(Note: I delivered this eulogy today for my mother, Mary Louise Brooke, at All-Saints Church, in the University section of Syracuse, N.Y. My mother spent her earliest years a literal stone's throw from the church, where she was baptized.)…Continue
Added by Gerry Regan on November 19, 2019 at 10:00pm — No Comments
The sound of rivers singing
A song I've often heard
It flows through me now
So clear and…Continue
The oratory of St. Colman echoes with hundreds upon hundreds of years worth of worshipful memory.
In a secluded glade of ancient trees nestled against the breast of the Burren, a landscape so surreal and old it seems the surface of a planet in a galaxy far, far away, the ruins of yet another holy structure keep…Continue
Lights of Boston trail away,
wisps on winds born of steely birds
which skim the oceans with shadows stray
and bring with them one thousand words.
Soft chime the bells of sojourn's song,
Through leaves aflame in glorious hue,
Far be it from me to to wonder long
And wander on cosmic cue.
The curtain call of Autumn's end
In her one last elegant bow,'
Gestures on to something…Continue
Added by Nicole Samantha Fishkind on October 24, 2016 at 8:30pm — No Comments
I’ve heard of life imitating art, but the only time I ever saw death imitating it was at Samuel John MacPherson’s wake down in Glut, a tiny village not far from Slievefada…Continue
In Louisiana, they use the phonetically pleasing word lagniappe to denote a little something extra. Typically, a lagniappe is a small gift given with a purchase to a customer, by way of compliment or for good measure as a way of saying thank you. I’ve been so enamored with this word that it’s found its way into my…Continue
This Irish vignette has stayed with me throughout the years, the way poignant moments tend to do. It was only a moment, really, yet even at the time I could have told you of its impact; there was something about sitting in Seamus O’Flaherty’s porch on the coast road in Inverin that made me think I’d truly arrived in…Continue
Her name was Gray, which I found fitting because her eyes were that stormy blue-gray you seldom see, and when the sky was overcast, you had to squint to bring what little blue they had into focus. She had an arresting face and a delicate manner, but she dressed with neither forethought or self-awareness, usually…Continue
The streets of Galway were gray that night. Everywhere I looked, gray buildings, gray sidewalks, gray sky, beneath a mist that floated inward from the Atlantic and hovered ominously, casting contrasting coronas of light upon the sidewalk from the interior lights of the handful of pubs still open in the midnight hour. Our…Continue
After more years than I care to count, Kieran has resurfaced. The last time I saw him, it was raining; it was one of those gray Galway days on New Castle Road, and I’d sleuthed Kieran out, after swearing to Adrian I’d never tell who had told me where I…Continue