Analysis of The Shore of Loch Erne
Brian Clifton 1975 (Ohio)
Gaelic by his Mag-Guire Clan heritage
the direct descendant of chieftains
of the former Kingdom of Fermannah,
the alderman eyed each grain of sand.
Fine white crystal sand of distant lands
sifted down through a bottleneck sieve
depleting each second in an hour's span
just to turn it over and watch it again.
Another evening spent in sleeplessness,
wandering memories in slumber's stead,
recalling the hour of his first encounter
of the day he met his bonnie lass.
Her forlorn figure could be faintly seen
from aloft his manor house balcony,
she was stuck amidst a wetland bog,
tangled in tall grass and cattail reeds.
She was mired nearly waist-deep in peat
Her strength waning, about to cease,
as the evening cold began creeping in,
the bog's muddy grip would not release.
As a gentleman compelled to help,
he quickly adorned his riding coat.
From the saddle hung a length of rope
as he rode out in haste to save her.
A parliament of old grey-horned owls
perched nearby, watched in curiosity
from the boughs of an Alder Tree Fearn
in the forest by the shore of Loch Erne.
For his assistance, she was grateful
the look on her face assured him
as he pulled her free with ease
into his arms embrace, mud-caked.
As they stood by the water's edge
showers of petals fell around them,
velvet-like white apple blossoms
felt like gentle kisses caressing skin.
He formally introduced himself
by way of name, rank and title.
She replied in kind, her name Eileen
by way of a curtsy while she smiled.
Her voice was like a lark's sweet trill,
resonating as if time stood still
he knew then that one day soon
she would assume his family name.
He courted her and gave all his ardor
a string of pearls that he bought her.
Reciting poetry that he'd write her,
keeping promises that he made her.
In the gardens, one perfect evening
as they danced beneath the stars
he pulled her in even closer still
and whispered something in her ear.
He said to her the prettiest flower
he ever had the chance to pluck
was one he found just by luck
growing wild in the mud and muck.
She couldn't help but laugh and grin
his sweetest bonnie lass, Eileen.
But fate had made other plans
to come and take her away from him.
Her fate arrived before that spring,
depriving her of her wedding day.
She'd wear her white dress anyway,
vows were traded on final breaths.
She was laid to rest in flower beds
in the garden where they danced,
filled with the scent of emptiness
and floweret blooms of Bonnie Lass.
A parliament of old grey-horned owls
asked why not who for the first time
perched up high in an Alder Tree Fearn
in the forest by the shore of Loch Erne.
Scheme | xabx xxbb axcd bbxx xebe xxxc FxbB ghxx xxxb xgbx iibx cccc jxix ckkk bbxh jllx xxxd FxbB |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1011111100 001010110 10101011 010011111 111011101 10110101 01011001101 11111001101 01010101 100100011 010010111010 101111101 0011011101 1011101100 11101011 10011011 111101101 01100111 1010101100 011011101 101000111 110011101 101010111 111101110 010011111 111100100 101111011 0010101111 110101110 01101011 1110111 01110111 11110101 101101011 10111010 1110100101 11000101 11111010 101010101 111010111 01110111 10011111 1111111 110111001 1100011110 01111110 0101001110 101001110 001010110 1110101 110010101 01010001 1110010010 11010111 1111111 10100101 11011101 11010101 1111101 110100111 01010111 010010101 1101110 10101101 111110101 0010111 11011100 0111101 010011111 11111011 111011011 0010101111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,650 |
Words | 539 |
Sentences | 23 |
Stanzas | 18 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 72 |
Letters per line (avg) | 29 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 116 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 27 |
About this poem
This is a story influenced by my Irish heritage.
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"The Shore of Loch Erne" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/166219/the-shore-of-loch-erne>.
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