Fields Of Stone

Fields of stone, 
oh fields of stone, 
the grass like cattle 
strives for its existence, 
apon the fields of stone. 

Apon the moss, 
a donkey 
and a cow, 
maybe even a few sheep, 
apon the moss 
apon the fields of stone. 

Apon these 
lives man, 
apon the heard 
apon the moss 
apon the fields of stone. 

This game man plays 
to etch his existence, 
apon the fields of stone, 
brings forth beauty 
in an awful way. 

They hammer the stones 
and push them down, 
and rip them up 
and make homes, 
in this battle of time 
the stones will surely win, 
for beneath the fields of stone 
lies fields of stone 
apon fields of stone. 

..... t'is a truely silent place 
with hardly enough worms 
to eat the dead, 
nevermind support the living. 

No wonder they left in droves 
and won't come home, 
the land forgives them 
and carries on, 
building fields of stone, 
for one day 
they'll all have to come home. 

To leave the land, 
no matter how hard, 
is to admit defeat. 
Our forefathers knew this, 
our sons know nothing, 
and the fields of stone 
continue ... building fields of stone. 

And to those who continue, 
in snow white shirts, 
placing sacks, 
apon the cocks of hay 
apon the moss 
apon the stones, 
you's have my blessing, 
for you's are our only hope, 

like sheep, 
we bolted from the land, 
and now, 
lacking a masters hand, 
we will surely perish 
apon the fields of stone. 

..... this land, 
the hand of God 
we left. 
Come home, 
oh come home. 
Return to the land, 
which was once our home, 
and work apon, 
the fields of stone. 

Connemara National Park 

By Kylemore abbey, 
I chanced a stop, 
at Connemara National Park, 
in a building I found 
epitaphs to the past, 
what I really saw, 
was the future upsidedown. 

Those who till and toil the soil 
will survive, 
those who sew deceipt 
will reap a rich and full harvest, 
beyond even their imaginations. 
 

I Am The Stone 

Claddagh has something 
which nowhere else holds, 
you can feel it in the mountain, 
you can smell it in the sea, 
you can see it 
in an old man's eyes, 
you can taste it in a soaring seagull, 
you can touch it 
with your heart, 
that something 
..... is me. 

For I am 
the fields of stone. 

As a wayward son 
can't look apon his father 
apon his dying bed, 
neither can yee look  
apon the fields of stone, 
and not remember 
what you's did. 
Look into my eyes 
and I will show you's 
what you's are. 

Claddagh  

I have seen the fields of gold ... 
and I chose Claddagh. 
I have felt the forces 
of the beginning ... 
and I chose Claddagh. 
I have witnessed all creation, 
from the end to the beginning ... 
and I chose Claddagh. 
I have seen it all, 
and I have watched it all, 
and I have chosen Claddagh. 

In witness; 
the fields of stone. 

Joyce's 

In Joyce's 
when they pull a pint, 
they fill the glass 
then let it settle, 
once topped, 
they serve it. 
The swirling in the glass 
reminds me of my childhood. 

No rules here, 
just common sense, 
the common sense 
that makes a man, 
swirl apon the sea, 
to feed his family. 

And I will live here, 
and grow old, 
and sup beer, 
till I am full, 
and stumble home 
up the hill. 

In Joyce's, 
the only pub I know 
with a welcome sign 
over the door, 
as you go out. 

Dear Mr. Cromwell 

"To hell or to Connought" ... 
I chose Claddagh, 
and to Cromwell 
and his friends, 
and to those who bent, 
I leave you this, 
your hell 
you thought so highly of. 

Achill Island Revisited 

The roar of Achill, 
the howlin' screechin' wind, 
the sea, 
the sand 
dancin' 'cross the level field, 
sweeping itself 
high up into the mountains, 
to there rest, 
the taste of crunching sand 
in my mouth, 
I am one with the land 
once more, 
apon my return to the shore. 

The Roar 

When I turn to the sea, 
she roars, 
when I turn my back, 
she whispers gently 
in my ear. 
I'm in love with the sea, 
and she knows it, 
she screams at me 
and I stand strong, 
I go limp, 
and louder she roars, 
my love affair 
is more akin to a battle. 
I surrender, 
I surrender unto thee. 

Achill is most beautiful 
when she roars, 
and sends the clouds descending 
apon me. 
I surrender, 
I surrender unto thee. 

..... In Achill, 
I am the wind. 
 

On Leaving Achill 

I watch the timeless veils of mist 
gently creep across the bog, 
and wrap themselves 
ever so gently, 
lovingly, 
'round the dotted cottages and farms. 
Across the Sound, 
the seaweed waits for her return, 

..... the charm of one alone.