from the silhouette at the end which was shaped much like his father, only far too tall. Running, with starving lungs and heavy feet as the floor screamed and walls shook, as the windows began to fracture and the entire foundation was torn from the earth under the weight of his fear.
Running, towards the sunflowers, which stood and beautiful under the afternoon sun.
A walk along the beach , Images and a Poem
A walk along the beach at Tramore, County Waterford
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
A walk along the beach at Tramore
The sight of sunlight shining on the water just dazzling,
The sound of waves breaking delicately on the sand,
The feeling of the suns warming my skin,
The cool wetness of the sand between my toes.
Fellow dog walkers passing by,
Saying hello and talking for a while,
Their dogs swim and bring back sticks,
The marks they level in the sand,
Smoothed again by the waves.
.
The fresh breeze moving through me,
Slipping across the water a sea bird gliding silently,
The salty sea air carrying her to deeper waters.
Above me seagulls friends swirl singing their daily song,
Before diving down into the sea to snatch a fish.
The breeze and warming sun feeding my soul,
The enchanting pleasures of sight and sounds,
I breathe in the wonderful scent of salt water that fills the air,
The intoxicating aroma of wildflowers thick along the dunes,
A feeling of contentment fills every corner of my being,
As I walk along the beach I realise… Life has true beauty…
A Farmer by Trade, Poem By : Kevin Pace
A Farmer by Trade
Ballytobin, County Kilkenny
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
A Farmer by Trade
Poem By : Kevin Pace
He worked on the land, a farmer by trade.
He never will know the impact he made.
When plowing the fields, his mind would be filled
with lessons in life he taught and instilled.
“Life’s pretty simple” my grandpa would claim,
“The rules we should live by are always the same.”
He delivered his thoughts in a wry kind of style.
You’d think he was mad, but then he would smile.
.
He was always profound, a man of his word.
He would always look forward despite what occurred.
“I’ve never reaped anything I didn’t first sow.
The seeds that you plant is the crop that will grow.
Fix your eyes on a spot, if you want to plow straight.
If you need to start over, it’s never too late.”
One thing I remember, he often would share,
“Don’t tear down a fence, ‘til you know why it’s there.
Some fences are built to keep danger away,
some fences are built so we’ll know where to stay.”
His philosophy in life was to, “Let people be.
I’m not here to judge, lest they should judge me.”
“Some things are better off left on the ground,
manure doesn’t stink ‘til you stir it around.”
The best thing he taught me was how I could find
the answer to anything crossing my mind.
Whatever I’d ask him, he’d get out the Book,
saying, “God wrote it down, if you take time to look.”
He understood things that few understand.
A farmer by trade, he worked on the land.
Rhododendron laden hillsides, Poem and Image gallery.
Rhododendron at the Vee, County Tipperary
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Rhododendron laden hillsides
Summer
Comes ’round again,
Bringing life back to flow’rs.
Roses shall start to bloom once more,
And mighty White Oaks shall be green with leaves.
Rhododendron laden hillsides
And Lady Slippers nod:
Slowly fading
Summer.
~Timothy~
Rhododendron hills , Image Gallery
Ghost house , Poem By : Robert Frost – 1915
Derelict old house at Durrow , Co Laois, Ireland.
Irish landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Ghost House
Robert Frost (1915)
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
Sunset over the mountain of Slievenamon , Star break and Poem.
Sunset over slievenamon, County Tipperary
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Evening walks near the mountain of Slievenamon, county Tipperary can bring some great evening views, the sun sets right over the top on the mountain where there is a cairn, a burial place of a king dating back over six thousand year.
On one of these walks I was lucky enough to get these sunset images and I put some words to them in this poem:
Star break, a Poem
Behind the High cloud the sun is coiling and uncoiling
a dragon wrapped around itself spitting fire behind the mountain top
For a moment as I think of older days it is eclipsed entirely
aith a hidden God in the ground where six thousand years ago
A star fell from nowhere and lit up this very mountain’s top
turning westward by day, into oblivion leaving its mark.
.
A king wise in these things called this a “star break”
and of no danger to the integrity of his vision
Star, soon the mountain will shrug you off you will drop below
the ragged edge line into tomorrow while I take the only path.
