I’m not a poet….

I saw the Strokestown Poetry Festival looking for poems for a competition earlier this year. For the craic I wrote something, needless to say it didn’t get shortlisted. I think I should stick to the photography.

 

Whispering trees

The trees whisper of lives lost too soon
the hunger of a nation who cried to deaf ears
gaunt faces, tired limbs walking,
hoping and praying to an invisible God

Born on the wrong side of the tracks
Land aplenty but not for the nameless
History repeating in some ways
as the trials happen all over again

Lessons still not learned
Perishing in doorways instead of dying in fields
The wealthier look on, unseeing
A Social Media outcry until the next topic comes up.
100 years gone, nothing has changed in our island of Ireland.

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Looking back

When I was at my lowest I started writing. I dug out the notebook today and I can’t even remember writing some of the things! There are a couple that jumped out at me though, and actually had me shaking my head that I wrote them, so I’ve decided to publish them here.

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For N

A safe place, a friendly face,
a golden globe of light.
A dancing flame that speaks my name
and chases away the night.
The shadow is there but there’s warmth in the air,
Held in the haven of this room.
A sacred hour, a healing power,
That helps diminish the doom.