Richard Mc Sweeney

Richard Mc Sweeney

Mystical minded Richard Mc Sweeney of the sacred isle of Éire (Ireland) is a serene practitioner of the ancient art of self-originating artistry – delighting in POETICALLY giving shape n’ form to the integrity of the INDIVIDUAL voice. His is a world where the philosophical and the literary are not two but one and the same; where the poet is at home with composing in prose.

He greatly enjoys cultural bridge building. In particular his works {Bridging Al-Serenities}, {Generations Reaching}, {A Jesus of Nazareth}, n’ {Myriam of Lebanon} have been very much influenced by the eastern Mediterranean worlds.

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Baalbeck, Becharre, n’ Galilee

Baalbeck, Becharre, n’ Galilee my oft times afore lovely home by the sea.
What! What in the Name is happening to thee, yet again, yet again, n’ yet again?
Are you rising to be free to be free or free to be with ever uprising to be?
Fire in the below waiting to explode will show no mercy to angelic pretence.
Turn; turn away from the Gate of Trouble!
Too; too many will be crying in the streets.
Where! Where is that one with the rare empty stare;
that one who with slippery tongue is playing away with everyone’s naiveté?
Stand n’ take a stand to recline on a chaise longue of peace.
For so long as length of days be they shorter than nights by far will the orange groves, olive slopes, n’ sand dunes be all frozen o’er in a flash.
Ruins anew will be accompany those of old at weeping Baalbek, Becharre, n’ Galilee.
Hear ye; hear ye, ye perpetual troublemakers of the ages!
How came ye by the right to mix bone with limestone, blood with grape juice, n’ tears with vinegar?
Oh come; oh come away my honey moist heart, for now is the time for us to depart, from out of the presence of those who are with ever-hardening hearts.
Will I be with ever again returning to this a sacred home of mine? Tell me, will I?
Yes, when days will dawn with brightness once more upon the Great Sea’s shore,
n’ in middays soft breezes blow upon the gently rippling waters of Lake Galilee,
n’ in afternoons the snows be with falling white pure upon the cedar fragrant mountains of Becharre,
n’ in eves ancient Baalbeck will be with finding herself to be the pride of an even earlier heredity;
yes, finding herself to be one of the sunniest inland places by the ever-loving Mediterranean Sea.

 
For other contributions by Richard Mc Sweeney, please follow the links below:

 
All poems on this post: © Richard Mc Sweeney
Published with the permission of Richard Mc Sweeney