I came to find what I left, now ahead of me and waiting behind
a light of dawn, time of ages drifting through the night.
Me…..
Images from a field of blue bells – Poem : ‘The Bright Field’ by R. S. Thomas
Our dog Molly, In the Blue bells field, Slievenamon, County Tipperary
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Located on the west slopes of Slievenamon , County Tipperary, is a small yet wonderful little field .
To reach it you have to walk some thirty minutes through wood-lands and up a mountain track, finally reaching a gate. The site that welcomes you in May is that of a field full of blue bells and an old derelict farm cottage. This cottage would be able to tell some amazing stories and if it only could!
Above the field are the mountain slopes that I am much more use to seeing, with mountain heather and scrub lands, streams and baths.
I have visited this field many times, its a great location during the summer and a wonderful escape and resting place after a walk to the top of the mountain.
I just wanted to share one of my most loved local locations here and also one of my most loved Poems by R. S. Thomas, which I feel is perfect for this post ….
The Bright Field
by R. S. Thomas
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the
pearl of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
The field a Gallery
Slievenamon on May mornings. Poem By : John Milton
Fields around Slievenamon, early Morning mist
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
On May mornings.
Poem By : John Milton
Now the bright morning Sun,
Comes dancing from the East.
leading with her the Flowers of May,
who from her green lap throws
The Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and valley, doth boast a blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome you, and then wish you a so long.
A May Morning Gallery
The greens of these trees these leaves, poem by : Shalom Freedman
Landscape view of Ballyhenebery. County Kilkenny
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
The greens of these trees these leaves
By : Shalom Freedman
The greens of these trees these leaves
The many shades of green-
Olive green and deep dark green and yellow green
And greens I see but have no name for-
So many shades of light and beauty in green
And I with my eyes loving them all
And delighted and made happy by them all-
.
Wondering why and how this world
Has so so much Beauty
Just in green alone –
And being deep in happiness
At being alive
And loving them more
In wondering why and how
I will not one day
be able to see them all again..
Finding the Silver light of other days , Gallery and a Poem by : Thomas Moore
Memories of silver light, Glencommon, County Kilkenny
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
On the top of the hill at Glencommon, county Kilkenny is the Ghostly remains of an old farm.
Last Sunday morning I took a walk up the hill in the mist with my camera and took these images, it was a very haunting experience but one I really enjoyed.
The poem below by Thomas Moore came to mind as the mist of the day seamed to recreate the past of this wonderful old place, how many memories it must hold yet all of them lost in the mists of time.
The Light of Other Days
By Thomas Moore
1779-1852
Often, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me:
The smiles, the tears
Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm’d and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all
The friends, so link’d together,
I’ve seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me.
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Finding memories in the silver light , Gallery
A misty day , A poem By : Paul Laurence Dunbar
A Misty Day
A Misty Morning on Glencommon hill, County Kilkenny
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
A Misty Day
By : Paul Laurence Dunbar
Heart of my heart, the day is chill,
The mist hangs low o’er the wooded hill,
The soft white mist and the heavy cloud
The sun and the face of heaven shroud.
The birds are thick in the dripping trees,
That drop their pearls to the beggar breeze;
No songs are rife where songs are wont,
Each singer crouches in his haunt.
.
Heart of my heart, the day is chill,
Whene’er thy loving voice is still,
The cloud and mist hide the sky from me,
Whene’er thy face I cannot see.
.
My thoughts fly back from the chill without,
My mind in the storm drops doubt on doubt,
No songs arise. Without thee, love,
My soul sinks down like a frightened dove.
The Pond, By Amy Lowell
The Pond on the hill, Glencommon, County Tipperary
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
The Pond
By Amy Lowell
Cold, wet leaves
Floating on moss-coloured water
And the croaking of frogs—
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.
As river flows, Poem by Peter Duggan.
A walk along the river Suir , County Tipperary
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
As River flows.
By : Peter Duggan
As river flows so peacefully
I sit here just content to be
As Ravens fly so high above
This morning, it was made for love
It enters deep into my soul
It’s sweetness making me so whole
This softest morning mystery
Oh, how it reaches out to me
The trees, they dance so gracefully
They wave, and flow upon the breeze
Bird song drifts from happy branches
Oh lord, how this my heart enhances
Silence rules above all this
A kind of stillness filled with bliss
Captivates my very core
Oh, I’d not wish for any more.
