Echoes of Ancient Songs
(Words & Music written by Gary L Mac LEMAN - 1991)

A woman sings like birds up in the sky
there's a lover who fears to fall.
A minstrel sits and quietly plays
there's a dreamer hears them all.

Only the faintest of echoes
survived that struggle to be free.
They touch my ears after all of these years
fare ye well to all I did see.

A piper plays like sighing in the trees
there's a fiddler who walks hand in hand.
A drummer calls up the thunder of storm
there's a dream that walks on the land.

Life drifts on day to day
a fantasy it sometimes seems.
Last night asleep a vision asked me
which one of us is the dream.

Climb into the craziness of solitude
bow before the naked dream.
Was it the song or the woman who held me
fare ye well to all that seemed so real
Echoes of Ancient Songs  reflects some of the
magic I gained from sessions and gigs in Ireland
between my arrival in 1986 and 1991, when I wrote
the song. The last verse was actually the first
written and the music stemmed from there. That
verse is more introspective and sums up how I
viewed myself as well as reflecting a few nights west
along, always in the best of company.
I retain vivid memories of a myriad of poignant images which
were stitched together to form the song and even after
gigging it on the road for 16 years, I still get a kick out of
playing and singing it. Thanks to all of ye who gave it to me, I
wish you
- Echoes of Ancient Songs
Briefest glimpse of ye
(Words & Music written by Gary L Mac LEMAN - 1995)

You led me to the water          you would not let me drink
I was so thirsty          I could not even think
You took me to an ocean        you would not let me swim
You said with my enthusiasm            I could gain anything.

Like a wave upon the shore             I rush and reach I seek for more
'ere I slip into the sea              I catch just the briefest glimpse of ye.

You followed to the mountain           but you would not climb
You stood there looking at the sea              for such a long long time
You never touched this Irish coast       with all its mystery
Where black cliffs spray wet with salt         hold back Atlantic seas.

Like a wave upon the shore             I rush and reach I seek for more
'ere I slip into the sea              I catch just the briefest glimpse of ye.
The tune of Tommy's Box,' which follows on
directly from 'Briefest Glimpse of Ye,' on the
CD, refers to Tom O'Leary and the full story is
only available from himself. Suffice to say, it
wasn't the box he was playing at all, but the one he
was sitting on.

Photo of Tom below, hard at work as usual.
But.........   Joking aside, you'll hear Tom's box
(button accordion or melodian) on all of
Dreamcraft's CDs. That's why the pic is here,
for whilst Tom was busy playing trad. and
genealogying, he always found time to aid us in our

Thanks Tom
Go not further for beyond
here be Dragons !!!
Well....There's one dragon anyway
(A Sonnet of the Autumn Sea)
( by Gary Mac Leman - 1991)

There is a path
leads to the sea,
where the ocean spends it's wind wound wrath
upon black jagged upthrust rocks.

High above there rears a steep and craggy headland,
which seems to stare across the waves
beyond the ranked and rushing sweep of swells.

Wild windy days,
flecked flakes of foam upswept
to fly like frothy snow upon the gale,
and drift down slow within the lee where we await the call.

For there a heart is lost to time,
becoming free as oft' thro' time it seems to be,
whenever man gazes in quiet across the sea.
The poem Spindrift reflects a time when so
much was happening in such small pieces of time.
I drove a couple down west along, we walked to
the shore, beyond the beacon at Baltimore and
sat and watched the waves roll in off the Atlantic
and crash into the dark, jagged rocks. Suddenly
from a blue sky snowflakes appeared and
drifted down amongst us. We looked at each
other in confusion and that moment lasted for an
eternal few minutes, in a way it's never yet
It turned out to be spindrift which had been
swept up above us, up a hundred feet of  vertical
cliffs some way behind us and then drifted down
. Spindrift.
Of course there's a lot more in the poem, but
that's a start.