Michael "The Bard" Mullin

Poems

Cardinal Macrory

(A Jubilee Appreciation From His Native Parish)

To us who bide among the hills you cherished as a boy
Your Jubilee’s our jubilee – our time of special joy
Our hearts inspire our greetings warm, dictate the words we send;
While hailing you our Cardinal we claim you for our Friend.

Beside our parents we had watched with deep parochial pride
The promise of the boy, beloved of all the countryside;
When halls of learning called you first from your dear native sod
To go and fit yourself to be a worthy priest of God.

Your ordination cheered us much, your consecration more;
We gloried in your glory when the Prince’s hat you wore,
Your triumphs were our triumphs, as we watched you soaring high;
Shedding honour on old Ireland and glory on the Church.

And it has been our privilege to see that country boy
Returning as a Cardinal to Ballymacilroy –
Returning with the Crosier, the Staff of Jesus, armed,
To the church wherein you were baptised, wherein you were confirmed.

You saw the memory haloed hill, the unforgotten glen,
The home of happy childhood – all the dear old scenes again,
You looked at ageing farmers – the playmates of days gone by,
You gazed on graves where kith and kin and school companions lie.

And while we listened to your words of wisdom and of truth,
We marked how much your heart was touched by memories of youth –
We loved you more for bringing back the warm heart of the boy
When you returned as Cardinal to Ballymacilroy.

God grant you many happy years to lead and guide us still,
While the Holy Ghost inspires you to do our Father’s Will
God give you Patrick’s power to propagate the Faith abroad,
For the honour of our Ireland, and the glory of our God.

We wish you many years to lead, as you have lead so well,
Despite the wiles of heresy, despite the hordes of hell –
To lead the faithful on to God, and call the erring home,
Back to the peace and shelter of the Holy Church of Rome.

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

In Memoriam

(Cardinal Logue)

We mourn the great departed:
We mourn our chieftain gone:
That Star hath set in Eirinn
That long o’er Eirinn shone.

The four sad winds of Eirinn
Carry the wail afar,
From the sad hearts in Eirinn
To where our exiles are.

God sent that Star to guide us
On to His blest abode:
While many a smooth road lured us
From the rough, narrow road.

God spared us long that Lighthouse
Above the billows dark,
When hidden rocks and tempests
Threatened the struggling bark.

His good and great achievement
Have fashioned, high and broad
A pyramid ascending
From Eirinn up to God.

No need for us to praise him
To him earth’s praise was dross
No need for us to mourn him:
But, oh: we mourn our loss.

A Star hath set in Eirinn:
Still darkling on we grope:
Lo! a new Star in heaven
Filling our hearts with hope.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

Verse 4 – bark or barque – a ship
Verse 6 – dross – refuse – of no value

Optional

I am a caged bird but
The door’s flung wide
I could fly out
Yet I stay inside.
A wall I’d scale
I’d climb a gate
To get out of jail
For jails I hate.

I’m my own boss
And I do work hard
Oft at a loss
Or a poor reward
For myself I work
Though free to rest
No thought to shirk
Disturbs my breast

In a cage am I
But the door’s ajar
And that is why
I don’t fly far
Were the door not so
I’d long to roam
But I’m free to go
So I stay at home.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.
Sent 17.12.47