The river peaceful, calm and still
So wonderful it makes me feel
As it reflects those dancing trees
I watch and let the morning breeze
Caress my skin so tenderly
Then all is gone, there’s only me
The emptiness of all that is
I’m sailing on the waves of bliss.
River Suir Image Gallery
May day Butterfly, Poem : A Butterfly Message, By Kathy Mitchell
May day butterfly
Nature Photography : Nigel Borrington
A Butterfly Message
Kathy Mitchell
The weight of a Butterfly
The beauty of colours
The wings of freedom
Could never be forgotten
As we lift the weight
We create.
Glow with colour
Attract the good
Spread our wings
As we too can be free
Live like a Butterfly
For your wishes
Will be……
Freedom of the Hills, Poem by : Douglas Fraser – 1968
Freedom On The foothills of Slievenamon, County Tipperary
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Freedom of the Hills
By: Douglas Fraser – 1968
Mine is the freedom of the tranquil hills
When vagrant breezes bend the sinewy grass,
While sunshine on the widespread landscape spills
And light as down the fleet cloud-shadowed pass.
Mine, still, that freedom when the storm-clouds race,
Cracking their whips against defiant crags
And mists swirl boiling up from inky space
To vanish on the instant, torn to rags.
.
When winter grips the mountains in a vice,
Silently stifling with its pall of snow,
Checking the streams, draping the rocks in ice,
Still to their mantled summits I would go.
Sun-drenched, I sense the message they impart;
Storm-lashed, I hear it sing through every vein;
Among the snows it whispers to my heart
“Here is your freedom. Taste – and come again.”
The first spring Primrose on the river Lingaun
Primrose along the river Lingaun
Nature Photography : Nigel Borrington
At the end of June 2013 I posted about the “last of the Primrose” , well its hard to believe that its a full year since the first Primrose’s flowered in 2013 but these wonderful little river bank flowers are back again.
These Primrose grow beside the banks of the river Linguan as it works its way down towards the river suir, at Carrick -on-suir. I take Molly our golden retriever here for a swim in the rock pools, its a perfect place on a spring day.
I found the following information about Primrose’s :
Botanical Information
Primrose Flowers
Primroses grow on shady river banks, and in woods and hedges and are common in Ireland. The characteristic rosette of green crinkled leaves appears first in March. The flowers then come up on individual stalks and open in the month of April. The flowers have five pale yellow petals.
In some flowers the stems are very long and the centre is small – these are called thrum flowers. If on the other hand you are looking at a flower with very short stem, it is called a pin flower.
They are perennial flowers, which means that they survive from year to year and grow again every Spring without having to be planted.
Folklore
Primroses were very important to farmers long ago for their cows. The butter-making season began in May and in order to be sure that the cows would produce lots of milk for butter, primroses were rubbed on their udders. In other houses primroses were scattered on the thresholds of houses before dawn on May day to protect the butter from the fairies.
Primroses were also associated with hens and the laying of eggs. It was considered unlucky to bring primroses into the house if eggs were being hatched there.
Primroses were often gathered and given as a gift. However it was considered to be very unlucky to give just a single primrose, whereas a very full bunch would be a protection against evil spirits.
Primroses bloomed in Tír na nÓg and people returning from there in the old Irish legends always brought primroses as proof that they had been there.
In folk medicine, rubbing a toothache with a primrose leaf for two minutes would give relief from the pain. It was also widely used as a cure for jaundice.
Poem
What is a Primrose?
To the question, “what is a primrose?”
There are several valid answers
One person says,
“A primrose by the river´s brim”
A yellow plant was to him, just that.
Nothing more.
Another, a scientist, says,
“A primrose is a delicately balanced
Biochemical mechanism requiring
Potash, phosphates, nitrogen and water
In definite proportions”
A third person says they are,
“Primrose of spring from the gods”
All these statements are true.
Primrose along the river Lingaun, Gallery
Damselfly, Poem by : Sara Nummenpää
A Damselfly along the Kings river,
County Kilkenny,
Nature and Wildlife Photography : Nigel Borrington
Damselfly
By : Sara Nummenpää
you’ve swept me away
in your rivers,
completely.
do you know you steal my breath?
