Seeing into the light , By : Diana van den Berg
The Light through the clouds, Suir river valley , Tipperary
Irish landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Seeing the Morning light
By : Diana van den Berg
Dreaming into the light
swimming
flying
embracing
touching
the spreading awareness
warm light
light
losing self in the light
light
finding the harmony of balance
in namaste and ubuntu
and the messages of the clouds
in the light
light
spreading
amongst tall sunpainted autumn grasses
inhaling the unconscious grace
of a giraffe melting into
the late afternoon gold
of light caressing the shadows
and drawing them
into the light
light light…
Captain of the lighthouse. by : Togara Muzanenhamo
Hook head Lighthouse, county Wexford
Irish landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
CAPTAIN OF THE LIGHTHOUSE
By : Togara Muzanenhamo
The late hour trickles into morning. The cattle low profusely by the anthill
where brother and I climb and call Land’s End. We are watchmen
overlooking a sea of hazel-acacia-green, over torrents of dust whipping about
in whirlwinds and dirt tracks that reach us as firths.
We man our lighthouse – cattle as ships. We throw warning lights whenever
they come too close to our jagged shore. The anthill, the orris-earth
lighthouse, from where we hurl stones like light in every direction.
Tafara stands on its summit speaking in sea-talk, Aye-aye me lad – a ship’s a-
coming! And hurls a rock at the cow sailing in. Her beefy hulk jolts and turns.
Aye, Captain, another ship saved! I cry and furl my fingers into an air-long
telescope – searching for more vessels in the day-night.
Now they low on the anthill, stranded in the dark. Their sonorous cries haunt
through the night. Aye, methinks, me miss my brother, Captain of the
lighthouse, set sail from land’s end into the deepest seventh sea.
Happy Burns Night ! , Robert Burns Cottage and home place.
Robert Burns Birthplace Museum
Photography : Nigel Borrington
Happy Burns night to everyone who would like the celibate the life and works of this great Scottish poet and Artists.
The following images are from a visit I made last year to his birthplace Museum located in the town of Ayr, Alloway, Scotland
Once again Happy Burns night !!!
Birthplace Museum
Robert Burns Birthplace Museum offers a truly unique encounter with Scotland’s favourite son.
The museum comprises the famous Burns Cottage where the poet was born, the historic landmarks where he set his greatest work, the elegant monument and gardens created in his honour and a modern museum housing the world’s most important collection of his life and works.
The images below I feel show the life that this young poet lived and include the small rooms that he grew up in with his brother and sisters ( Analella, Gilbert and Agnes Burn), the display of the bed they shared and their bed clothes, I felt was just brilliant.
My Secret Spot on the Beach, a Poem and images.
Images of an Irish beach
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
My Secret Spot on the Beach
To a few I showed my secret Spot,
To many I reveal it is on The Beach,
In Waterford, still without my help,
none may find, because is called mine,
My hidden Beach Spot
Its open, its free, yet guarded and protected
All can find, all can see, but beyond the vision,
belongs to me, My Secret Spot,
On the Beach, in Waterford…
A friend I call to Show my Paradise,
and share the secret rooted
inside my heart, with all my soul,
My loved Beach spot,
Loved , and so very special to me!
Early in the Spring
County Kilkenny, woodland landscape
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Early in the Spring
By : James Kent
Early in the spring
Not a leaf has struck the ground
The swallow has yet to sing
And the plowmen are no where to be found
Early in the spring
The forest stands still
And no creature dare come out
Before the sun rises o’er the hill
Early in the spring
The valley holds the morning dew
And its serenity may be captured
By only a certain few
.
Early in the spring
The trees turn, brown to green
Many changes occur
But few can be seen
Early in the spring
Or in the latter of fall
No matter the change of season
The evergreen stands tall
The Old Dead Tree, By David Harris
An old dead tree, Kilkenny woodlands
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
The Old Dead Tree
By : David Harris
The old dead tree stood
gnarled weather torn;
its limbs were now brittle.
What stories could it tell
of the centuries it had lived,
the passing lives it had seen,
and the storms it had weathered
when it was young and strong.
When its foliage was green
and gave shelter from the rain.
