Mother Cat
The cat came back
I thought she was a goner but she came back
From far beyond where houses end,
Where feral cats hang out.

We were to drive on holidays
No time for a black cat.
Unless it was for luck and we would relish that.

She whined outside the garage door
Now why would she do that?

I opened up the garage door
And there was the why
A litter of black kittens
That looked like they might die.

She took the biggest by the neck
And padded towards the wall
She scaled the six foot structure
No trouble at all.
She came back for the next one
She did this four times more

ʻItʼs really late the road is long
Close the door and letʼs be goneʼ
One left.
I put this mite outside the door
I knew this cat and sheʼd be back one time more.
By Carmel McCarthy

Alligator
Alligator, alligator
Solar panels in your back
Short legs: deadly jaws
Who made you like that?

You are a man eating monster
We equal food to you
Youʼd grab us in your massive jaws
And break us in two

You bask in still waters
Your snout and eyes above
Your long tail a rudder to steer you about
You can run on land to land a man
Youʼre a fearsome predator

Yet when caring for offspring
Youʼre as gentle as can be
You guard them be they yours or not
As long as theyʼre alligators
By Carmel McCarthy

Blaw Klee
In the streets of wholesome hatred
In the nutshell of the night
Some lads were pegging bottles
In the graveyard of the light.
Red neon wreathed the buildings
And kept flashing “Rest In Peace”.
A requiem was chanted
By the siren blue police.
The bridges spread their legs
As if to span some sexy truth
But the river went on searching
For the crystal of its youth.
The cinemas went crawling
Through a schoolyardʼs sunk black hull
Where the March hare and the hatter
Put the dormouse in a skull.
The parks were breathing fragrance
But the bakery sailed on
To some titanic breakfast
On the iceberg of the dawn.
By Peter Kay

Nowhere in the Inn
My daughter and her friend
are off to Edinburgh
for Hogmanay. Theyʼve booked
no accommodation, and there
is nowhere to stay now.
I imagine them
stuck on the street all night
in the cold northern wind,
or worse, taken home by a fiend.

With the resilence of youth,
they do not seem worried,
reject my attempts to help.
I worry for them, am I
becoming my own mother?
I who hitchhiked across America,
slept in ditches, went home
with total strangers,
travelled penniless but hopeful
and somehow survived.

But it was a different time,
I tell myself. People were friendlier,
capitalism less entrenched,
psychopaths fewer. But secretly
I suspect that the only
real difference
is that I was young.
By Glenda Cimino

Twenty– for Zoe
Twenty years ago your ecstatic father
welcomed you here, and to the other side
of the world he sent this news to me, and I
used words to celebrate your life.

Today snow purifies your day
the branches hold the frozen drops
as you walk on into an adult life, we wish
you every blossoming good

And wave you on to make your art
to leave your mark and make your own
days full, live your life, grab its beat
Dance it– with strong feet.
Anne Le Marquand Hartigan

Ritual
I put my youngest grandchild to bed.

I baby sit. She is four–
she knows her world. Neat
and complete she cleans her teeth
and I read a story. Together we
tuck up the day. She says Now tell
me your story. I tell her the actions
of my day. Now, she says I need
a song. I sing The Fox and the Goose.
She does not mind that goose is
the foxʼs dinner. I sing a lullaby
as her eyes droop– I blow kisses
as I leave. “Leave the door open wide.”
I do. Both our worlds are full.
Anne Le Marquand Hartigan

The Good Wine– Menopause
I have poured my blood out.
Giving always.
Used it.

Curled in my womb.
Carried it. Carefully.
Forced the child out.
Bawling.

Six times this womb has filled.
It is enough.

Now I choose myself,
wisdom is my own.
Even the moon cannot tempt me,
I am full-grown.

Riches I shared so liberally
I pull these tides home.
The wine that spilled abundance
now is mine alone.

I have bred the world on
pushed over a turning,
I am stronger than the moon,

and those thoughts that give you fear
are truer than the sunʼs eye.
Anne Le Marquand Hartigan

As always, we welcome contributions to
The Poetry Place, which can be sent to the
‘NewsFour’ offices at 15 Fitzwilliam Street,
Ringsend, Dublin 4.