tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. Yes, the ol' owl cry. Certain american indian tribes, and I think mainly the Sioux view that if ye hear an owl crying out on a branch outside your window, that soon a loved one will die in your house. As for your poet, I was driving along a freeway in northern California one morning and spotted a very large dead owl on the roadside. It looked fresh and so I pulled over and got out and walked over and picked it up by a wing. This owl was again, very large. I found it heavy as I raised it up to one side - over my head to look at it in it's pure beauty. This was nature's pure offspring and it delighted me. So, I thought for a moment and decided to open my trunk and set it inside. I drove back to my small cottage there and took it out of the trunk and into a small shed I had. I cut off it's wings and tied them both up by thin plastic lines with a fish hook on the end. I then hung them up inside the shed to dry and age. Kept them for several years. Felt safe. Figured no owls would be crying outside my windows at night.

A postscript to this is simply that no owls did ever cry outside my windows during the period I stayed in that cottage rental. But, hey Tul, I did soon thereafter end up making friends with a Sioux family nearby there. The male was at least 7 foot tall. He was lame in one leg. I named him, " Big Bear" which he liked. He, in turn, and based on my north american indigenous peoples poetry - which he had occasion to read during visits with me, nicknamed me, " Tommy Crying Owl ". He gave me an indian name. I keep this and memories of our friendship always near and in heart. "Tommy Crying Owl ". What a moniker, eh?

Anyway, Tul, again, You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. I get your meaning of spooky. I grasp the same, darlin'.

Tul, you're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. I never tire of your interpretations nor shall I ever tire of your fervor. I thank ye for seeing me as a satyr. I shall chase after You now.

You're so very pure and kind, Tulip.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. Please continue to light fires for me and one day, who knows, we may sit against it's warmth and glow t'gether. This would be great. We could share sonnets, braver concepts in poetry, your works and mine. We can do - anything, tulip!

You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. I first came up with unwismadic in thought. It just popped into mind as a unique word. I consequently Googled it and found there is such a word however unique and hard to find in literature. So, I was off. I used this as a means to promote uniqueness.

You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. for the donkey. I'd be so very proud to have it as my new friend here.

Thank ye, You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. I get the correlation. You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

Ladywind7,

Thank ye Darlin'. If ye don't mind a quiet moment with ye here, please let me say I really do enjoy your work. I like your style in here, Ladywind.

Be well, and, thank ye very much,

tommy boy moran / Ireland

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Soft Latitudes

Soft latitudes. Vast shifting distances surround us, out there beyond construction of faith, left to the gods,
Made to hold singular our grand spiritual bodies inside the barren, shifting emptiness of unholy promise,

And we become like the satyr languishing, wounded, singing in our own depths, down, down, down deep,
From inside the dark ancient wells which bore us forth, up to a surface echoing our hidden new beginnings,

And here there can be no palace this empty, no grand hallway this cold, forbidding, no true place to rest,
As we crawl in reaching toward your ancient form - touching infinity - without the promise of your giving,

And so we glide like soft petals falling, drifting down into your free rein, like winds finding meaning in the
Mizzen of a square-rigged sailing ship, adrift across your deck finding our rest inside your soft latitudes.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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Carpe ( . . . and those meanings thereof, )

In the truest meaning of the words, 'carpe diem' I arrive here and in fashionable order - cloaked in the cold
Overreaching threads of my melancholy, seize the day,

Melancholy, my oldest friend, ye steal me away into dark caves where solemness owns my hand and -
The greater need to seize and to write possess, clutching me tightly here where the raven in the birth of it's,
Sanguine flight buoyantly lifts itself up on wing - and raves,

Raise the bridge, lock the gates, this castle shall not be breached! And here gather ye with me in shadow,
Here where ancient bells toll and the hot, burning fires of freedom await.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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I Wish Only

I wish only to prevail across the cool lanes and avenues of this mystic, unwismadic, theatrics based world,
Adroit, leaning ever inward, I aspire to lock into dreams found in the sweeping matters of this, my inner being,
Where waterfalls plummet on eroded rocks found etched and signatured at its base below, it's cadences swirled,
And where above my holy soul, rainbows form in the ancient distant skies pleasing me by all that I am seeing,


Cool prudence, sensitive selfishness, these awkward instances continue to attack my perceptions of life and man,
In the holy mother, that ghost-essence of my living, that worldly place, this pureness of the depth of my inner self,
All now held true in the hinter world of what little I've given of those sleepy realms, those dreams in my life's span,
Meant to bring to others this gift of the unworldly, that sanctuary formed in sacred silence, those whispers upon my shelf.


Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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Shel,

Thank ye for your kind words. I appreciate them.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

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Please note the below graphics have just been completed. They represent in good faith those recent pieces to which graphics were not originally applied.

Be well, all, and thank ye for visiting this thread. Your eyes and your minds are very much appreciated.

Thom Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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�tudes In Darkness ( Refrains in Black )



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In Times of Man's Innocency



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We Align Ourselves



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Somber Moments



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I Drove in Silence



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Grand, Dread.

Ladywind7,

Wow, that's just cute and funny! I like this piece's flow and ebb. Grand satirical, Ladywind.

tommy boy / Ireland

Pansytilly,

Your so very welcome. Thank ye for dropping by and staying briefly with Bridget and I. It was nice having ye here. I enjoyed your stay.

Thank ye, Pansytilly,

tommy boy moran / Ireland

Ladywind7,

Thanks for enquiring. No, I missed her since I was born and raised in the US and she never left Ireland. But I'm here now to look after her.

Thanks, Ladywind7,

tommy boy moran / Ireland

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Monday, August 10th, 2015 - 10 AM,
Border Counties, County Leitrim, Ireland.

On This Day I Visited My Grandmother,

On this day I visited my grandmother. All went well. Brought along me trusted smaller notepad and pen in case anything worthy popped into mind at any one point. I found that when I arrived in her general area, the nearby villages, she began to touch me inside. Feeling her presence I began receiving subtle thoughts and some light visual pictures in my mind. I kept driving and at one point stopped, pulling over along a green narrow one lane roadside. I wrote down what came over me and am currently working on this as we speak. I shall post this soon.

As I stood with me grandmam at her green resting side, I put my arms around her grave stone and we talked - quietly in our silence. I spoke and she answered in the winds which swept passed us. It was a very nice feeling. I know how she speaks to me. The winds and gusts rise as I stand, or sit awaiting a reply. She is gently weeping. I feel this. And I noticed that as I left her side I was feeling real pangs of sadness for her.

Next, I drove in my truck to our nearby Catholic church in the small village, or townland of Gowel - nearest Drumgowla, and went inside to pray for her and her husband and son buried back there with her. She, Bridget, originally married Bartholomew Moran in this very church back in the mid to late 1800's. They both now rest in this cemetery along with one of their son's, Michael Joe. Inside one of the church walls there is attached a large bronze plaque in which the names of past church contributors can be found etched. Our Moran's are noted there on the bottom. We've contributed a finely constructed wooden alter for the priests services. I admire it each time I visit with me grandmam and drop into the church for prayer. I also light several candles and say me prayers for those closest, dutifully.

The drive back went well. I did notice a feeling of emptiness for me grandmam in both my heart and soul. A real sadness. But as I've been telling Bridget, I'm currently saving as much as I can in order to purchase a small cottage up in her area. Something with a small piece of land attached for a couple of sheep, one or two goats and a donkey. A place nearby where she rests so that I can be close enough to here to visit with her every day.

So that's the story now. Be well all,

Thom Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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Thank ye, Shel.

tommy boy moran / Ireland