Last updated on August 25, 2025
In ancient Ireland, the fili weren’t just poets—they were seers, historians, and truth-tellers, weaving words like spells to honor kings, curse foes, or glimpse the Otherworld. Every Friday, I will try to post a poem I’ve written. This is the first one that came to me when I had spent some time in Clonca Parish.
—
From Mizen to Malin Head
I’ve been raised from the dead
And ne’r once put sad to bed
But only been led
To the light
Out of a soul’s dark night
Only to find my way far
To Farren’s Bar
Here to found soul’s peace
And a life new lease
In the songs of patrons not so clear
Perhaps clouded by beer.
But ever so dear to me
This place by the sea
Their Irish brogue
Welcoming this wandering rogue
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