MICHAEL WALSH is a Liverpool-born Irish poet. With over 70 book titles bearing his name on their covers, the award-winning writer and poet is likely Europe’s most prolific writer.

Patrick Roe, Michael’s fervently Republican father throughout his life supported Irish Republicanism.

By the age of 40, Patrick had fought in four conflicts. Throughout much of the Republic, British Army posters offered a reward for Patrick Roe McLaughlin dead or alive.

The War Against the Tans (1919-1922), the Irish Civil War (1922-1923), the Spanish Civil War International Brigades (1936-1939), and World War II RAF Flight Engineer 1st Class. (1939-1945).

Patrick – who later exiled himself to the United States – became an American citizen and served in the National Guard founded in 1636.

Michael’s writing and idealistic skills were mentored by his mother and to a lesser extent by his father who for obvious reasons was often absent from family life.

A fervent nationalist and Republican family one can say that the Mclaughlin (Donegal) Walsh (Wexford/Tipperary) family left its imprint on Ireland’s history.

FORTY SHADES OF VERSE by Michael Walsh is a collection of the Irish poet’s more popular verse: The popular color-illustrated book brings with it a bonus of several exciting stories that make one proud to be of Irish blood.

I BURIED FATHER’S HEART TONIGHT

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There’s a little glen in Ireland,

Where I buried Father’s heart,

It always beat for Ireland,

When the world was torn apart,

The fabric of our nation,

Was rent and scattered seed,

Then hearts that bled for Ireland,

On foreign fields would bleed.

‘

I know his heart is beating,

It welcomes every dawn;

To live in hearts we leave behind,

Is better than to mourn,

When lullabies of evening,

Are sung to lunar light,

The moon as it is rising,

Lights father’s heart at night.

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In honor of Patrick Roe McLaughlin

Son of Moville, Donegal

WHERE LIES YOUR HOMELAND

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Where lies your homeland,

and where your hearth,

Where’s best the perfect sunrise,

that pulls your breaking heart?

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It’s where our folk will wander

through the mountain and through glen,

there soars such wondrous eagles,

yet home to the smallest wren.

Where is your heart your homeland?

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that makes your soul so ache?

Where river or your forest,

Sweeps down to yonder lake;

I dream most of the poplar,

the silver ash, the pine,

it’s where my folk must wander,

from their age on to mine.

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Where lays your fondest homeland,

That lures you once again,

That pulls you at your heartstrings,

Yet pulls them so in vain?

It is where the folk will gather,

The wheat from the sweetest past,

And cast the seed so wisely,

So again, our people last.

O’CONNELL BRIDGE (DUBLIN)

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O’Connell Bridge in Dublin,

Such place of contemplation,

An island we must call at,

When seeking inspiration,

And I must go as herring shoal,

As gentle river flows,

From mountain stream to open sea,

Goodbye, my Irish rose.

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O’Connell Bridge is poignant known,

By waifs who choose migration,

The cold dawn or the foggy dew,

Reminds me of my nation,

Its span is where I strolled with you,

We dreamed about our goal,

O’Connell Bridge we said farewell,

Then paid the bridge’s toll.

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FORTY SHADES OF VERSE Michael Walsh GETS TO THE HEART OF IRELAND

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