My first poem in a series about Ireland's natural, neolithic, and megalithic stonework.

Comments and concrit are always welcome!

Newgrange I

Grey sun-warmed

rock smoothed by years

and human palms. Entrance

stone laid at the cairn's

door, sculpted to mirror

the sun and fields as we

knew them five thousand

years ago.


Before Egyptian kings

conceived Giza pyramids

or English engineers raised

the first slabs of Stonehenge,

naturally hewn rock was

harvested above the Boyne

river. Before the Celts

sought Irish shores,

Neoliths moved boulders

the size of cars through

the valley and aligned

them with the notches

in Orion's belt.


Megalithic stone-moulders

crafted the corridor

with rocks set in the earth

like teeth in a jawbone.

Three men rested beneath

the corbelled crossroads.

A king, a priest, a bard?

Each hums underground waiting

for the winter solstice. Others,

bones burnt until dust, sand

the fine gravel path and glisten

when the morning's bronzing

light slides towards their

sovereign's triskele grave.


Until Celt-colored strangers

slip into the cairn, carve their

names on the stones, scrabble

for Roman coins, cast

shadows that pool in one

cracked offering bowl.