Tag Archives: Irish verse forms

Battle Positions: casbairdne

Assume battle positions: each gun states its conditions for damning to perdition those it slams with derision. The war horns sound, confounding the loud screams, so dumbfounding, as drums and jackboots pounding start death’s song wild resounding. The chaos, so … Continue reading

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Into the Breech: ae freislighe

Let’s let go of sanity, imagining the reason appeals to our vanity and falls in the right season; making none too troubling what chaos springs from hating, from leaving at boil, bubbling, desires left too long waiting. Let’s imagine destiny … Continue reading

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We Need New Gods: deibhidhe

The end nears: the sharp sword dulls. Its slices seem less useful, the elegant, diamond edged glance of its dark dance less fancy. Though its blue blade is well-scarred, these wounds seem slight from afar; there are just two that … Continue reading

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The Speech Not Given: a deachnadh mor

Sad, the speech he could have given for men dead and those living might have meant more, if believing destiny were a haven. In the cadence of his speaking, you could feel his heart breaking; and his way seemed to … Continue reading

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No News: an ae freislighe

The news can be troubling: there’s always some fresh unrest, some great tension bubbling. Each day, I hope for the best, but still I keep wondering: how wise is that course today? Must we keep on blundering, pretending to know … Continue reading

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Petitioning: an ae freilighe

The gods may grant petitions to endless years of prayer; not lay too strict conditions; in that granting, be fair; but it is not sedition to think them often cruel, seeing naught but perdition in their lessons and schools. Think … Continue reading

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Wretched Thoughts: deibhidhe

Most days I don’t mind the mess that fills my fancy, doubtless in its mad mire growing grand plans my desires demand; but today, the turmoil seeks to wreck my poor reason’s speech and turn to tares the flowers where … Continue reading

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