The Poet’s Glen is another prose-poem written by John A Brennan, a native of Crossmaglen. He created this lovely piece sitting in the graveyard at Creggan Church which has seen so much history.
The Poet’s Glen
I slept, as a boy in the Poet’s Glen, beneath the red hand and a starlit, south Armagh sky, content and free. The river, flowing with a measure of precise destination, lulled with quiet cascade. Olden, mossed oaks and elms branched wide and reached for the essence of the ever-present Bard. O’Neill, asleep in the churchyard vault, amused, listened to the nocturnal chorus and smiled. I dreamed of McCooey, MacAliondain and the outlaw MacMurphy, together forever, locked in immortal embrace. Still, in quiet unison, they sing the praise of the Lord of the Fews.
In the distance, above the lake, the castle beckoned them all, pleaded their return to home. A young moon bathed the pasture, the trees, the church and river with silvery light and a lone blackbird sang her lament, forlorn, in the cool night air of Creggan vale. In the early light of dawn, a morning stroll along the trail of the poets, past the gardens, past the Church and the Great house, brought to mind, thoughts of heroes past and present.
The graveyard guards its secrets well, with tenacious grasp, for revelation in future time. Yet ever still, the salmon will run and leap over the rocky waterfall under the bridge, bringing the eternal knowledge home once more.
© John A. Brennan 2018. All Rights Reserved.