Hollow Hill

For today’s Poem, I have the great honour of both introducing, and displaying something that I have yearned to do for the longest time and also had dreamed of for so many years. But I believed doing this to any form that would do it justice.

This Poem will be the first in a series of Poetry that takes you on a journey. That is If you are willing to travel with me on what will be an adventure. At this point I cannot state very much on what this series is about. My request is that you trust me on this journey. This is something that in total helped form me into being who I am today. Before venturing any further I must reveal a few vital points.

Introduction:

First off I must introduce you to where I am from in Full. I was born into a family of eight siblings of which I am 3rd oldest. I was born and grew up in and around the Town of Charleville in North County Cork in Ireland. Charleville is a country town of just over 3,000 people and has been a large farming population. Situated close to the county boundary between County Cork and County Limerick and I spent enough time in county Limerick to call myself a Limerick man (Not related to the poetry form of the same name).

Historically The town of Charleville was given its name by the British during the centuries of their rule of this beautiful land. In the Irish language the town of Charleville is known as Rath Luirc; Rath: Pronounced like “rat” but with a soft ‘th’ sound, similar to the word “wrath”. Luirc: Pronounced “lurk” or “loork” (rhymes with work). Rath is also an Irish language word for a Fort thus Luirc was a word for a Lord or an ancient Lord who ruled this area. Therefore this is the origin of the name Rath Luirc.

This will come in useful to know eventually, but not so much at this point. In the late 1980’s I moved to what was a quiet village west of Cork City, where I still remain. This town and surrounding area is where I call home and will always see it as home. Worth noting is I grew up with a stutter or a stammer that kept me from mixing with others whole lot due to both lack of confidence and bullying, so I became a silent listener to a large degree, where I listened to many stories and tales especially of folklore.

This is also a place that drives my interest in both Poetry and in the heritage that is rich and what makes the Irish Person. Also it was a large part of what was behind a lot of Irish poets over the years. This is also the basis and a reason that I write this coming series of Poetry.

Todays Poem:

Today’s Poem may come across as being dark or haunting. But it is far more than that and much more than that. It is what will become known to you as you read this poem. Much as I said, will not be revealed just yet. But I hope that the Poem itself will help take you on what is a journey and an adventure. Having given enough information and in turn with held enough information to help with keeping the Mystery of this series of poems.

Certain words and terms are used to mention other words or names that I am keeping to myself right now. Yet a search will reveal what such terms like the title “Hollow Hill” means here in Ireland. This is to keep within the boundaries I have set for this series. I will reveal in the next post what some of these terms mean If they have not been revealed by folks by then.

Please enjoy this Trip and please fasten your seatbelts..

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This Image depicts an aspect that should help in this Poem

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Hollow Hill



Thoughts turn and draw me back toward home,
When words like fog would drift and roam,
Yet in that hush I came to learn,
With eager ear and watchful turn.



Do not tread on the hollow hill,
Where heavy air lies thick and still.
“Keep away,” the whispers say,
Where ancient trees bend as they sway.



A shadowed silver ring remains,
Where untouched grass defies the rains.
No farmer, beast, nor plough has trod
This quiet place, long spared by sod.



Beyond the walls, beneath the soil,
A presence kept, untouched by toil.
Heed the warnings, soft yet clear,
Though none will name what lingers near.



This land not ours, but theirs to keep,
The good people stir in hidden sleep.
No hand will claim, no voice command,
What walks unseen upon that land.



And still I pass that place with care,
And mind the hush that gathers there.
Though years have drawn me far from then,
I do not cross that hill again.








Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved 

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A Note from The Author:

Thank you for joining me on this journey of writing and discovery. Poetry, for me, is a continuous learning process. A way of finding my own voice and writing style and exploring the beauty of words.

I also write from the heart and never with the intention to cause offence. However, if anything I write ever causes discomfort, please know it is never my purpose. I am only human and occasionally typos or small errors may slip through; I do my best to correct them as soon as they are found.

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With Gratitude,

Pat Fitzgerald