Travel

A Prayer for Belfast

Poetry, Ponderings, Travel

because this is the night the bonfires are lit,
three stories tall.
And sometimes bombs go off.
Pipe bombs, parades, and peace, mostly.
We hope.

The Troubles are over in Northern Ireland, but this week tends to be a bit troublesome. Troubled. The Twelfth.

A holiday for some. On holiday are others. The history runs deep. And the hurt.

I wrote this last summer in the shadow of the wall, where my heart wept:

One wall
Two stories
Two countries
One wall
Two memories
Two passions
Too tall
Two enclaves
Two hard hearts
One wall
Too much pain
Too much to change
How does one navigate a wall?
Two murals
Two memorials
One wall
Too many dead
Too much blood shed
For what?
A wall that holds the peace
but holds them back,
That breeds a lie
and fears attack.
The roads split because to walk from here to there
is to cross a wall that must not be crossed.
Because they live there
and we live here.
That’s just how it is
in the shadow of fear.
And you never talk to those people so near
because they have their banner
and you have yours.
In city center you might meet,
but at home you lock the doors
and mark your street,
and retreat behind the wall
because that’s just how it’s done.
As kids we grew up with our heroes
and our flags
And we threw stones, it was fun.
So now we have a wall.
It’s safer.
That’s just how it’s done.


Shankill Road

The Castle Remembers

Poetry, Travel

Proud stands Classiebawn on Mullaghmore head,
An elegant watchtower, guarding the flocks and herds
From the crashing Atlantic below.
The pastureland kisses her foundation stones.
The cows graze on, unimpressed by her graceful strength.
Alone she sits on the hill with her cows,
Lone but for a single cottage.
The grass has long since thatched over the village that stood,
But the castle remembers…

When the village asleep
Was a secret to none,
When it shrugged off the rain
And laughed in the sun
That now makes the grass grow
To feed the sheep
Who never knew
There was a secret to keep.

But the castle knows.
The castle remembers…

The hands of the people
Who made her tall
And lived by her side
In their own castles, small,
Where the women reigned
While the men were at work
Until the day Classiebawn
Had no more need
Of the ones who built her up so fine.

And they trudged their ways
To who knows where,
Leaving cliff and beach
And windswept air
And no trace
Of the village called Mullachgearr.

But the castle remembers.
The castle remembers.

The Accordion Woman

Poetry, Travel

Glasgow is crying.
I watch the accordion woman
fold up her instrument,
scrape up a few coins,
and pull close her proud little jacket–
tidy and beige.
Glasgow is crying.
She marches up the street
feeling the years in her limbs.
I watch the scarf,
tidy and black
and bent into the rain,
plodding home–
to a snug little flat, I hope–
tidy and warm.

She has a cat, I decide–
beige.
He purrs like an accordion.
Maybe I’ll ask her, tomorrow,
if she has a cat.

Exploring Blue Country

Love Like Steel, Travel

Love likes people who seek because Love likes to hide precious things for the curious.

(from Love Like Steel)

Blue Bell, bluebonnets, blue that sparkles on the water. A happy kind of blue. Blue sky on the inside. The blue of kindness spilling over brimful eyes.

I set out on a mission, but open to adventure.

I found things I wasn’t looking for, I looked for things I didn’t find. I drank it all in, that glorious spring day, but I didn’t taste the Blue Bell.* Call me crazy, here’s my favorite ice cream recipe: yogurt + frozen mango + frozen strawberry + blender. It gets worse. Or, better? One time I made this and called it sorbet.

I didn’t need Blue Bell to make it a good day, a sweet day, exploring blue country. Besides, I was on a mission. A mission of words and books, questions and discovery.

I wrote a few words, took a few pictures. Here’s a look through the lens.

Yes, that building has no roof. No, I wasn’t intending to take photos on this excursion. Guess what happened? Lots of marveling and lots of pictures.

Buying used books was part of the plan. I did. No surprise there. 🙂

Shakespeare.

Lately, good words have been known to make me cry.

Claudio knows the feeling.

Your overkindness doth wring tears from me.

(from Much Ado About Nothing)

On the way home I passed a Dairy Queen where some friends and I once held a strange and wonderful meeting. Ice cream was consumed. Laughter was shared. Plans were made. Bonds were forged. A game was afoot.

Maybe it inspired something in me. Maybe tag isn’t just for kids. Maybe adults like hide and seek. Maybe everyone likes a good treasure hunt. Maybe it’s the child in the soul. Maybe we should wonder more.

Speaking of hiding and seeking…Elizabeth Barrett Browning penned some words for the curious.

Here’s to exploring,

Lia

*They might revoke my Texan card for the Blue Bell transgression, but I’m not sure I’ve even earned one yet. 🙂