The Sea Gull’s of Galway bay, Poem: Edwin John Pratt
Sea gulls, on Galway bay
Irish nature Photography : Nigel Borrington
Sea Gulls
By : Edwin John Pratt
For one carved instant as they flew,
The language had no simile—
Silver, crystal, ivory
Were tarnished. Etched upon the horizon blue,
The frieze must go unchallenged, for the lift
And carriage of the wings would stain the drift
Of stars against a tropic indigo
Or dull the parable of snow.
.
Now settling one by one
Within green hollows or where curled
Crests caught the spectrum from the sun,
A thousand wings are furled.
No clay-born lilies of the world
Could blow as free
As those wild orchids of the sea.
A January Morn, a Poem by Nelda Hartmann
Kilkenny landscape photography
New years day 2014
Irish Landscape
A January Poem
January Morn
By – Nelda Hartmann
Bare branches of each tree
on this chilly January morn
look so cold so forlorn.
Gray skies dip ever so low
left from yesterday’s storm.
Yet in the heart of each tree
waiting for each who wait to see
new life as warm sun and breeze will blow,
like magic, unlock springs sap to flow,
buds, new leaves, then blooms will grow.”
Stable By Claudia Emerson
A Family Stable in county Kilkenny
Photography : Nigel Borrington
Stable
By Claudia Emerson
One rusty horseshoe hangs on a nail
above the door, still losing its luck,
and a work-collar swings, an empty
old noose. The silence waits, wild to be
broken by hoof beat and heavy
harness slap, will founder but remain;
while, outside, above the stable,
eight, nine, now ten buzzards swing low
in lazy loops, a loose black warp
of patience, bearing the blank sky
like a pall of wind on mourning
wings. But the bones of this place are
long picked clean. Only the hay-rake’s
ribs still rise from the rampant grasses.
Snow on snow, By James Hart
Snow covers the welsh hills
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
It Christmas eve, so I felt it was time for a winters poem and a picture.
Happy Christmas everyone!
Snow on snow
By : James Hart
Snow on snow
Flakes gently falling
Like leaves from a tree
Asking permission
Before they land
On the snowflakes underneath
Each one different
Like leaves on a tree
A white carpet
Pure white till soiled
By children’s shoes
They love its touch
Ooo snowball fights
Snow doesn’t hurt
Snow is soft and forgiving
People hurt
They are selfish and cruel
So let it snow
Snow on snow on
Snow on snow
A Lighthouse By : Ashley Rose
A Lighthouse
By : Ashley Rose
The stone facade bound into the coarse rock,
Signaling, sending, and saving,
Streaks of light alluring threat to vessels.
Like flare of alert, warning of an ominous havoc.
Sending waves of whispering light into the mute air,
Advising all to depart back to the watchful sea.
The light reflects on the storm driven oceans,
tracing the surface with an inkling of caution,
a lighthouse, beacon of hope.
The tides swoosh against the jagged cliff,
where tattered remains of a ship remain.
The waves roar as a dull overcast envelopes the sky.
The lighthouse’s beams echo off a ship,
leading the wandering adrift to safer waters,
as a guide to shelter.
Reflections , poem by Emmy Gaspar
Kings river at Kells , County Kilkenny
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
By : Emmy Nielsen Reyes de Gaspar
There is so much beauty in life,
Beauty in the human soul,
Beauty in the heart and in the mind
Of the good man and woman.
Reflections
There is beauty in nature,
Beauty in the sky and in the clouds,
In the mountains and in the sea.
There is beauty in the creative work of man,
Beauty in true friendship.
And immeasurable beauty in love.
All these things,
To delight us in this world.
Far away lake , Poem by: Beckian Fritz Goldberg
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Far away lake
By, Beckian Fritz Goldberg
We can’t get there
by road, by rope, by
wing
by time—
though time would be the way
by boat
by please please
.
time would be the way
then the reed-quiver
a cloud of gnats
mumbling its hypnotic suggestion
by sleep, sleep
until you say
lift my elbow straighten
my legs
And I
straightened you in this life
like flowers
but the little water
there was
went to air
where it came from
And all my love for you
came back—
you couldn’t take it where
you were going
you’d get halfway there
and then you’d drift
arms by your side
like a clock
plucked…
The Sea Of Time, Poem by Robert Crawford
Images of the Waterford coast.
Infra-red photography
Irish landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
The Sea Of Time.
by Robert Crawford
On that strange sea
Where Man’s bark moves as toward eternity,
What sails put forth that are not seen again!
