This poem is the first in a series I wrote for my English class based on prompts about the poetry of Seamus Heaney. Heaney was a Nobel-prize winning Irish poet who dealt with struggles of identity and politics during the Troubles in Northern Ireland and in the tense political climate before and after. This poem of mine is based on his poem “The Barn”.
The hike is gorgeous-
You can see blue hills between tall trees.
Green and leafy, they share their plumage
With the soft brown earth.
Slate grey rocks tower, loom- jagged edges like
Rusted knives in an old workshop.
With panting breaths that can’t
Quite breathe it all in,
Higher, higher, higher, higher-
Till trees have shrunk to weeds
(the knives of rock are sharper, now).
Gravels rattle around my boots:
Down, down, down, down-
I cannot hear
The music of their fall; above the Earth
I have flown
But all I see is falling.
Suns rise, and also suns set.
Will I set through empty air?
The mountain does not embrace me.
Me towards my edge, my set, my fall
Towards the lovely ground.