Inspired by a true, sad story unearthed with only scant timeline facts left in historical record and subsequently the subject of a post by the wonderful photographer and lovely gal, Inese ( ) Her exquisite photo heads this ‘almost poem’. Plainly, I have availed myself of poetic licence in penning this. 


Only within an enchanted island of gemstone green carpet

where a chivalrous white mist serves to guard from harm

the innocence of a new rainbow’s inviting curve

where if you listen hard enough you will hear forgotten

castle ruins whisper their darkest secrets

could the knife of Divine betrayal

cut so deep a wound

that the inevitable contagion that is grief

spreads far and wide

hunts down the blameless

loses track of the hideaway guilt

of purist happenstance

“No chance of a mother and child reunion, this side of eternity?”

the last utterance of a melancholy Lord of Waterford

later to be found in his library

a single bullet to the temple

When desire grabs hold of a chosen heart

then feasts upon carnality exposed

when yesterday’s forbidden smile

becomes tomorrow’s surrogate sorry frown

a fate is sealed

He had lost all that was sacred

ingrained lethargy born

of eternal longing for what had gone

in the knowledge that a new beginning

was impossible

while Memory’s sweet fragrance lingered still

he had had no choice

no say in the matter

such was the event

at Curraghmore House, Waterford October 23, 1895

Long since he, the one described in song as, ‘reckless and rollicky’, had begged of good fortune a reprise of their stay at the Hotel Westminster, Paris in the spring of ’69

A pair of young elopers, landed gentry at that, leaving a mighty scandal in their wake, for both were married mortals, had slept through dawn’s own symphony of lovebird’s song, the fatigue of unbridled intimacy had seen to that

“Did I hear you screaming ‘Oh yes’ or was it ‘Amen’?” he joshed

no method actress, her scornful see-through blush of pretence, “You tease, you know full well, the latter” she lied, mattered not

“All my life I have wanted to be adored by women, now I’m gratified to be adored by just you…you, my Florence…I’ll somehow make an honest woman of you, you wait and see”

true to his word, he untangled affairs of yesteryear, won himself a new bride

Lord and new Lady set up home in Belgravia

where only the rich and powerful dwell

yet notwithstanding the privilege assets bestow

egalitarian cruel circumstance observes no preference

the worth of a moment comes when tears and fears coalesce

he could see that after the event

when mother and child were no more

The City of Love, not Olde London Town

 would have been a finer place for his Florence

and new-born, denied first breath, to die

Herewith, Inese’s post link;


  1. Ye gods, Sir. Simply brilliant and beautiful and another b-word I can’t think of. Brave? Sure. All I know is that my heart grew heavy, my eyes wet, and mind lost to an emerald isle of the past. xxxxxx

      1. This historical tale had a timeline to it that posed difficulties when looking for the surreal and the improbable…don’t think I’d make a good historian!

  2. Isn’t it inspiring that 150 years later a Poet comes across the timeline facts and is touched by their sadness. Beautiful, Mike, and thank you so much for the mention.

  3. I have been a fan of Inese for two years and often admire her mixture of history, photography and nature. She is such a connector of information with people. Mike, glad to meet you, read you and enjoyed the forlorn romantic love poem. I understand how past and present intermingled and felt it was lovely indeed. Smiles, Robin

    1. Well thank you Robin. Inese is indeed a diamond, compassionate lady. Me? An old fool who is glad to meet you also. I have just ‘followed’ or whatever it is named. You write superbly.

      1. Oh, my! Mike there are sometimes I just wing it, so thank you graciously for your follow. I will remember to go and do this, now. Funny, as life passes I skip important steps such as this! 🙂

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