So joyous it may be, or in pain,
The mariner doth drive still on and on
Beneath no mortal star,
And to no mortal port — as one
Who may but anchor somewhere so afar,
.
Not himself wrecks if he shall reach no more
In that tremendous sea another shore:
He is so like a wave himself at last,
He would toss through the future as the past —
But tethered as a whale is to a wave,
So he might still the one life have
Through all the changes that may be
On that tremendous sea!
The carpenter’s challenge, By : Joe Bergin
The Carpenters spokeshave
Photography by : Nigel Borrington
CARPENTER’S CHALLENGE
Joe Bergin
First heard of him from Uncle John
Something about a carpenter coming down
From back up in the mountains to work
In the town and on the camps down by the lake
Ate no meat, nothing from the deadly nightshade family
And didn’t drink but once a year
In a three day bacchanal on the summer solstice
I’d seen his work and it was damn good
He was something of a mystery to me
Came down to the lake and that’s where I met him
Working on the family camp
Alight in his eye and doing the work I should’ve done
He had but one good hand and the other
The right one, I believe, had a part of a thumb
And no fingers to speak of really
But Bert could frame an addition or
Build a deck as good and fast as anyone
Had his tricks, though, like the rubber band
Around his wrist to hold the nails his hand
Couldn’t grasp,and many more I’m sure
Tried to find his house once in the back country
To drop off an anti-war t-shirt I knew he’d love
Had the right address but got lost on the
Winding dirt roads and couldn’t find it
Told my brother James about it and he said
“Maybe you weren’t supposed to!”
What is a Horse ? , Poem by : Lily Whittaker
Uisge beatha, A county Kilkenny Horse
Photography : Nigel Borrington
What is a Horse ?
By: Lily Whittaker
What is a horse?
A horse has eyes as dainty as a mink.
The grace is interrupted merely by a blink.
A horse is beauty.
What is a horse?
A horse is a tree in a storm that never goes down.
A horse is a weathered rock that stays around.
A horse is ancient.
.
What is a horse?
A horse waltzes like breeze over rivers.
She curvets and leaps like rain shivers.
A horse is a marionette.
What is a horse?
A horse is determination, that never stops flowing.
A horse is fondness, that never stops growing.
A horse is poetic power.
Slievenamon
Early morning view of Slievenamon, county Tipperary
Irish Landscape photography, Nigel Borrington
Li Po – Alone Looking at The Mountain
All the birds have flown up and gone;
lonely clouds float leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other –
Only the mountain and I.
The Glassblower a Poem by : Rhonda Baker
Jerpoint Glass studios, County Kilkenny
Irish Photography : Nigel Borrington
The Glassblower
by, Rhonda Baker
Inside a building near the center of town
A glassblower’s love of glass is quite profound
With sweat on his brow and jacks firmly in hand
Lost in a piece oblivious to the land
People are gathered to observe the dance
To watch this unexpected miracle; as if by chance
To watch someone struggle with every fiber of their soul
To make the biggest, most colorful and stunning…Bowl?
.
It’s a madness for which no cure can be found
But one he’d gladly have, it’s that profound
For glass teaches a lesson that must be taught
Life; like glass must be wrought
And when illuminated, it shines so bright
Now seeing it’s beauty; what an awesome sight!
11/23/09
Rhonda Baker
Poem:When I look down toward the beach, Image Gallery from the Irish coast.
Images Of the Coast at Allihies, County Cork, Ireland
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Poem from the Irish coast line.
When I look down toward the beach,
the distant pier seems to stride
forward from the shining sea.
I like to look beyond,
to the bands of turquoise and blue,
an ocean painted in bold,
abandoned strokes.
.
Why are we drawn to the waves?
Those elemental rhythms,
sounds and colours
of a primary world,
where sparse pointillist spots
busy themselves on
yellow-ochre sands.
.
Some days the morning
unfolds through mists,
groynes spacing out
the distances along the strand,
until a final fade-out,
well before the sea
can meet the sky.
.
Overhead, pterodactyl shapes
patrol against fresh patches
of blue. As I approach,
the blurred semblances
of buildings appear, rectangles
feathered violet or grey,
as if stepping off the cliff.
Images of Allihies : Nigel Borrington
Its a winters weekend so why not….
Nikon D7000, 18-200mm vr 11 lens
Monatray West Beach, county Waterford
Its a winters weekend so why not find a beach and go for a long walk….