Now it stands bare and broken,
a sorry sight to be seen.
It must have been beautiful
when it was young
with its canopy of green,
and a nesting place for little birds
among its evergreen.
Now they only used it
as a resting place whenever they pass by.
The old dead tree,
which had seen so much life.
The Unnamed Lake, Poem by : Frederick George Scott (1861-1944)
The Unnamed Lake,Comeragh Mountains,Co.Waterford
Irish Landscape Photography
The Unnamed Lake
By : Frederick George Scott (1861-1944)
IT sleeps among the thousand hills
Where no man ever trod,
And only nature’s music fills
The silences of God.
Great mountains tower above its shore,
Green rushes fringe its brim,
And o’er its breast for evermore
The wanton breezes skim.
Dark clouds that intercept the sun
Go there in Spring to weep,
And there, when Autumn days are done,
White mists lie down to sleep.
Sunrise and sunset crown with gold
The peaks of ageless stone,
Where winds have thundered from of old
And storms have set their throne.
.
No echoes of the world afar
Disturb it night or day,
The sun and shadow, moon and star
Pass and repass for aye.
‘Twas in the grey of early dawn,
When first the lake we spied,
And fragments of a cloud were drawn
Half down the mountain side.
Along the shore a heron flew,
And from a speck on high,
That hovered in the deepening blue,
We heard the fish-hawk’s cry.
Among the cloud-capt solitudes,
No sound the silence broke,
Save when, in whispers down the woods,
The guardian mountains spoke.
.
Through tangled brush and dewy brake,
Returning whence we came,
We passed in silence, and the lake
We left without a name.
Images of a rivers flow, Flow a Poem by : Noel McGinnis
As Rivers flow
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
FLOW
By : Noel McGinnis
Be as water is without friction. Flow around the edges of those
within your path. Surround
within your ever-moving
depths those who come to rest
there – enfold them, while never
for a moment holding on. Accept whatever distance others
are moved, within your flow.
Be with them gently, as far as
they allow your strength to take them, and fill with your own being
the remaining space when they are left behind.
When dropping down life’s rapids, froth and bubble into
fragments if you must,
knowing the one of you-now many
will just as many times be one again. And when
you’ve gone as far as you can go,
quietly await your next beginning.
Forgotten Old Doors
The old red door.
Fujifilm x100
Irish landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Poem : Forgotten Old Doors
Old building on the Street some think it’s beautiful, others, just drab.
Many tread these thresholds, worn like tattered lace.
old address update in a compelling space.
Green’s a fitting color for a door, so is white.
A wisp of green in the morning light.
Kernels of romance in dilapidation, hint at the intent of this creation.
How many souls passed through this door? Closed for good or will there be more?
Memories of work, hope and laughter, dreams and wishes that bathed the rafters.
Evocative of a simpler time.
Speedy technologies permeate mine.
A rusty spigot, red weathered board. How long has this old place been ignored?
Cooler dressed in rust, corrugated tin, small dab of spring vegetation sneaks in.
And at the end of yesterday, memories within.
January Sky. A poem by : Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
Landscape view of south county Kilkenny
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
January Sky
Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
January chill freezes sky –
Early morning silhouette of pines
Are lifeless…
I close the blinds to this pale sky and go to
The east window where the sunrise
Throws kisses to awaken the day,
With promises to make me smile and
Bring the trees to life.
Her promise glows!
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.
Down in the deep water, Image and Poem
Castlecomer lakes and river Dinin, county KIlkenny
Infra-red image
Irish Landscape photography : Nigel Borrington
Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
Sinking forever.
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.
The Storm Crow Calls. By, John W. McEwers
The storm Crow
Landscape Photography, Nigel Borrington
The Storm Crow Calls
By, John W. McEwers
It sounds like rain
big rain
the kind that hurts
if you tip your face back
and catch drops on your tongue, ill advised.
But whether the rain hits hard or you stay inside
it screams thunder, and you must pay
attention enough to hear
the storm crows call,
telling you you aren’t safe
or strong enough
or big enough
or happy enough
but you dont know better
and you believe him when he calls
and the storm crow gets your goat
in his talons.
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
Nigel Borrington 
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