As Autumn Cyclamen splash purple amongst the summer’s fallen leaves in the shadows of a chestnut tree, I hear sad news .

Autumnal Cyclamen

The man of liberated multi-colored words died today.

Articock and fushia

He painted feelings into cloudy sky, words you or I would leave behind in the dirty ditch of life.


He brought words back to life in landscapes of time and memory.


He read his own work like no other.


His words provoked unique sound to his ear, words flowed into memories that entwined flavors of our own imagined making.

Holy Thorn (1)

He found universal memories of Ireland in words of depth and breadth to an unsung feeling that we grasped and found tangible once again.

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Fly up


Fly free


To those “full-starred heavens” above your Wicklow Hills


I look up to our loss, the composer of words that sang to our souls.


With his Mother’s love whispered in our ears, “Teach me now to listen”.

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