On a beach, a winters weekend
I walk on the winter beach
from here to there
and beyond where the beach ends
past indifferent sea gulls
over beached kelps
over bleached sea shells
to the sound of crushing waves
to the call of ebbing memories
.
I walk on the winter beach
I shall go
I must go
alone
beyond where the beach ends
Winter Chills : Gallary and Poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
Winter Chills
By : Ellen Ni Bheachain
Winter hills of white with silverish gleam,
Of winter season and colors that reflect,
The shades of Gray and silver,
From the suns reflection on natures winter,
Bleak and empty yet in a solitude way,
Resting or sleeping,
Hibernating and regenerated,
Till spring arrives,
Bringing back its florishing blooms,
.
What is pretty to watch is cold to indure,
The chills of winter from watching it indoors,
For the nature trial of winter will,
Chill and freeze,
And numb you till,
Your lips turn color,
The freeze and chills of real winter,
And then as you warm up,
And your nose and finger tips tingle,
And looking around you on natures trails,
Will be the reminding of the hiding buds and roots,
Laying buried beneath the snows of winter,
.
Reminding you,
That too in the spring,
Like the birds will return,
Bringing color and birth back into the light,
With the sounds of nature,
Becoming more musical than winter,
As the birds and the bees,
And all that return or hibernate,
All wake up to wake us up,
To the spring,
When winter chills and freezes thaw,
Taking away the winter chills,
By bringing in the springtime breeze.
A Fellow Man , A Humanist Poem : Tom White
Nikon D700, 35mm f2.8 lens
The doors of, Santa Maria Degli Angeli, Rome.
Photography by : Nigel Borrington
A Fellow Man
A Humanist Poem : Tom White
I have no prayers or charms of faith
If God there be, He’ll know my weight
If God be nought, I’ll still do good
And practice justice as I should
We should not seek reward to do
What decency expects us to
Should Heaven be a kingly court
I’ll go elsewhere to prove my worth
Don’t get me wrong – I’ve sought belief
But lust for faith brought no relief
Mere logic leaves me where I stand
I am not blest, nor am I damned
I seek to do what good I can
I am your friend, a fellow man.
Beyond the Sea, Poem by Thomas Peacock.
Fujifilm X100
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Beyond the Sea
Thomas Peacock
Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,
My heart is gone, far, far from me;
And ever on its track will flee
My thoughts, my dreams, beyond the sea.
Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,
The swallow wanders fast and free:
Oh, happy bird! were I like thee,
I, too, would fly beyond the sea.
Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,
Are kindly hearts and social glee:
But here for me they may not be;
My heart is gone beyond the sea.
November comes And November goes, a Poem by Elizabeth Coatsworth.
Autumn colours in county Kilkenny,
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
November comes
– Elizabeth Coatsworth
November comes And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
Harbour Lighthouse, Crinan, Scotland, (Harbour Lights) Poem by Ernestine Northover.
Harbour Lighthouse, Crinan, Argyll, Scotland
Landscape photography: Nigel Borrington
Harbour Lights
By: Ernestine Northover
The harbour lights are beckoning,
Our stout boat is riding high,
By the distant view, we’re reckoning,
We are nearly home and dry.
We’ve travelled many an ocean,
And weathered storms so wild,
Of the seas, we have a notion,
By it all, we’ve been beguiled.
There’ve been times when we have wavered,
And times when concern was rife,
Many moments we have savoured,
And pondered upon this life.
But seafaring days are our days,
And when all is said and done,
These seas attract, in such special ways,
And conquering them can be fun.
But, like now, we’re to base returning,
Friends and family to meet and greet,
There’s a rest from the sea’s endless churning,
Somewhere solid to plant our feet.
Now the harbour lights are gleaming,
And the sails relax their strain,
Our faces begin their beaming,
For we’re safely back home again.
© Ernestine Northover
Sunrise from the Mountains, By : Anna Katherine Green (1846-1935)
Sigma x3 slr camera, 18-50mm f3.5 – f4.5 lens
Slievenamon, county Tipperary
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Sunrise from the Mountains, By : Anna Katherine Green (1846-1935)
Hung thick with jets of burning gold, the sky
Crowns with its glorious dome the sleeping earth,
Illuminating hill and vale. O’erhead,
The nebulous splendor of the milky way
Stretches afar; while, crowding up the heavens,
The planets worship ‘fore the thrones of God,
Casting their crowns of gold beneath His feet.
It is a scene refulgent! and the very stars
Tremble above, as though the voice divine
Reverberated through the dread expanse.
