citizen

Eaton Socon St.Mary`s Church

2010-09-01T06:41:00.000-07:00

Out Side The Old Church

2010-09-01T06:39:00.000-07:00

Inside The Old Church

2010-09-01T06:37:00.000-07:00

After The Fire

2010-09-01T06:34:00.000-07:00

Tapestry

2010-09-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

Saved Window

2010-09-01T06:22:00.000-07:00

Reflections Of ...........

2010-02-09T10:46:00.000-08:00

Butterfly’s Blessing

2009-12-14T10:31:00.000-08:00

Butterfly’s Blessing

May your wings feel the warmth of the sun
as your life’s now begun
Let your hart be light as breeze
The breeze that carries you so high with ease
Never stop your tireless voyage
And you will have forever courage

Cromer Sunrise

2009-11-01T01:06:00.000-07:00

Konik Ponys Wicken Fen

2009-07-09T10:56:00.000-07:00

2009-01-09T23:26:00.001-08:00

Today

2009-01-09T10:58:00.000-08:00

Today

Today a beautiful day
lets sit by the steam and play
I can make you a boat if you make me a hat
well be pirates, what do you think of that?

Sunsets on our warm warm day,
clouds chased away the blues.
Sweetly smells the newly mown hay
while the humming birds drink in the dew.

I see him standing at the stream where we used to play
now he takes my hand so gently
and leads me to a stump
We sit and enjoy the calm of the night and dream of what’s to come.

In our old age we wander to this stream remembering its magic
we listen as it speaks to us
come play again it seems to say for too soon the time will end.
Remember what we used to play and I was your best friend.

As children we played on the banks
we had hours of fun
we fished and hunted for the carps

and caught the crawdads small

eternal life does call
as now my hand you take
I see the gate opening for us
this new path we will make.

April Jamaleddine

2009-01-01T01:57:00.000-08:00

Flashman Society

Walk With Me

2008-12-28T04:44:00.000-08:00

Walk with me

Walk with me across the page
As we go forward through the age
Your space seems vast between the lines
I hope it brings us happy times

Oh my diary come with me
As the future we will see
I will try to confess all
But afraid that I may stall

Please dear diary stay with me
Convince me to show you what I see
If I don’t show you what’s in my heart
If I shut the page and keep you dark

You must rebel and make me write
Good and bad, and all my plight
Together we, will walk tall
Come my diary, lets conquer all

ian trenor

Christmas Dinner

2008-12-27T07:23:00.000-08:00

poppy

2008-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

2008-12-22T11:50:00.000-08:00

This is a special poem written ( not by me )

about a very special man………

Thomas Traynor

It was early, early on a Monday morn`
As the birds all sang in the fresh of dawn,
On a Monday morning on the gallows high.
Brave Thomas Traynor was led to die.

Led forth to die in his manhood prime,
No flag did flutter, no bell did chime,
But the rosary spoken, came sweet and clear
From the people all gathered round the jail gate near.

Let my loving wife neither weep or sigh,
For Ireland’s sake I am proud to die,
I am proud to die. Though my children dear
A fathers voice never more shall hear.

Fight not for vengeance when I am dead,
Nor from duties path let your minds be led,
But fight for freedom, for the cause I die,
And place your trust in the great God on high.

Like music soft on the morning air
The peoples voice risesin murmured prayer,
The bolt is drawn, tight the fatal cord,
Thomas Traynor`s soul is now safe with God.

The sacrifice for his land made,
In the prison grounds is his body laid
With the sainted martyrs of liberty
Who died that old Ireland night soon be free.

2008-12-21T03:05:00.000-08:00

A television item presented by John Keenan inspired this poem,
He was a former Beirut hostage. It tells the true and tragic story of a group of
Native Irishmen who were facing starvation during the Potato famine of
The 1840s.

BLOWINGS

Derelict church which once was busy,
Where babies were baptised and people died,
And people sang, despite their sorrow
Because they knew not they would eat tomorrow.

But this is not today in war struck desperation,
Although don’t they need us still?
This is far nearer home
The only distance is time.

People came from all around to Louisburgh,
Just another Ireland town.
But no relief was given them
Despite there need against the Tatty rot.

Go that way they were told,
11 miles along the snow track
To Delphi Lodge,
To seek assistance from the great commissioners.

So they set off along the famine road,
They knew they would not all arrive.
Their only company was the babbling brook
And the bird that always sees all.

Along by Croagh Patrick, a pilgrim mountain
Where now the potato ridges, like the ribs
Of a dinosaur, lay still against the ground,
A failed field with a failed folk.

At the foot of this holy mountain
Is the Black Lake, this was the resting-place for many who tried the walk.
But were these the lucky ones, and were they happy to die
To at last be free from hurt and pain.

At Delphi Lodge rich and grand,
Where now the fat salmon swims,
They hammered hard upon the door-
This upset the folk within.

Help us; Help us, they shouted to the commissioners within,
Whothem selves were tired after having roast with all the trim,
Go way they were told in no uncertain terms
Go back where you came from, and we won’t tell you again.

But there is nowhere for us, they said, there is nowhere to go
Will you not just do what we ask, and sign the chit below?
It’s just to say what you must know; you can see it in our face
We're just poor paupers and need to be thus placed.

But all their cry’s for help they made, fell upon deaf ears.
So some did go and some did stay,
And were found where they fell,
Next day.

When the royal commissioners left for Louisburgh
The next day, when all was bright and well,
They had to pick their way along the road
Between the rot and hell.

The tragedy of Doolough ended here, where the ground was frozen hard,
They had to dig upon the beach to put the people where they now belong.
When their toils were over and the burying was done,
The mass famine grave that they had made was higher than the sun.

All that glisten now upon that beach so stark,
Is the white and fear-full sight that’s left of bones.
The only sound that dares to speak, is the skylark on high
And tells us of our wrong.

As for tombstones none were raised, it just could not be done
But what there is, is a yellow flower
Shinning bright
A little candle of memory.

And yes, there were survivors, who fled to distant lands.
But when they conveyed there miserable tail
To the savages they found,
These Indians could not bear to here, and just would not believe.

How a nation could forget it’s own and let it’s starving die,
This Chocor tribe sold all they had, and sent back all they could.
One hundred and seventy dollars they sent to help the needy poor.

How much more was this in compassion, help, indeed
Than all the poor law guardians that could not rise from their dinning table,
And sign the chitty declaring the Irish poor.

Oh what irony it must be
When savages have got
More sympathy,Than the civilised with their Christianity.

Ian Trenor