An Erudition On Lough Ea Poem by Martin Moore

AN ERUDITION ON LOUGH EA

November's harsh voice echoes through the trees
The wind and rain, the rutted mountain track
The gurgling invisibility of hidden streams
Through ancient cut away bogs, taken back
By natures wind scorched survivors, heathers
Bracken, rocky outcrops of hillside gorse
Stunted willows battling winter weather
Unstable roots clinging to their source

The rain cascading, forming instant ponds
Of rusty rivulets that make their way
Through turf mounds, limestone gulley's and fern fronds
To join the barren beauty of lough Ea.
I stroll amongst the weakened winter grass
To rid myself of inner earthly woes
An alien upon this mountain pass
My human flaws, my paradox exposed

I see the vivid orange Montbretia bells
Float above their mid-green stems, unbound
The golden flash of a kingfisher on the fells
Or a summer evening stream without a sound
Growing wild upon linear old turf graves
Still discernible despite the mounting years
The leaner times when local turf was saved
And hauled by horse and cart down through the briars

The water hacks its imperceptible journey
In secret, beneath black sod and rock
The inveterate self-loathing of the turn key
Finds its own level, disorganised, ad-hoc
In irrepressible surroundings, wild in the extreme
Seductive in its rural, rustic beauty
Summoning a basal strength it seems
From the lake muse, complicit in its duty
Easing in its aggression, it dissipates
Diluted by the virginal, cold crystal water
Settled in the soft mud, captivated
Filtered through the sedimentary blotter
Finds a final resting place, no elegy
No sad refrain for my rural renaissance
Cleansed and full of youthful energy
Enlightened, in a momentary trance

The wild sky dark and pregnant with rain
Unleashes its torrent upon my naked flesh
To purge the workings of my bardic brain
And sanitize it with thoughts afresh
I embrace the invigorating shower
And let its gelid goodness flow over me
I feel it's all encompassing power
Flush the stress-like sinews free
New puddles form in spent footprints
In time new streams will race again
Through furrows, grooves, grikes and clints
And carry with them, wisdom arcane.