Posted in Niamh Clune, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

For My Mother

For My Mother

I want to reach across the sky
to mists beyond the blue
to where you are imagined still
and I remember you

Your face was soft, your lilting tongue
a brogue of Burren’s air,
a flute that danced upon the wind
from Erin’s County Clare.

You danced a Hornpipe, kicked your heels,
smiled with not a care ~
With rocking ankle, turn of calf,
And ribbons in your hair.

Wild and exiled, mother mine
you beat the flaggy ground
with rhythm of the rebel coast
battering the sound.

I do miss your bluest eyes
and long for when you were
an orchid in a field of tare ~
the girl from County Clare.

Copyright, poem, Niamh Clune 2013, All rights reserved

Editor’s Note: Yesterday, May 30, was Mothering Sunday in the UK and Niamh’s lovely poem is posted in honor of the day. Best wishes and gratitude to moms in the UK and everywhere from The Bardo Group and thanks to Niamh for sharing this lovely homage to her own mom with us in celebration of this special day.

430564_3240554249063_1337353112_n-1orange-petals-cover_page_001DR. NIAMH CLUNE (Plum Tree Books Blog) ~ is the author of the Skyla McFee series: Orange Petals in a Storm, and Exaltation of a Rose. She is also the author of The Coming of the Feminine Christ: a ground-breaking spiritual psychology. Niamh received her Ph.D. from Surrey University on Acquiring Wisdom Through The Imagination and specialises in The Imaginal Mind and how the inborn, innate wisdom hidden in the soul informs our daily lives and stories. Niamh’s books are available in paperback (children’s books) and Kindle version (The Coming of the Feminine Christ). Dr. Clune is the CEO of Plum Tree Books and Art. Its online store is HERE.  Niamh’s Amazon page is HERE.


When I was a little girl (a very, very long time ago), I used to love learning new, really big words like ‘discombobulate’. As I grew, my love of words grew too, until I loved them so much, I could not stop writing them down. One day, as I was scribbling a particular word, a very peculiar thing happened. The word shouted at me, “Stop! Don’t put me there!” As you can imagine, I was shocked and nearly fell off my chair. When I recovered somewhat, I said to the word, “Could you stop shouting, please? I am not used to it.” Can you guess what happened next? No! I thought not. The word said, “I might be small, but I will misbehave if you do not use me properly. I will not tell the story you would like me to tell. I will say something entirely different!” I dropped my pen. I hoped that by dropping my pen, the word would stop talking. Alas! It did not. It carried on chitterchobbling, even after the ink had dried. I was in a pickle. I could not allow my words to run away with my story, now could I? I don’t know about you, but when this sort of thing happens, there is only one thing left to do if you prefer not to spend your time arguing. “Very well,” said I. “I will do as you ask if you will just be quiet and allow me to concentrate.” Since that day, I have been paying special attention to every word I invite into my stories. After all, a story should say exactly what it means to say and not be led astray. With love from Dr. Niamh, Ph.D in Learning Through The Imagination and Founder of Dr Niamh Children's Books.

16 thoughts on “For My Mother

  1. John. I am much obliged to you for your generosity. Yes! My mother was a rebel in the old-fashioned Fenian sense…not in what erupted after 1969 from which, she totally disassociated herself. Her mother was a Fenian and her father was an RIC man (Royal Irish Constabulary)…needless to say, my grandmother and grandfather didn’t live together, as their politics were so different. My mother sympathised with both, but loved the freedom England gave her when we emigrated there. In those days, no Irish family was politically unaware.


  2. Such a beautiful poem and tribute to your mother. Loved the vivid imagery of your mother and your culture. I love the music and the dance. Have longed to visit Ireland as my father’s family came from there, but not sure where. And, Happy Mothering Day to you!


  3. A perfect ballad, Niamh, perfect in its scansion and it’s us of the language. Tells me exactly what it’s all about and with plenty of images, conjured by your use of words; it conveys an essence of your beautiful emerald isle and its culture. I particularly like the penultimate stanza …

    “Wild and exiled, mother mine
    you beat the flaggy ground
    with rhythm of the rebel coast
    battering the sound.”

    In this, maybe not exclusively the metaphor you intended, I see the characteristic passion for music and dance irrevocably woven with Ireland’s historical struggles.

    This is a fine ballad indeed. I am much impressed.


Kindly phrased comments welcome here.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.