In an old peat bog at Ummericam, sits the cruel headcutter's stone,
stained with the blood and fused with the ghosts, of men who are now long gone.
In the gorse and the furze their cries could be heard, when Johnston was out on the roam
their fates soon sealed with the headhunters wield, and where…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on November 5, 2020 at 11:00am — No Comments
In July 1690 the last battle fought on Irish soil between two kings played out in the hills and valleys of the Boyne river valley in County Meath, Ireland. The battle was fought between the deposed king James II who was the last Roman Catholic monarch of England, and William III (William of Orange) the reigning…Continue
In the Realm of Spirit: Psalms from a Mountain
John A. Brennan
Escribe Publishing Inc.
ISBN: 9781722290641 Price: $14.95
The man sitting in the back row of the meeting room had an uncommon brogue, not the Galway or Clare…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on July 22, 2018 at 9:30pm — No Comments
'Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in the old mans’ hat.
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will…Continue
And there are among them composers of verses whom they call Bards; these singing to instruments similar to a lyre, applaud some, while they vituperate others. -- Diodorus Siculus, 8 BCE
All poets have the uncanny ability to tap into the realm of spirit. It is a gift…Continue
Within the written she resides
in quiet assurance of her place.
Lithe and languid, with regal mien,
she glides from the page bearing gifts.
The mantle, flowing through the ages,
envelops her in verity profound.
Gently musing all the while,
in soft tones of…Continue
Three of Ireland’s well-loved 18th century Gaelic poets lie at rest in the graveyard of Creggan Church, near to my hometown of Crossmaglen, County Armagh. The poets, Filid Art Mc Cooey, Padraig MacAliondain and the rapparee poet Seamus mor MacMurphy sleep under the oaks and elms in the company…Continue
“Have you ever been to Mars?” I was asked one morning at 2am as I made my way up east 81st. street in Manhattan. I was returning home from a night out at Manny’s Car Wash, a favorite blues bar on 2nd avenue. I stopped and heard it again, louder this time, “Have you ever been to Mars?” Looking around I couldn’t see anyone and…Continue
Geneticists at Trinity College, Dublin have recently discovered that the Irish gene pool is the least diluted in all of Europe if not indeed, the world. They have also discovered that the Irish traveling people (tinkers) are purely…Continue
Oh! to return to that time, place and space of yesterday's papers. Back when I was young, undaunted and sure of nothing, stronger than an oak, spellbound in innocence. Back when being seventeen was wide-eyed and ‘rarin to go, driven by the magical, heady arrogance of youth. Back to that time of transitional transmissions when the curtain was torn down, rent…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on September 12, 2014 at 10:00am — No Comments
He glides across the smooth lakes’ surface,
but she is nowhere in sight.
Stately he moves on ever through the night.
A moonbeam beckons to a hidden place,
where once they did dwell.
Fasted now! Maybe she lays there
and love again might they share.
But no earthly sign now, only pain.
Mute and no sound…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on August 14, 2014 at 9:00am — No Comments
Atop the mystical hill of Tara stands the stone of Fal, one of four treasures brought to Ireland by the Tuatha de Dannan. It is otherwise known as the ‘stone of destiny.’ There, through the ages, all ard ri (high kings) were crowned. Marriage ceremonies took place there also. These rites were always blessed by the Druid, the holy man of the Celtic peoples. The Brehons, the…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on August 9, 2014 at 11:00am — No Comments
My writing has always been deeply influenced by the Irish writers whose inspiration prompted me to pick up the quill and follow in their footsteps. This is my humble tribute to William Butler Yeats ...
I went down to the cool, dark woods,
when night owls were on the wing.
On earthly ghosts and raging floods
embraced my lonely…
Added by John Anthony Brennan on August 7, 2014 at 2:30pm — No Comments
The one where the river flows ever onward to its birthplace, carrying the tortured history, winding slow with measured precision, to cast upon the ocean. Down where the sacred hills, those silent sentinels to the glorious but tragic past, keep watch in painful solitude. Down where the spirits keen and await each dawn…Continue
"A writer is not interested in explaining reality. He’s only interested in capturing it.” ~ Brendan Kennelly.
Inside my father's bones lie a million secrets.
Secrets passed down the long chain from…Continue