I can’t help it, I surrender
to you, so
surround me, encompass me,
cover me with your skin,
your flesh and wings;
lead me, I know you can.
lead me,
for just a while, and
I’ll lead you,
follow you,
until you find
what you are looking for.
.
I am yours to break.
and if you ever want
to forget me for a while,
to lead me no longer –
that is okay,
for you’ve loved me once,
and that is enough.
This morning Light , a Poem
Morning Landscape, County Tipperary
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Tuesday and the Easter holiday weekend is over , I went for an early morning walk and was trying my best to plan the week ahead. Failing in most respects however. I found myself lost in the morning and distracted by just how wonderful the soft light was, we had a light covering of cloud and it resulted in some wonderful light and colours across the fields and woods.
Still a little frustrated as I sat at my desk, I decided to write down some words and share them in a post along with some images I took along my morning walk.
The morning of Tuesday 22nd April 2014.
This morning light
When first morning light comes to reveal the landscape,
There are many thoughts that I ponder in my mind,
last nights dreams fading away.
This mornings sounds should give a clue,
If I could only remember what it is I need to do,
I know it came to me last night, fading fast into the morning light
I walk on past these fields covered in soft light,
What was that dreams I had last night,
Completely gone and washed away,
Taken into yet another day.
Morning Landscapes
The Blackbird, A Poem by : William Ernest Henley.
A Blackbird, in a kilkenny woodland.
Wildlife photography : Nigel Borrington
The Blackbird
By : William Ernest Henley.
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark’s is a clarion call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all of the joy of life,
And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
Yellow summer daisies, by : Robert Graves
Yellow summer daisies
Nature Photography : Nigel Borrington
Summer Daisies
Summer daisies, they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimes—but no,
I root them up because they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double Yellow daisies for me,
The beautiful-est flowers in the garden.
The summer daisy, that’s my mark:
I paint it in all my books!
It’s carved high up on the beech-tree bark,
How neat and lovely it looks!
So don’t forget that it’s my trade mark;
Don’t copy it in your books.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, yellow daisies for me,
The beautiful-est flowers in the garden.
By : Robert Graves
After the Storm, Poem by : Hilen Letiro
Killamery woodlands after the February storms of 2014
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
After the Storm
by Hilen Letiro
The storms may come And limbs may break;
Yet others bend Beneath the weight
Of heavy rain And windy breeze…
A storm can mark The strongest trees.
.
Life sometimes deals With us this way;
In unseen trials We meet each day.
It’s not how much our bodies break
Or how much they may bend;
It’s Our Outlook In Our Own Life
That helps our spirits mend!
Read more at Poem : After the Storm
Nigel Borrington 
A day at Ballybunion beach, a Poem
Ballybunion beach, county Kerry, Ireland
Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
One day last summer while I was walking along the beach at Ballybunion,county Kerry, I was trying to think of words that gave a sense of this place , so I jotted down the following word list for a poem, but I feel its a poem as it is.
Ballybunion beach
cool air, sound of sea birds, fresh breeze,
people walking, dogs running, cold swimmers, children shouting,
Waves rolling, people eating, chatting, talking, cliffs casting shadows,
Old castle walls dominating, caves temping you to explore,
Posters offering family photographs, lunch time meals and places to shop,
Restful moments , capturing views,
Old people pottering, memories of traditions past,
Time dragging to a stop, mind slowing,
Families gathering, men managing, car doors shutting, keys locking, after parking,
deep breaths taken, locations chosen, bags unpacked,
People now sitting, grannies talking, best instructions, suggestions given,
Steps taken, shoes in hand,
Temperature falling, evening calling, holiday homes inviting,
Beach clearing, winds rising, cold setting in,
Sea birds return, dogs last walk of the day
Night fisher man setting lines, day over
Peace and nature returning, tide rising,
On Ballybunion beach.
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April 7, 2014 | Categories: Comment, Gallery, Landscape, Poetry Gallery, Travel Locations | Tags: a sense of place, Ballybunion, Ballybunion beach, county kerry, Ireland, Irish photography, Nigel Borrington, poem, poetry, word list | 21 Comments