The Lonely Chapel

In recent days I have been tuned as it were to catching up with Irish Folk songs. From which I felt the need to compose this short poem . But with it I have added a short nod as it were to W.B. Yeats and his poem “Lake Isle of Innisfree”.

To excplain things a little further, In what is known as West Cork (a beautiful area that appears untouched by the monster of modern concrete Thus as I stated I have added a Little nod of respect and honour to mess for the most part) is a Forrest Park called “Gougane Barra” (I would pronounce it more like GU-Gawn Barra) . Folks can read more of this place if they wish and follow the link to Wikipedia’s page on this gem.

Here in this little gem is a Small Chapel (an Oratory) which to myself looks to be a Lonely Chapel as it were. Thus this short poem is set aside for this little place that so often appears to have few days that has the golden touch of sunny days. At least when I visit here, It is kissed by clouds that seem to lower and kiss the place in passing.

I do not ever liken my self to be a poet to the standard of Yeats nor that this gem matches that spokenof in “The Lake Isle of innisfree” BUT it has captured my heart as one special place that I revisit to stroll through and pass onto the forrest park nearby. In this poem as I stated I have a little Nod of respect to W.B. Yeats and his poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”. This place is NO Lake Isle, BUT It has my heart.

Just as I stated this short poem is more a little nod of respect rather than one moulded for any great poem. I do hope that folks will enjoy this place… and I hope to place a photograph of this gem below as a part of this post.

Having said all this , Please enjoy this poem:

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_{This Photograph is with Permission and thanks to My daughter Elizabeth-Anne Fitzgerald. For more like this visit her Blog Lizzies Life .}

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The Lonely Chapel


A mist fell over the lonely chapel,
Embraced by the lake where an old apple,
Bobbed on the waves silently without care,
 Some Pilgrims pass in obvious prayer.


A kind of reverence was in this place,
Tourists wander about this peaceful space.
Silence appears to echo o’er this ground,
Visitors whispers thus carried all round.


Yet no Lake Isle rests in this place of peace,
But here rests my love that ne’er will decrease.
Look down from the hillside watch o’er all here,
On clear days sights to see love without fear.


Oh west awake with sunshine bright just right, 
West Cork shines through vales that smite like a knight.
 




©  Pat Fitzgerald 2023

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