Drumlin Spirit (Michael Coleman)

Wind, whistling seductive 

whispers to barley. 

Rustling, swishing whispers. 

Sound slivers, tightly woven silk

sliding o’er itself, a slow 

undressing as,

the barley faintly sings. 

Stalks move, bunched to waves

undulating, pulsating neath

 the air’s intimate caress. 

Bleached blond streaks gold gilded ochre.

A glorious ormolu sea, softly 

sweeping over curvaceous hips, 

two fields of August barley, elegantly 


a rotund drumlin with capes of barley-silk. 

Golden white the favoured Southerly. 

The other nudged North 

a little,

green-shot. A less generous sun

graces the sheen of its bristled back

some grain yet to ripen 

for the blade. 

Both draped capes move


each elegant stalk 

a bird in a flock turning, rising, swooping, 


as one being. A murmuration of grain.

Oh! The Uisce Beatha* 

from these shimmering capes

will swirl into tiny waves. 

Trapped in crystal.

Refracting ambers, golds, 

barley-straw yellows, warm coppers, 

hot reds.  

Silky, honeyed, smooth 

yet fiery to the tongue 

and easy to slowly relish

easy as a King’s golden cape 


carelessly o’er

his regal, jaunty shoulder.

*Gaeilge (water of life) for Whiskey


Michael Coleman: Irish Sea 2nd rate sailor. Played an early part in the successful Irish Medium Education revival, some may say revolution in Belfast.  Michael O’Brien of Ireland’s biggest independent publisher said of my prose “Coleman can certainly write & its hard to if it is fact or fiction”. I have had a little success with my poetry &  shorts. I has a short published in USA by Pretend Genius Press.


image: MM Kaufman