Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
Poet, and Musician from Dublin Ireland: born 1968, graduated UCD 1989, postgrad COCR 1990: worked in Advertising, Publishing and finally the family music business. Sings/composes Irish traditional Music, plays cello, mandolin, bodhrán: Editor/founding Editor of the Pagan Poetry Pages www.paganpoetrypages.com: the pagan poetry movement explores our humanity through our relationship with nature and this physical reality.
Blog: http: //www.geraldinemoorkensbyrne.com
Published in Anthologies, magazines and ezines: full list available more »
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Geraldine Moorkens Byrne Poems
If I should die tonight and my bones laid in the earth would my voice not be the wind and the sun my smile?
The Madness of The Woman
You see black I see a spectrum of invisability the myriad shades of the dark rainbow like the spread of raven's wing
Death of the Hero
One note rising on the wind: piper play, the lament is called for: lower him down and softly keen Cu Chulainn's going to his rest.
The Commitee for the Formation of Pagan ...
The scene: a darkened amphitheatre, the centre stage bare but for the lone poet, the spotlight his at last. He raises soulful eyes to heaven and quoth he
Green Party On
I walked Tara as a child on ramparts ancient paused, while parents stared at vistas far beyond our youthful minds.
In Nomine Patre who art encountered in the skies on clouds with harps
Pooka In the Summer Sun
A pooka grazes peacefully where the river meets the sea In the ruins of a castle,
Across the last plains under leaden skies, the ground peat-brown beneath; Turf cutters pausing to point
The wild west for us was never the stone walls and fragments of land between them the ragged, wild, bog-spawned
Secrets of the Dead
When I couldn't bear it anymore the nurse pointed to the glass door and said: the grounds are lovely
On a Midsummer's Day
Pale Dawn Blushes As a raven flies a black speck against the morning skies
January is Freezing
Cold light seeped in, through misted frames Casting a golden glow over smoke rising from the cigarette in my hand and hanging over the grill; tobacco and bacon and fried eggs.
Do not awaken slumbering beasts; They are guarding secrets
Cliona by the Shore
I let myself in with the key of the kings and wrapped red ribbons around my poor head.
Comments about Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
If I should die tonight
and my bones laid in the earth
would my voice not be the wind
and the sun my smile?
I am the blood in your veins;
all the lives I have lived
have been, in this way,
transmuted to new life
flowing from your heart to mine.
I am the beat of the Bodhrán
and the touch of the line on water
I am the thought unbidden
the instinct that springs -
If you listen not to me,
then you ignore yourself,
and silence your own voice.
I am the string plucked,
the note quivering
the dream sung by voices
you remember ...