For the dverse prompt, a drinking song
Time flies,
flickers on the butterfly wings
of a dream drunk on nectar,
dies in a wine-dark ocean of myth,
founders on the green hills of the past,
sinks into the honey-sweet song of the pipes.
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Jane Dougherty Writes 
Oh I love this. So lyrical and so filled with the spirit of that green isle.
‘spirit’ being the operative word tonight ๐
ba dum tish
Had to look that up. It wasn’t that bad!
No. You’re right. It wasn’t.
I’ve done worse.
Such beautiful images.
Thank you ๐
Absolutely poetry!
Thank you, Willow ๐
….of a dream drunk on nectar….Powerful imagery.
Thank you, Vivian ๐
Love the ties to those myths… dreams should be made from this.
I love the ‘dream drunk on nectar’ and the ‘honey-sweet song of the pipes’, Jane.
Thank you!
The audible dream…not dead after all. (K)
I hope not.
A dream drunk on nectar. ๐
This was a bit of a stream of consciousness poem.
So beautiful and lyrical, Jane.
Thank you!
This took me to Ireland and heather on the moors with the distant sound of bagpipes in my ears. Thank you!
Uilleann pipes please ๐ The difference is…huge. Thanks Beverly. I get nostalgic often.
“wine-dark ocean of myth”
That is awesome.
Thank you! I’m glad you like this. It wrote itself.
Wow, can you turn a phrase! “of a dream drunk on nectar,
dies in a wine-dark ocean of myth ” So beautifully vivid and iconic!
Thanks Frank! I wrote it in the time it took to type the words. A bit stream of consciousness, but I liked the way it came out.
This is a nice phrase: “wine-dark ocean of myth”.
Thank you, Frank. I know the wine dark bit has been done over and over, but that’s why I used it ๐
This has a nice flow to it. Good description of time
Thank you, Mary ๐
Heady stuff brewed in the still at the back of the poet’s mind. Where’s the magic mountain in the pic?
The poet’s mind was in free fall with this one. It’s Muckish, Donegal.
What’s a drunken swoon without free-fall? My ancestors sailed out of Cobh Harbor in Cork in 1787. The Appalachian mountains are of the same paleogeneology as yours — how tall they once were ….
I wonder what made them leave? Do you know anything about them?
Opportunists, poets and desperadoes of the O’Cobhthaigh clan, which had septs in Cork, Westmeath, Kerry and Galway. The name goes back to the 2d century BC (one of us was in the retinue of poets who shielded the hero Cu Roi from battle rage with their singing). It was a bardic family (3 drinking cups on the family crest, a naked man riding a dolphin up top and the motto “Not by providence but victory!” Brian Coffey (d 1995) was a later Irish poet of our clan. Here in the US, they tending toward drinking and fiddling. My great grandfather was an auctioneer and philanderer who burnt his fiddle in contrition after one of his debauches. You asked.
It’s great that you know so much about them! Mine were only farmers or weavers, though on my dad’s side we go back to Niall Niogiallach, with about a million other folk ๐
Such beautiful phrases, Jane! I love “dies in a wine-dark ocean of myth” and “dream drunk on nectar.”
I’m glad you like this one. It was a sort of automatic poem. I saw the prompt (as soon as it popped up there were already four linksโhow do they do it?) and had no idea what to write so I took my brain out of gear and let it run by itself.
Took my brain out of gear. . .:)
I do know what you mean though.
I don’t know. I usually don’t see the prompts right away, but there do seem to always be a few responses, even if I look as soon as I get the e-mail. I seldom have one ready that day though. I usually respond the next day (or later).
I look out for the prompt as I’m usually sitting at the computer at that time (9 in the evening here) and there are always at least a couple already posted. Insider trading no doubt ๐
Well, you know how it is with wild poet types. ๐
They compose faster than the speed of thought?
Hahahaha.
A beautiful piece! I loved the way you have portrayed life as a tasting of the nectar, very short lived and fading into the pipes!
Dwight
It is short, but we have to try to make it sweet. Thanks Dwight ๐
Perhaps we just need to be sweet!!
Ah, if only ๐
My ancestors left Ireland in 1848 to come to this country. They owned a woolen mill. I think, though it doesn’t go with the story, they were tea totalers. In this country my Great Grand Father, met my Great Grand Mother, she was a daughter of a doctor from Germany. They had eleven children and each one lived to a ripe old age. They raised cotton in Texas, and owned 50 slaves….I am not proud of that, but I guess it was their time. So much we have to own and atone for. Our history wasn’t grand. Just people trying to make a better life.
1848 was the year of revolutions in Europe. Lots of population movement, especially from Ireland because of the Famine, but I wonder why your ancestors left if they owned a mill? Not the usual emigrant story. Wonder what was behind it?