Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Blessed is this sacred isle with sites of great antiquity but beloved the county royal where High Kings ruled with equity Blessed was the land of Fail for its shrines of weeping waters but hallowed are Tara’s halls for love’s buds and Danu’s daughters Manifold are the monuments the bounty of spirits ancestral for Meath…

Many of our myths contain the idea of sacred marriage between the goddess of the land, Maeve, and the mortal temporal king.  Maeve, from the Old Irish name Medb, meaning ‘intoxicating’ was also called Medb, Medhbh, Meadhbh, Meab, Meabh or Maev. She is a different figure from Queen Maeve of the Ulster Cycle.  Maeve, the…

Last year I was listening to a program on the origins of Irish Horse Fairs.  The program said that the first fair was held under the rule of King Ollamh Fodlaat Tara; circa 1200 BC.  This was part of the famous Feis Temrach; the feast of Tara which he inaugurated and which was held for three days before and after the N…

The mythological cycles of our literature tells us that in the Gabhra valley a great battle was fought between Na Fianna and the army of the King of Tara.  Na Fianna were defeated and made their exit from history.  It is written that their chiefs were buried on nearby Rath Lugh; the Rath of the Gabhra after the battle.…

His mandolin lies silent now In his tent on Tara Hill But Robert holds his head up high In his cell in Cloverhill. The summer rain falls heavy now At the camp site on Rath Lugh And Dan Malone is not about To play his didgeridoo. A crowd stands at a vacant spot And asks “Where’s JP Fay And why’s his info trailer Now bei…

The locals now are sickened And all gather now to view, The devastation wreaked upon Their sacred fort Rath Lugh. It’s ground disturbed and trees cut down, They dug up its stones and sods. And local superstition says They evoked the wrath of the Gods. A new motorway is badly needed, But this is not the way, To cross bu…

So we all love Tara But she’ll never be the same Because they destroyed her Valley And they did it in our name. Where are now the Fianna graves? They have destroyed them all. Bertie hang your head in shame And all ye in Fianna Fail. Our Vigil tried to save them And the Woodhenge and Rath Lugh, But our enemy were many A…

In a rage she stood there. She had red fiery hair. And a cloak of emerald green. With an icy cold glare. And a bewildering stare. Thus spoke Tara Hill’s. Ancient Queen.   ‘You will soon rue the day. And for it you’ll pay. You violated my sacred mound. So what could be worse. Than a Royal black curse.’ Then she knelt on…