Poems in Category , , A Bit of Broken Delph, A brave lad, A Bunch of Heather, A Dozen Wee Ducks, A Dream, A Dream of Home, A Failte to Foremass, A Fairy Field, A Farmer’s prayer, A Farmer’s reverie, A Field of Beauty, A glimpse through Erin’s past, A Happy Valley, A Harvest Eve in Foremass, A jolly Ploughman, A Little While, A Love Song, A Neglected Melody, A Nice Day In February, A Picture, A Ploughman’s Picture House, A Prayer for Mary, A Reverie, A Robin sang, A sigh for Foremass, A Sigh for Foremass, A Summer Eve In Tirowen, A Sweet Retreat, A turfman’s musing, A Walk and a Wish, A wee peat posy, A Wee Wee Poem, A Wise wee cat, A Wise Wee River, A Wreath of Shamrocks, A-Cartin turf, All For Mary, All Souls Night, An Autumn Scene, An Exile’s Homecoming, An Exile’s Recollections, An Irish Whin Bush, An Old Man’s Prayer, An Old, Old Pair, An Untitled Poem from late 1960/Early 1970s, April, April, At the corn sowing, At The Cutting of The Peat, At The Stacking of The Corn, Autumn Musings, Autumn Musings, Back to the bog, Beech Leaves, Blame me not if I’m unworthy, Blessed Oliver Plunket, Both of us dream, Brian, Brian and Maire, Brigid’s Day, By A Foremass Fireside, By A New-Made Grave, By A Pleasant Riverside, Cardinal Macrory, Carting home the turf, Cloughfin River, Cushla Machree, Cutting the peat, Danny Aroon, Dear Irish Breeze, Death of an August Day, Deceived, Dermot, Do Not Wait Till Christmas, Doing the Stations of the Cross, Easter 1916, Exile Dream, Farewell To Foremass, Feast of The Assumption, Flying, Fond Memories, Foremass Braes, Four Wee Ducks, Glennanffrin, Grave Thoughts, Green Fields, Greeting The Exiles, Had I The Muse’s Art Divine, Hail Mary Full of Grace, Harvesting, He Knelt by a Grave, Heaven on Earth, Hi for the hills, I Love, I Sing, I take a stroll, I walk among my stooks, In April, In Foremass in Tyrone, In Memoriam, In memory of Joan Duggan (nee Mullin), Michael’s daughter. Died 5th March 2017 in Daisy Hill Hospital Newry. Rest in peace, In Springtime, In the bog, In the boglands, In The Doorway of her Cottage, Johnny, Joy comes with Spring, Joy Comes With Spring, June, Kathaleen, Kindness, Knockmanny, Lament of The Rose of Knockmanny, Lines To A Thrush, Lines to Mary, Little Things of Grace, Looking Back, Looking back, Loud Roars The Breeze, Love In A Cot, Loves Petition, Mary, Mary Machree, Maureen Asthore, Memories of May, Mountain hiking, Mountain musings, My Favourite Stream, My God is Not A Distant God, My Monitor, My Native Stream, My Rosary Beads, Near A Hill-Top, New Year, No Surrender, Noreen of Shane, November Dead, O Foremass Mine, O Little River, O Sacred Heart of Jesus, O! Cruel Fate, O, Teach Me, Blackbird, Of The Sacred Heart of Jesus, On Altamuskin, On Altamuskin Brae, On Christmas Day, On the Mountain, One Bower, Only a few more hills to climb, Optional, Patrick Dan (PD) Mullin “The Bard”, Pleasant Comrades, Ploughing in the Foremass fields, Ploughin’, Porridge, Remembering, Remembering, Rustic Charms, Sacred Heart of Jesus, Sad Songs are the Songs for Me, September Days, Sing Us A Song of Joy, Sing us a song of joy, Song of a Foremass Farmer, Song of the grey-beards, Spring In My Garden, St. Bride, St. Brigid’s Day, St. Brigid’s Day, The Bog Road, The Bogwind, The brown bogs of Ireland, The Brown Bogs of Ireland, The critical times, The Daisy, The eve of June, The Farmer among his stooks, The Foremass fields, The hills for me, The Holy Year, The Hopeful Bachelor, The key of happiness, The Magpie’s Song, The Masterpiece, The May in Ireland, The noble men who died, The Northern Blackwater, The Old Altar in Altamuskin, The old and new, The Old Home Road, The old year, The Ould Clocker, The Owenbrack, The Ploughman, The Poet to the Farmer, The Poet to the Farmer, The Roads of Tyrone, The rushing gale, The Secret, The Sleepy Valley in July, The song of the plough, The Song That Soothes My Heart, The Turfman’s song, The Vale, The Valley of The Telephone, The Wood In Autumn, There’s a High Hill in Tyrone, This is an unpublished and untitled peice – probably a first draft and undated post 1950, Thomas Davis, Thomas Davis, Thoughts by an old ruin, To Autumn, To Mullaghcairn, To My Brother, To My Brother, To My Youth’s Comrade, To Pansies, To Please My Love, To The Queen of October, To the river Erne, To The Sacred Heart, To welcome May, Tom Tig, Turf smoke, Untitled piece 1947, Untitled Poem/Handwritten, Waiting for the Bogtime, Weary winds asleep, Wee Burn, Welcome Home, What Makes Me Love My Mary, When Apple Trees Bloom, When carting home the peat, When Spring comes to Foremass, When the Heather blooms, While Ploughing in Spring, Whin Bushes, With Her Besom In Her Hand, Your Love, ‘tis Springtime now in Ireland, ‘twill soon be Spring in Ireland, ‘twill soon be Spring in Uladh,

(Cardinal Logue)

Categories