Wild Sea Waves

In Dublin I knew a woman, with flax golden hair Tressed like wild sea waves, her heart, her voice was Irish, her name, her vibrancy were Viking. She was Dublin. We lived, together, in The Liberties while both of us sought freedom, she, from youth and I, from bondage. The Viking Wall is behind my…Read more Wild Sea Waves

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Steps

There are, according to Eddie Cochran, three steps to Heaven, which is a comforting thought when you consider the Irish aren't sure how many steps there are to Hell. Ask any Dubliner where you'll find the 40 Steps and there's a chance you'll be given just as many answers. The most likely candidates though will…Read more Steps

Perpetual Motion

In Dublin, a child’s spinning top was found, remnant from antiquity, the detritus of a Viking city buried by another city. In Baghdad, I remember, a Sumerian spinning top discarded through millennia find light and air amid the chaos and turmoil of war and plunder. Ninety years ago a spinning top was a Christmas gift.…Read more Perpetual Motion

Little John’s Shot

The ‘news’ that Robin Hood’s Little John is buried in Hathersage, Derbyshire (http://www.atlasobscura.com/places/little-johns-grave) will come as a surprise to the people of Dublin, Ireland since the same John Little was hanged  for robbery and buried in Arbour Hill, an inner city area on the north side of old Dublin, close to one of the first…Read more Little John’s Shot

Cutthroats and Murderers

Place names can be endlessly fascinating, particular for the insight they give you to where you live and its history. Happily, the district I live in is the oldest part of the city of Dublin, called The Liberties and it's packed full of evocative names like Marrowbone Lane, Winetavern Street and Fishamble Street, to name…Read more Cutthroats and Murderers

Libertie’s, a poem

I live in The Liberties, one of the oldest parts of the city of Dublin, the outer suburb of the medieval walled city where the native Irish lived to trade with and serve the city's Norman rulers. It is an area rich with history and a strong sense of community. The Bells of St Patrick's is…Read more Libertie’s, a poem

The Bells of St Patrick’s

The bells, the bells, not Quasimodo’s old Dame, St Patrick’s on a Sunday morning, the bell ringers gather,  to chime and clang, layer upon layer, a resounding Dublin breakfast for a city waking to repent the night’s excesses. What joy, what horror, shut the bleeding window, have they no respect for the self afflicted? Bellicose…Read more The Bells of St Patrick’s