Previously I had submitted the Poem "The Ghost of the Galway City Museum"

The following is a companion poem     "The Ghost of the Waterford County Museum" 

THE GHOST OF THE WATERFORD COUNTY MUSEUM

IT’S BEEN MANY YEARS SINCE I BROUGHT  BACK WITH ME

THE GHOST OF A MAN WHO HAD YEARNED TO BE FREE

WHO HAD LEFT THIS DEAR LAND THAT HE HAD LOVED FROM HIS BIRTH

AND TRAVELLED, AT THAT TIME… TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH

 

WHY I’M SELECTED, OR IS IT ELECTED? TO FERRY SPIRITS BACK HERE

I HAVEN’T A CLUE; MAYBE YOU DO…THOUGH I KNOW I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR

RORY*, RESIDES BY THE QUAY, NEAR GALWAY BAY IN THEIR CITY MUSEUM

I’VE WRITTEN BEFORE, AND MUST SAY IT ONCE MORE, YOU MAY NEVER EVER SEE HIM

 

ISN’T IT GRAND THAT IN THIS LAND OF THE LEPRECHAUN AND THE FAIRY

THAT SPIRITS LIKE THESE ARE ACCEPTED WITH EASE, THOUGH SOME MAY BE A BIT SCARY

IT’S HARD TO PERCEIVE NEVER MIND TO BELIEVE…BUT I’M BEGINNING TO FIND

THOUGH I KNOW THEY’RE NOT REAL LIKE SOMETHING YOU CAN FEEL, THEY HAVE FOUND A PLACE IN MY MIND

 

SO I AWAKE THIS ONE NIGHT WITH A BIT OF A FRIGHT, STILL GROGGY AND TIRED FROM TRAVEL

IT WAS THERE IN MY ROOM, OBSCURED BY THE GLOOM…IS MY MIND BEGINNING TO UNRAVEL?

AND IN THIS CONDITION, I SEE THIS APPARITION, A FACE OF SINGULAR BEAUTY I SEE

HAIR SILVERY GOLD, FACE ANGEL MOLD, EYES BURNING INTO ME

 

IT WHIRLED AROUND, STILL STANDING ITS GROUND, HAIR FLYING ABOUT

IT’S ALL I CAN DO AS THIS VISION I VIEW…NOT TO GIVE OUT A SHOUT

THEN IT WHISPERS “MY NAME’S NANEBONE** AND AS WE’RE HERE ALL ALONE PLEASE LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY

“RORY CALLED OUT TO ME, TO WEST TENNESSEE, AND HERE IS WHERE I NOW MUST STAY”

 

I NOW FEEL THAT I MUST, TENDER MY TRUST TO THIS VERY DESPERATE BEING

EVEN THOUGH I MAY BE DREAMING OR IS IT’S MY BRAIN WILDLY SCHEMEING, CAN I BELIEVE WHAT I’M SEEING?

NANEBONE WANTS TO STAY, CLOSE TO THE QUAY, THE WATERFORD COUNTY MUSEUM IS WHERE SHE MUST NOW RESIDE

RORY THEN, SHE CAN SEE ONCE AGAIN, AND HE CAN BE FAIRLY CLOSE TO HIS LONG LOST LOVELY BRIDE

 

THIS MUSEUM IS A TREASURE, A WEALTH WITHOUT MEASURE, HOUSING INVALUABLE TREADS OF THE PAST

PRESERVING ITEMS ANTIQUE, MANY UNIQUE THAT OTHERWISE WOULD NOT LAST

THE PEOPLE THAT ARE THERE ARE THOSE THAT DO CARE FOR THE HISTORY THAT’S GONE ON BEFORE

IN PAPER OR STONE, MAYBE EVEN A HUNK OF BONE, IN REALITY…THERE’S SO VERY MUCH MORE

 

AND SO FOR ALL TIME, THEY’LL BE MET HERE IN RHYME, BOTHERING NO ONE AT ALL

THOUGH ONCE IN A WHILE YOU MAY SOMEONE SMILE TO HER PLAINTIVE  '‘INDIAN LOVE CALL’

THAT WILL BE NANEBONE, NOW NOT ALL ALONE IN A PLACE SHE CAN NOW CALL HOME

THEN RORY AND SHE CAN AND WILL BE FREE, FOREVER TO RAMBLE AND ROAM

 

© 2005 K J DALTON CONNECTICUT USA

Views: 353

Tags: Poetry

Comment by brendan woods on March 23, 2014 at 7:06pm

By J P McMenamin poets corner Radio Ulster


REQUIEM FOR A NAVVY 
I left my home in 63 
And sailed across the Irish Sea 
A navvy, I was going to be 
In dirty London town. 

