Friday, November 22, 2013

The Lonesome Boatman

Tranquility  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

Kylemore Lake  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

Listen to this beautiful air written by Finbar Furey in 1968.  

Wednesday, November 20, 2013


Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.
 by Edgar Albert Guest

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Soft Day

'Soft Day, The Flaggy Shore'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

"And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white
Their fully-grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you'll park or capture it more thoroughly
You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open".

                                                         Seamus Heaney

'Soft Day, Ballyvaughan, Co Clare'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Galway Hookers

'Galway Hookers'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

The Gift of The Seagull

"Seagulls"  Oil on Canvas.  Patricia Kavanagh

"A lonely seagull flies the winds
Majestic...soaring... gliding wings
A single screech sounds from the sky
Come fly with me...come here and fly!

My spirit floats to be a part
I feel the beating of its heart
My soul, one with this bird of sea
Now knows the meaning, to fly free!

I feel the winds caress my soul
And soar the streams without a goal
My being trembles of delight
A treasure I received tonight

The seagull's flight of soaring high
The gift of what it means to fly!

A poem by Munda

Calm Before the Storm

'Calm Before the Storm'  Oil on Board.  Patricia Kavanagh

"My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring.
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today.

by Anne Bronte

Stormy Skies over The Burren

'Looks like Rain' at Newquay, Co Clare
Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

'The Walk at The Flaggy Shore'
Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

'Thunder Clouds on the Burren'
Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

Furbo Strand

'Furbo Strand'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

"O grey and bleak, by shore and creek, the rugged rocks abound,
But sweet and green the grass between, as grows on Irish ground
So friendship fond, all wealth beyond, and love that lives away
Bless each poor home beside your foam, my dear old Galway Bay". 

Sunset at Kinvara

'Sunset at Kinvara'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh

'Summer Sunset at Kinvara'  Oil on Canvas.  Patricia Kavanagh

"A boat on the sea, my boat
Eager and frail!
Sweet skies, smile as you look 
On that fairy sail.

Waves, great waves, many years
You have worked your will.
Just while she passes through
Kind waves, be still.

Winds - and I may not ask
That you never blow,
But spare her the moaning note
That old boats know".

by Ethel Turner

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Cliffs of Moher

'By The Cliffs'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh 

'On The Rocks'  Oil on Canvas  Patricia Kavanagh