Bogland Poem by Noreen Carden

Bogland

Rating: 4.7


Barefoot on brown bog.
Red brown water squelches through my toes.

Smell of pink heather on the wind.
A lark fills his world with song.

My father white shirt rolled above his elbows
Sweat bubbles on his skin.

The sods make a sucking sound
as he cuts them from their boggy bed.

He lays them out side by side
like the fallen dead.

Then sweet smoky tea
thick cuts of brown bread.

Boiled eggs from a saucepan blackened
on the fires of a generation of bog trips

Nothing will ever taste so sweet
as those last few drops of homemade lemonade
licked from my lips.

Monday, November 10, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: memories
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jak Black 10 November 2014

The way things used to be. This is a lovely little narrative Noreen. Don't suppose there's a lot of turves being used these days. Home made brown bread and free range eggs no doubt, can't beat it. An enjoyable read.

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Khairul Ahsan 01 May 2020

The poem is descriptive and evocative. Loved reading it.

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Margaret O Driscoll 17 July 2015

Lovely poem, enjoyed reading it, so descriptive!

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Daniel Brick 03 January 2015

My paternal grandmother who came from Ireland as a child used to bake that brown bread and I could taste in my mind while reading your poem. That's a memory that goes back 60 years! This a gem of a vignette, Not a wasted word. And no interpretation imposed. You just let the event, thoroughly dscribed, speak for itself. Because as Wallace Stevens put it, BEING THERE TOGETHER IS ENOUGH. And that includes us readers you invited along.

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Mary Forrester 18 November 2014

Such a lovely poem Noreen, indeed it brought back many happy memories.

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Hazel Durham 10 November 2014

So beautiful and evocative Noreen with vivid imagery of memories of a time long gone, but still ingrained in your memory capturing moments of everlasting joy!

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