Quoting Kavanagh Weekly - Patrick Kavanagh Irish Poet
Joined April 2015
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Some day when all the shadows rise
And beauty wanders free
We too shall rove ‘neath laughing skies
But now such cannot be.
To a Distant Friend
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A man is original when he speaks the truth.
Signposts
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The New Year’s unwritten page we view
As a lea field to plough and sow;
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25 Dec 2025
In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
A Christmas Childhood
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11 Dec 2025
A score of grey ungrowthly stumps stand up
Like an old graveyard in my mind: Dingle, Cooleen,
A shadowed corner of St. Stephen’s Green…
Love is But a Season
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4 Dec 2025
Won’t we be rich, my love and I, and please
God we shall not ask for reason’s payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God’s breath in common statement.
Advent
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1,707
27 Nov 2025
Here I have kept fair tryst, and kept it true,
When we were lovers all, and you were new;
Address to an Old Wooden Gate
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Quoting Kavanagh retweeted
20 Nov 2025
Then I will lean upon your top no more
To dream, and muse of pebbles on a shore.
Address To An Old Wooden Gate
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14 Nov 2025
Battered by time and weather; scarcely fit
For firewood; there’s not a single bit
Of paint to hide those wrinkles.
Address To An Old Wooden Gate
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Quoting Kavanagh retweeted
6 Nov 2025
The two young men were talking about girls. Ninety percent of their conversation was about girls. Only talk. Always talk.
Tarry Flynn
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Quoting Kavanagh retweeted
31 Oct 2025
The wet leaves of the cocksfoot
Polished my boots as I
Went round by the glistening bog-holes
Lost in unthinking joy.
Threshing Morning
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Quoting Kavanagh retweeted
23 Oct 2025
Every old man I see
In October-weather
Seems to say to me,
“ I was once your father “
Memory of My Father
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29 Aug 2025
For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven.
Canal Bank Walk
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14 Aug 2025
The old mare
Twenty-seven years old
Died; we buried where
The brown turf-mould
Free from stones
Presses little
On her sapless bones -
Burial Service
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7 Aug 2025
It is August now, I have hoped,
But I hope no more -
My beech tree will never hide sparrows
From hungry hawks.
Beech Tree
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31 Jul 2025
God keep you child
When you go down
The faithless streets
Of Pleasure’s town.
Orthodox
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