3 episodes

Podcast by mrjonmoore

mrjonmoore mrjonmoore

    • Arts
    • 2.0 • 1 Rating

Podcast by mrjonmoore

    Carrauntoohil Dreaming

    Carrauntoohil Dreaming

    Carrauntoohil Dreaming

    "Monologue and soundscape."

    Monaro droughted me.
    Brown, sharp, rubbed down acute angles.
    Frost dazzled, frosted kills.
    Edge worn granite, iconic valley.

    Ancient wildness, glacier free,
    Eons eroded, plough ripped soil
    Soil quicksilvered to the sea.
    Sheeped pastures trodden down.

    Terrestrial dragons and psychic daemons
    Touching and calling
    Dreamings and knowledge
    Triquetra and books.


    Blackberry songlines weave the paddocks.
    Vixen wanders across the just cut silage.
    In the rear, at the cottage of the dairy, the older man cuts his firewood.
    His older brother feeds apple halves to calves and heifers.

    I walk the songlines, feeding on them.
    The softness of soil enveloping my boots.
    Touching, caressing through the rubber.
    The softness, the verdant lush.

    Language rolls, understanding flows.
    A deep stirring awakens.
    The soil caresses, the soil cleanses,
    Light showers, not real rain, locals distraught, “bloody rain”.

    50 miles from the Avenue of the O’Connors
    Kingdom blood lines,
    Kingdom fled
    Kingdom return.

    And Carrauntoohil sits
    Misted over
    Shining free
    Fulcrum of the ring.


    Ripped untimely from that soil of my maternal line.
    “I want to go home.”
    Paddock walking, blackberry eating, raw milk drinking.

    Soil softness grows
    Soles caressed
    Eyes moistened
    Heart opened

    Facetimed children: coming back.
    Sister enquiries: You ok?
    I will be but
    Carrauntoohil sits, fulcrum of my life

    Aerodromes traversed
    Passport stamped
    Sleep disrupted
    Antipodean landing.

    Rest, travel, rest, write,
    Sleep, sleep each night disturbed
    Fulcrum of my dreams

    Dream after dream
    Carrauntoohil dreaming
    At each step to Van Diemen's Land

    Carrauntoohil calls.
    Calls quietly,
    Sleep disturbed.

    Carrauntoohil acknowledged
    Dreams still dreamed
    Sleep more restful
    Gut turned, visceral, ancient,

    Calling, quietly calling,
    From the heart of the Ring,
    A part of me stayed
    The part my maternal line left

    Soaked in melancholy
    I mourn for a home part lived
    A home half grasped

    • 4 min


    Making bread and you should!

    • 3 min
    20. Skibbereen Soundscape

    20. Skibbereen Soundscape

    A walk through Skibbereen, West Cork.

    • 3 min

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