• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Poems
    The eve of June

    May looks her last on fruit trees, flowers and all:
    June’s gazing o’er the garden-orchard wall,
    Rain softly falls. Amorously the breeze
    Kisses red lips of blooming apple trees.

    A rag on every bush this breeze may be,
    But sweeter blushes he will never see.
    The rain drops cease. Still an unceasing shower
    Of bird made music rains on tree and flower.

    The sun lights up the orchard. What a strange,
    Swift transmutation! all the raindrops change
    To charming jewels, hung from every bough
    And flower.  Prodigal is nature now.

    While blend the hum of bees, the wind’s low croon,
    The songs of many birds, I wait for June;
    And yet a sigh escapes me as the day
    Draws to a close – a sigh for passing May.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross. Co. Tyrone.

    To welcome May

    Ye happy birds! that dwell among
    Our Foremass groves this April day,
    Carol a sweet ecstatic song
    To welcome May.

    O lark! ascend yon bright blue skies,
    And southward gaze, while hymns you chant;
    O lark! – lest May should us surprise –
    Be vigilant.

    O’er Foremass fields the live long day,
    The cuckoo with untiring voice
    Calls: “I’m the hearld of the May –
    Rejoice! rejoice!”

    Wear, braes of gorse! your crowns of gold;
    Your snowy blooms, O thorn! prepare;
    Ye fields! your fairest flowers unfold,
    And proudly wear.

    Bloom, Foremass! for your visitor –
    Sweet May that comes but once a year,
    May, which we’ve sighed and waited for,
    Loved May is near.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross. Co. Tyrone.

    A sigh for Foremass

    It will soon be May in Foremass
    But I shall not be there
    To hear the corncrakes craking
    And the friendly cuckoos making
    Public the name they bear.
    I envy these wee tourists
    As they coo and crake away
    Their monotones repeating
    As a sign of kindly greeting
    As they tour the fields in May.

    I have been so long from Foremass
    I fear when back I’ll go.
    I’ll seek in vain old faces
    Of old friends I used to know.
    And I fear I’ll be forgotten
    And that I’ll find but few
    Old voices to remind me
    Of the home I left behind me –
    Save corncrake and cuckoo.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross. Co. Tyrone.