Corrig Wood

Corrig Wood by Ghost of the Pine

I enter the woods again
Into wasp and bee
And hanging web
Through these woods
Colour’s leak and spill
Sun cracks the dark holds
Of nights hallowed fill
Without fear or grief
The forest stir has reason
Blooming flower and green of leaf
The pulsing heart of season
Hill’s walking rise
Through fog dusted colonnade
I can see a horseman stride
Irving’s tale a facade
Id conjure in mind’s eye
Dullahan and Ichabod
I remember hiding in
Young brisk summers
Autumns Adoring fall
Winters cold breath of slumber
Springs bells silent call
Flowing down it soothes
this trickling path
meandering like the river’s way
neath the summit
where Aves frequent
their penthouse
throughout the day

The Fly is Cast by Ghost of the Pine

The fly is cast, majestic wing
Swift incision, revealed in air
Elegant and Slung equestrian
Upon phantom Percheron
A Subtle Touch, palming on liquid hush
Above oak smoked veneer

Hearts feathered flutter
forecasting fighting weather
Bellissima, lake sculpture I Protrude.
Librarian silence on imposters allure
Evocative, the big scene of typhoon
Nautilus’ patient debut

“Pounding surge”!
Breaking surface seal
Thrusting vigour now
Taut line and snapping reel
Throes Ensnared by
Haul and heave and pounce

Walking hands climbing down
Focus on reaping harrow
Its gentle hold March’ age Aquarian
The catch rich, A rainbow
From Sunkist ambient dwelling
Relinquished from its realm it yearns
but now as in Death, it cannot return.

Our Tidal Island by Ghost of the Pine

Witching is the hour
Watching in the dark
She returns, sleek in shade,
Late, in shadowed Suede
There is hail, waves
Schooners in the haze
Theatre walled window chill.
Street night peaks
Between the sails
We find us neath sheets
Warm yearning gaze
Defending our bounty
Craving Black night
Lapping motion
Whispering candlelight
Fingers on skin
Hot flushing breath
I love her in shadows
Moving
On Our Tidal Island.

<strong>Ghost of the Pine</strong>
Ghost of the Pine

Good day,
I am a writer of song and poem,
I reside in Portarlington, a small town in the Midlands, Ireland, that borders County’s Laois and County Offaly via The river Barrow. One of the three sister rivers of the South of Ireland.

I find inspiration from all things that I identify with The Lakes, The Sea, Old Castle Ruins, Streets in darkness, Woodlands.

More specifically Corrig Wood, Derryounce Lake, Lea Castle and walks through my hometown of Portarlington. I adore writing Poetry and songs. I read a lot of Irish, Welsh, American poets’ works. Seamus Heaney, John Montague, W.H. Auden, Robert Frost, Dylan Thomas.

My poetry is written with imagery, Nostalgic, Organic, of the people and places anything haunting, different that intrigue my imagination.

I also have songs released as Ghost of the Pine which is available on Spotify and iTunes. I am on Instagram and Facebook as Ghost of the Pine where you can see anything new that regularly appears.