During a nostalgic trip to Dublin City, Ireland in June 1971, I found myself in the delightful St. Stephen's Green, a welcome oasis in that bustling, cosmopolitan city. The park is sited not far from the Four Courts building, which sits on the north bank of…

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 red still…

If as an Irishman/Irishwoman you've ever wondered where you got your love of the spoken word, your love of storytelling, your love of long winded conversation, the following…

Thrilled to learn that another one of my books is now listed on the worldwide Library web site…

I've been down in the green valley, the holy place.

'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…

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…

Three of Ireland’s well-loved 18^th 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…

“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…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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…

"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…