A Stroll Along The Frolic Road

I walked, heading South West, on the little road that ran along the edge of Bunduff lake in North Sligo. It is one of those lanes with a spine of grass running down the middle. Locally, the road is called “The Frolic”. No one knows why it is called that. Perhaps a hark back to

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A Tadpole Tale

It was a warm school day. I knew that because I was only six or seven years old, and I was, indeed, in school. Senior Infants, to be exact. Behind my school, there was a small garden area- although given my tiny size, it may as well have been an Olympic stadium. It was filled

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A Wheel Of Klezorim

Allow me to recall the culmination of events in the village of Mountshannon, on the western shore of Lough Derg. On this night in the early hours of June 2 2008, perhaps a hundred souls or more, most born and bred there, many others long blown in, a few for the first time, danced with

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A Yank Goes to Sea

I was sitting on the bench by the front window of Murphy’s Bar on Brandon pier. Derry was standing in front of me almost done with his pint. He turned, stared at me with a little smile. “You still want to go out?” I tried to be as casual as I could, “Sure.” “Meet me

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Abhann na Laoi

Rugadh agus tógadh  mé ar bhruach abhann na Laoi, an abhainn is deise in Eirinn.  Eirionn an abhainn seo i nGouganbarra agus imíonn sí uaithi trí gleann álainn na Laoi, áit ina   bhfuil   cultúr agus ceol na nGael   láidir fós.   Fá dheireadh shroiseann sí  Cuan breá Chorcaí.  Ach is le héirí na habhann i nGougánbarra a bhaineann mo scéal -se Fadó, fadó,  bhí péist (dragón) ana mhór ina chónaí sa loch  i n Gougánbarra. Lá amháin tháinig Naomh Fionnbarra go dti an loch chun mainistéir a bhunú ann.    Ach bhi an ollphéist ag cur isteach  ar phaidreacha na manaigh agus ag magadh fúthu.  ‘Téir amach as an loch and Imigh leat as seo, a Phéist’ , arsa Naomh Fionnbarra. Ni  Imóinn,’  arsa an phéist  in árd a chinn is a ghutha.  Bhí ceann mór ar an ollphéist and lasracha ag teacht amach as a bhéal. ‘Imigh leat, in ainm Dé’  arsa Naomh Fionnbarra go ciún socair,  mar fear cróga ab ea é i gconaí. ‘Nilim chun imeacht’, arsa an phéist gránna agus é ag screadaigh go fíochmhar. D’oscail sé a bhéal chun Naomh Fionnbarra a shlogadh siar   A Dhia, tar ar cabhair chugham’ ,  sin an paidir a dúirt Naomh Fionnbarra. Thug Dia neart seachtar fear don Naomh .  Rug an Naomh  ar an ollphéist agus tharraing sé  amach as an loch é .Chaith sé ar an talamh é. Thug se cic don dragón. Theith an ollphéist ón naomh a bhí lán de ghrásta Dé. Rinne an phéist poll doimhin sa talamh agus é ag sleamhnú ón naomh.  Nior stop an phéist ag síleadh an uisce go dti gur shrois sé an fharraige ag cuan Chorcaí. Léim sé isteach sa mhuir agus bádh é. Creid nó  ná creid é, sin a mar deireann an sean-scéal .  Ach is dócha gurbh é an Phágántacht ata i gceist i ndáiríre.   Seasann an pheist don Phágántacht, mar  chuir Naomh Fionnbarra ruaig ar an bPágántacht timpeall an ama sin.  Bhi sé ag múineadh na Chríostaíochts don chos -mhuintir. Diaidh ar ndiadh tháinig deireadh le ré na Págantachta in Eirinn. Sin an sean scéat ar aon Nos . creid Nó ná creid, ach is Docha gurbh e an phagantach fein ata i gceist agus conas a chuir ANaaomh ruaig ar an bpagantacht .

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Agallamh le Bradán Óg

Scéalaí: Cad is ainm duit? Bradán: Airgead is aimn dom. Scéalaí: Sin ainm ait! Bradán: Tá dath airgead nó geal ar mo chraiceann. Scéalaí: Cad as tú? Bradán: Sin scéal fada. Inseoidh mé an scéal duit anois… I mí Deireadh Fómhair I 2018 bhí tuile san tSiúir. Bhí m’athair agus mo mhátháir sa fharraige timpeall

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Along the great blue expanse

From the earliest depths of childhood’s hour I’ve watched it rippling by The majesty, the bubbling long blue vein That caught my eye The stately nautical centrepiece, That navigates my town Whose murmured song flows united on With accompanying wildlife sounds I still recall with dazzling glow Those evenings by the bank Casting pebbles across

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Amadans

On the 22nd July 1996 John and I set sail in our 21 foot drop keel yacht for Inis Oir from the Galway Boat Club in lovely sunny weather with a gentle northerly breeze. On our left, and to the south, were the slate grey hills of the Burren that they ran all the way

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Amazon

Late last spring, when schooling and work had taken its toll on the whole family, I needed space. I needed solitude. Ideally somewhere wild, in nature, with flowing water. The canoe was hauled from under the hedge and loaded onto the roof-rack. Two tie-straps later and about as many minutes’ drive to the river Fergus

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An Ode to Boro

The tiny stream beside our house was a favourite place to play. The bridge was a source of politics for our neighbours who claimed that either side of the small bridge was of equal importance. The question; “Are you on the Knoxtown side or the Killegney side?” became a well know statement and point of

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An Unforgettable Day At The Beach

Mom said we could go to Tramore beach for a picnic. I jumped up and down. I loved the beach – even though I couldn’t swim. What more could a seven year old ask for? Mom asked me to butter some bread. I couldn’t wait to get there, so I eagerly agreed to help. We

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A Celtic Tiger Cub on the River Shannon

Bank Holiday sunshine made the brackish water shimmer and sparkle, as we slid upriver from Carrick on Shannon, on board our beloved boat, a Senior 31. Like the ugly child only its parents could love, we cherished the Iruna, clunks and all. And there was plenty to find fault with, not least her persistently leaky

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