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Francis E. Faunt

A Wave

Rhythms beat within my head, marking out the song,

The whistling wind, the waves refrain, the pulse beats
hard and strong.
Wither winds on winter days, the fire warms the soul

The gnarled tree in tortured repose clings upon the knoll.

And the rhythms beat within my head, marking out the season
Within surges power natural in a land beyond all reason.

A collage of thought and feeling abound, a kaleidoscope
of joy and sound
A collapse of past-remembered dreams and new ones yet unfound.

Waiting at the edge of day, at the edge of night
On the line the great divide, waiting to take flight.

Leaving behind the unfulfilled schemes, letting go of the broken dreams.
Falling unfettered toward the future along and unknown stream.

I stand-alone now and joy enwraps my soul
Released for once to be me in that place beyond the mortal sea.

Tonn

Rithimí á mbualadh istigh i mo cheann, mar bheadh
meadracht amhráin ann

Feadaíl ghaoithe is siansa tonn ina gcuisle bhorb theann.

Agus gaoth dhreoiteach an gheimhridh, a chuireann ag triall ar thinidh sinn
Is a chorraíonn an crann cnapánach atá faoi shuan ar bharr an chnoic.

Rithimí á mbualadh istigh i mo cheann, ar nós mheadracht na séasúr

Cumhacht aiceanta ag cur thar maoil, gan teorainn lé' ná réasún.
Measctar machnamh is mothúcháin i gcumasc lúchaire is fuaime
Castar aislingí an lae inné ar aislingí úrnua.

Agus fanaimse i rith an ama, ag comhrac lae is oíche
Ar an teorainn leathan dhomhain údaí, is mé ag súil le héalú
Ó gach scéim atá gan chríochnú, ó gach aisling, fís is beart
Is imeacht liom gan cheangal i dtreo an ama atá le theacht.

Seasaimse liom féin anois, m'anam lán d'aoibhneas
Cead mo chinn is mo chos agam ó dhaoirse mo chomhdhaoine.

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Biography

The poem was translated to the Irish by Antain Mac Lochlainn. The writer has had several poems published. He has had poems published the Irish Newspaper, La and in the Sligo based Flaming Arrows, issue 6. The writer takes his inspiration from W.B.Yeats and the beautiful land and people of Donegal. The first poem the writer had published and the first he wrote was at the age of eleven on the death of John F. Kennedy. The writer resides in the rural countryside of New Jersey.



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