I threw my bundle on my back 
And never once did I look back 
My mother cried 'God bless you Jack' 
And wiped away a tear. 

The cattle boat bobbed up and down 
And I spent my last half a crown 
On a pint of Guinness, dark and brown 
Out on the Irish Sea. 

In Kilburn, I did lay my head 
Just one small room and a dirty bed 
`No Lady friends' the landlord said 
`And keep the auld room tidy.' 

Next morning, at the break of day 
A rusty van took me away 
From now on I would earn my pay 
With Mcalpines Fusiliers. 

I stood in mud and swung my pick 
I shovelled mortar wet and thick 
The foreman said 'Good on you Mick' 
A good old Irish navvy. 

Up swaying ladders, I did climb 
An' sanc, about 'The Rare auld time' 
And not a worry in my mind 
Sure life was free an' easy. 

The hod, cut deep into my bone 
And sometimes I did think of home 
What made me leave it, for to roam 
An' be an Irish Navvy. 
I cursed the Ganger every day 
On Friday, when I got my pay 
The sun would shine an' I'd make hay 
Around the pubs in Kilburn. 
I'd drink like hell, enjoy the craic 
A donkey jacket on my back 
An' sometimes I would get a whack 
When ructions flared in Kilburn. 

I spent the odd night in a cell 
I'd kick the door and shout and yell 
Ah peelers — may they rot in hell 
They have no time for Paddy. 

A few times now, I got the sack 
But the ganger, always took me back. 
Sure I kept them going with the craic 
A carefree Irish rover. 
Money? Ah I saved damn all 
I pissed it all against the wall 
Sure I was young, I had a ball 
An' life was free an' easy. 
The English man, looked down his nose 
To see me in my auld torn clothes 
To him, I was just one of those 
A paddy and a navvy. 

They called me Paddy, called me Mick 
They called me stupid, called me thick 
I slapped cement upon a brick 
And sang the 'Irish Rover'. 

A donkey jacket on my back 
Sure all I wanted was the craic 
I sank the Guinness, foamy black 
And danced an Irish jig. 
I paid the ladies of the night 
To love me in the bright moonlight 
In Ireland, that would not be right 
But sure a man gets lonely. 

And I'd always say on Christmas day 
This summer, I'll be on my way 
To walk in fields of new mown hay 
But I never saved a penny. 

As soon as I had got a sub 
I'd drink it in some dirty pub 
A few shillings left, to buy my grub 
Then another week of toiling. 

I never sailed back 'oer the sea 
To my lovely cottage by the lea 
Sure, I was young and wild and free 
A handsome Irish rover. 

I worked with men of many hues 
While mud was squelching in my shoes 
And spent my weekends on the booze 
Mcalpine's men were hardy. 

I sang and danced my youth away 
I couldn't wait to spend my pay 
I never thought I'd rue the day 
For life was free an' easy. 

But time moved on relentless'ee 
Old age was creeping up on me 
A shooting pain was in my knee 
So I had another drink. 

But drink, the cunning, crafty,knave 
Was master now, I was the slave 
An' damn a penny I could save 
All pissed against the wall. 

I lost my job, I lost my home 
In dirty alleys I did roam 
With shaking hands I sipped the foam From stout as black as midnight. 

With wino's I did congregate 
To drink around the graveyard gate I never pondered on my fate 
As I sang 'Peggy Gordon'. 

I slept at night down in the park 
I coughed and shivered in the dark And dreamt about the singing lark In happy childhood days. 

On misty mornings, cold and grey I'd stagger up, get on my way 
To spend another drunken day 
In dirty London town. 

And then one night, in snow and sleet 
With The Financial Times wrapped round my feet I passed away, my god to meet 
Too drunk to say a prayer. 

I rest now in a pauper's grave 
Where weeds and nettles gently wave 'Cause not one penny I could save All pissed against the wall. 
A navvy, from auld Erin's Isle 
A snatch of a song, a cheeky smile I loved the craic, I had no guile When life was free an' easy. 
I knew when I first crossed the sea A stranger, I would always be I saw just what you thought of me It was written on your windows. 
You looked on me as second class 
But while you sat upon your ass 
We built this town of brick and glass 
A monument to navvies. 

You wrote it so the world could see 
Just what it was you thought of me 
But forever it will always be 
A requiem for navvies. 

No blacks, no Irish, no dogs 
In the city of drizzle and fogs 
You said 'Paddy, go back to the bogs' 
No black's no Irish, no dogs.
Comment by kevin j dalton on March 23, 2014 at 10:58pm

I love it...It's the way I think poetry should be.

To tell a story..in rhyme  and so you don't have to say "I wonder what he meant by that".

Some of my and my male siblings have passed some of that  same path

Nice job. Thanks for sharing.

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