Mike Walsh Reads Some of His Favorite Poems
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Hello, wherever you are. I am the Irish poet, Michael Walsh. I was 26-years old when I first discovered that my mother was right; I have a gift for composing heartfelt poetry. That was a long time ago; in fact, it was nearly 600 poems ago, which is a long time.
I composed poetry as self-indulgence, just as a painter or sculptor may paint or create for their own pleasure. With the passage of time, I realized that others wanted to read my poetry. Mainstream publishers are disinterested in poetry so I self-published. How pleasing that despite being advised by the Writer’s and Artist’s Yearbook not to consider publishing more than 500 books, my print-run of 3,000 copies of two collections sold out in weeks in just the city of Liverpool alone. I supposed that in the year 2000 I was likely Britain’s most popular poet. It was very gratifying.
I don’t have a favorite but I do have favored poems. These very much include Ma Vourneen, which is Gaelic for, ‘My Darling’, The Girl I met in May and Where the Skylarks Sing.
When time and distance separate us,
Then you will find the spirit of our togetherness,
In a glass of wine.
My darling; Make it a long-stemmed glass,
To remind you that even the minute apart is the longest one.
Fill it to its very brim to symbolize,
The fullness that you bring to my heart;
Sip it gently, and often, that you may know,
That each slight touch or glance is a kiss from you.
And most of all; let its spirit warm you as yours has warmed me.
Raise the glass and salute both the past and the future that link us;
But most of all, toast the emptiness that lies between,
Without which there could be no anticipation.
And if the spirit of the glass brings,
Warmth, peace, and joy to the inner you,
Then you will understand what you have brought to me.
Let the shimmer of the wine’s sparkle on your lips,
Hint at desire;
The coolness of the chilled bottle the long ago.
The chuckle of its pour, the future.
But most of all may it, as it becomes part of you,
Remind you that you are a part of me.
THE GIRL I MET IN MAY
The gladness of my heart is wakened,
By the speckled cream of wavelets,
Wash to gold the sands of morning,
By the colours of the day;
Rolling up the tide-washed bay,
Blending with the distant corn;
How the forests rise in splendour
Paying homage to the dawn.
The gladness of my heart is wakened,
Willow poise her grace had beauty,
Wash to gold my heart of mourning,
By the girl I met in May;
In her lime green décolleté.
For a past so far away;
Colours of the spring will waken,
To the girl, I met in May.
WHERE THE SKYLARKS SING
The summer air so balmy brought the fleet of clouds to rest,
They drifted aimless; some were caught upon the mountain crest.
The maid was plucking flowers through her shoulder turned aside,
To hide the blush upon her cheek, perhaps a flush of pride.
That I should speak of poetry and sonnets for her heart,
Create a word-spun spider web that brings romance to art.
So while she stepped through flowers she beguiled and won my soul;
I chased until she caught me and to both of us our goal.
She sat her chin within her hands and smiled a thought unknown;
I closed my eyes and dreamed that she might one day be my own.
We felt the heather in the air and heard the skylark sing,
The curlew’s call to higher realm where seagulls rest the wing.
And in her hands the harvest of the pastures summer filled,
Across the vale, the dingle, dale; where all the flowers spilled.
To ripple, dance to summer’s tune, the ocean’s breathing sigh;
Where skylarks sing and flowers grow and maiden lovers lie.
MICHAEL WALSH POETRY BOOKS
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON, KINDLE, LULU,
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