There is something sad and noble about the ruins of old houses such as this one at Knockadoo near Coolaney, Co Sligo. Picture taken on my recent visit to the area. Sad to think that once this was a shop, much more than a shop, the centre of the local community, bought eggs from the housewives, gave credit until the end of the week, month or until the cattle were sold.
I barely remember it as a shop and think it closed sometime in the late sixtes. I knew it as Sharkey's but I think it was Henry's in its heyday.
There is something beautiful and tragic in the way it has been allowed to decay slowly rather than be demolished and replaced.
I absolutely refuse to write a poem on this subject. Been done before. No matter how original you think your thoughts are someone else has been there.
Oh if there’s an original thought out there, I could use it right now -
Bob Dylan Brownsville Girl.
I actually stole the first line of this song and slightly altered it for my movie poem High Noon. No-one has yet noticed the plagarism though I've read it a few places.
On the other hand the Climbing Knocknashee poem, which was more or less commissioned and I hope is unique, has been finished satisfactorily.