John Malachy Raftery

Trying to keep going as workhouse cook, weak as water, Gone down a lot, witness to every Townland’s famine slaughter. Thin soup they get would hardly wet a blotter in a jotter, By the day, surviving inmates more wizened, faces tauter. For small share of watered down oats from Big Urn, They line up, ragged caps-in-hand, hold out bowls in turn For maybe Last Supper, as with infections stomachs churn….

For well over a decade around millennium’s turn, ‘Twixt Glenamaddy and Listowel many miles did I burn. At what John Lynch was cooking up in his cranial urn Full of anticipation, rhymes and history to filmically churn. Welcome Clieveragh calls to action I n’eer thought to spurn. His mindful eye for detail, for quality in all we did, Inspired confidence, as from scene to scene we slowly slid. From forgotten…

So German Weiss-Bier consuming may be up for re-set? To-do-listed for long… but maybe not just yet? Scarce a threat to health, small indulgence a safe bet, With ”Reinheitsgebot”, what you pay for you get. In-bottle fermented, leaving one quite undemented, Viable price leaving any budget quite undented. From bladder ‘fore bed, contents fully vented, By such small mercies be evenings accented. Hosts of daily rituals faciliate self-regulation; No-one not…