Martin Swords

Rookie (9th December Nineteen Fifty / Tiglin, Wicklow, Ireland)

Martin Swords Poems

1. Newenglanding 7/29/2007
2. Sarah's Saturday 2/5/2008
3. The Land Of Longing 8/23/2008
4. Verdun, Return 8/23/2008
5. It's Better With The Good Eye 8/23/2008
6. That Mary Duffy One 8/29/2008
7. Sorry, Too Late 8/31/2008
8. Dorothy Horan's Good Advice 9/24/2008
9. Nora Prays For Peace Surely 9/29/2008
10. The Walking Man 10/3/2008
11. School Daze 10/21/2008
12. Mountain Stream Song 11/11/2008
13. Broad Casting 3/12/2009
14. Listening At Sally Gap 7/2/2009
15. Two Soldiers Passing In One Thought 9/27/2010
16. Wesht 9/27/2010
17. Ritual Remembered 10/13/2010
18. Steppe 7/16/2007
19. The Dark 11/13/2007
20. To Americans, English, And Others 4/4/2010
21. It Was A Good Day 6/23/2007
22. Lonliness 11/27/2008
23. Regret 11/27/2008
24. Empatheia 11/6/2008
25. Some Times 11/6/2008
26. Tableau For Armistice Day 11/11/2008
27. A View At Rheinfall 8/30/2008
28. The Girl With The Sad In Her Eyes 8/31/2008
29. Pangs 8/25/2008
30. New York Valentine 9/11 3/1/2008
31. The Shallowman 6/14/2007
32. House Of Fun 11/27/2007
33. The Valley Of The Two Lakes 7/29/2007
34. One Day In Mind 8/16/2007
35. The Birches At Birkenau 6/14/2007
36. P.S. New York 6/14/2007
37. Significant Children 9/24/2009
38. Hermitage 11/11/2009
39. Half Past Midnight Grafton Street 3/12/2009
40. Far From Athy 5/22/2009
Best Poem of Martin Swords

A Walk In The Woods With Robert Frost

Overcast but warm,
The day dry, unusually.
Walking the woods with the dogs
As many times before.
Lucy and Tig, away in the rough dark deep,
Yipping with the scent of deer, excited.
Ruby, river scrambling, biting
At the bogwater, wagging, from the shoulders back



Along the old familiar track, into
The clearing where the roads diverge.
I stopped and stood. Which way to go?
Think of another Poet, and roads not taken.
Yes, I’ve been here before. This way I came.
That way I saw a squirrel once.
And down that way a badger
Straight on, the ...

Read the full of A Walk In The Woods With Robert Frost

Newenglanding

New England.
White steeples over branches.
White houses made of wood
At home among the trees.
Tall grass and meadows,
Stonewall homes to scampering things.
Sound of cars, grass-cutting people,
Intruding
In quiet calm Connecticut.

[Hata Bildir]