But soft! a change!
A timid creeping up of gray in east–
A loss of stars on the horizon’s verge–
Gray fades to pearl and spreads up zenithward,
The while a wind runs low from hill to hill,
As if to stir the birds awake, rouse up
The nodding trees, and draw off silence like
A garment from the drowsy earth. The heavens
Are full of points of light that go and come
And go, and leave a tender ashy sky.
The pearl has pushed its way to north and south,
Save where a line spun ‘tween two peaks at east,
Gleams like a cobweb silvered by the sun.
It grows–a gilded cable binding hill
To hill! it widens to a dazzling belt
Half circling earth, then stretches up on high–
A golden cloth laid down ‘fore kingly feet.
Thus spreads the light upon the heavens above,
While earth hails each advancing step, and lifts
Clear into view her rich empurpled hills,
To keep at even beauty with the sky.
The neutral tints are deeply saffroned now;
In streaks, auroral beams of colored light
Shoot up and play about the long straight clouds
And flood the earth in seas of crimson. Ah,
A thrill of light in serpentine, quick waves,
A stooping of the eager clouds, and lo,
Majestic, lordly, blinding bright, the sun
Spans the horizon with its rim of fire!
Old Houses – A poem by, Robert Cording
Old cottage, Bansha, county Tipperary
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Old Houses
By Robert Cording
Year after year after year
I have come to love slowly
how old houses hold themselves—
before November’s drizzled rain
or the refreshing light of June—
as if they have all come to agree
that, in time, the days are no longer
a matter of suffering or rejoicing.
I have come to love
how they take on the color of rain or sun
as they go on keeping their vigil
without need of a sign, awaiting nothing
more than the birds that sing from the eaves,
the seizing cold that sounds the rafters.
Images of a Winters Message – Poem by Mark R Slaughter
Images from a Kilkenny winter
Irish landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
A Winter Message
By : Mark R Slaughter
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
.
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon my own surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
.
The Lighthouse – by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
Sigma Sd15, 15-30mm lens
Dungarvan Lighthouse, County Waterford
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
The Lighthouse
By, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
And on its outer point, some miles away,
The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.
Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
In the white lip and tremor of the face.
And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
Through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light
With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare!
Not one alone; from each projecting cape
And perilous reef along the ocean’s verge,
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,
Holding its lantern o’er the restless surge.
Like the great giant Christopher it stands
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,
Wading far out among the rocks and sands,
The night-o’ertaken mariner to save.
And the great ships sail outward and return,
Bending and bowing o’er the billowy swells,
And ever joyful, as they see it burn,
They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.
They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze,
And eager faces, as the light unveils,
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.
Nigel Borrington 
Ninemile house grave yard, Happy Halloween.
Ninemile house Grave yard,
On the Kilkenny and Tipperary county borders.
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Happy Halloween! – welcome to Ninemile house grave yard, a place of rest OR is it ?
I few weeks back I visited this old Graveyard at Nine mile house, County Tipperary.
This place just has to be one of the most atmospheric Grave yards in the local area. It is full of very old graves and the remains of an old chapel who’s insides have been used as the location of some graves dating from the 1800’s.
This is a place of rest however and a very peaceful location, But on Halloween night, well I just wonder ? ?
For anyone who has been following my blog, they will know I love poetry, well last night I had a go at my own poem for Halloween!
A poem for Halloween
There is nothing in the dark…
Don’t run to the light, Run towards the night.
For ever fearing the Dark .
Don’t turn on a lights, Shining a torch into the blackness.
There is nothing in the Dark, No monsters to fear.
Nothing hiding in the blackness.
No possessions
No ghosts
No evil demons
No open graves
No devils to consume your soul
No vampires
No zombies
No omen of death
No!
Don’t look towards the stars, Fires of the heavens.
Hoping forever to be alive.
Don’t fear the blackness of the woods at night.
There is nothing in the dark,
nothing that is not just asleep in the day
and awake at night.
It is not the dark you should fear,
Fear the light.
In the dark there is rest,
A peace of your mind.
There is nothing in the dark but rest and a lack of light !
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October 31, 2013 | Categories: Comment, Gallery, Kilkenny Landscape images, Landscape, Poetry Gallery, The Celtic year, The Pagan world | Tags: black and white photography, fujifilm X100, Halloween, Irish landscape photography, Irish photography, Kilkenny, Landscape, Nigel Borrington, Tipperary | 10 Comments