Epilepsy
I thought I had accepted you,
That you’d become a part of me;
But sometimes I hate your arrogance,
And what you do to me.
I can’t see you with my eyes,
You’re not a person or a thing;
Just an angry hostile imposter,
An alien within.
I’m with my friends in a crowded bar,
I’m walking down the road;
Just a normal happy human being
With a concealed and heavy load.
Then suddenly you’re overwhelming me,
a sensation I despise;
but the more I try to ignore you,
The more you disregard my cries.
You fill my brain with mixed messages,
You eat away at my soul;
You suck the strength from my body
Yet still you strive for more.
I turn around in panic
Who will come to my aid?
I attempt to shout in vain
Before my sight begins to fade.
Where will my dreams take me this time?
What will this journey take?
What horrors will invade my mind?
What if this time I don’t wake?
People are looking at me strangely,
As I begin to moan;
I want to scream and shout,
I don’t want to be alone.
For I know that I’m about to fall
Into a dark and gaping hole,
I know I’ll be pathetic
I know I’ll lose control.
I pray with the precious seconds I have left;
I hold on with all my might;
Before your cruel strength overpowers me
And I succumb to flight.
By Audrey Healy
Flowers for the living
I would rather have one little rose
From the garden of a friend
Than to have the choicest flowers
When my stay on earth must end
I would rather have one pleasent
Word in kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart stands still
And life as ceased to be
I would rather have a loving smile
From friends I know are true
Than tears shed around my coffin
When this world I bid adieu
Bring me all your flowers today
Weather pink or white or red
I’d rather have one blossom now
Than a truckload when I’m dead
By Ann Marie
Refugee
You are marked by the steel stick
that props you up on the narrow grass
patch in the centre of the N4 dual
carriageway where a constant flow of
vehicles move towards changing lights.
When the traffic comes to a halt I will
stretch out my arm, place a donation
in the bucket you keep near your body,
while you struggle to sell the Big Issue. In your luminous lemon jacket you seem
out of place among the surroundings here.
None of us know how your limb was damaged
and we never seem to have time to ask
or find out if you speak English words. I often wonder if you have a room of your
own or a place to rest after hopping by
cars, while leaning on crutches and the
steel pin that holds up your body all day. Is it for rent for your room that you
spend so much time in the rain and wind
around the same traffic lights here,
have you a friend who will cook a meal
or heat to dry your clothes at nightfall?
By Mary Guckian Sycamore Trees
Secure and stately sycamore
trees, across the road, fill
our front windows with pink
candelabra on this May morning.
The candy floss blossoms give
light to the grim grey area
where many young people reside
in bed sitters and small flats.
These trees have witnessed
much change, yet they continue
to flood from their branches
brilliant blushing petals,
bringing a delicate grace
to an old Edwardian Street.
By Mary Guckian Nedeen
As we walked down the boreen
We made a friend, Nedeen,
The name we gave the donkey,
Who stood there all alone. For meet and greet,
His frame expanded,
Then breathing out his bray resounded Exertion over, he lay down
And turned and rolled upon the ground
Feet in the air. Quick as lightening, he was up
We stood, in wonder, at the fuss,
A big performance, just for us. When we returned upon the track,
He poked his nose into my back.
By Carmel McCarthy
Butterfly
That day sunny warm and beautiful,
no different than any other summer’s day.
As I sat on my garden chair careless
and free you flew into my life, and
garden of flowers and blossoms
fluttering and waltzing in the midday sun.
You looked majestic exclusive admirable
and fine freedom at its best, glorious.
Your colours, those are of delicate
pastels blue and white.
When then arrived your partner, who joined
you to perform, both of you fluttering and
chasing each other in the sunny afternoon.
I look and thought you are the perfect pair,
compatible in every way.
Oh what a shame
your marriage lasted for one day,
but then to you both that’s a lifetime.
By Francis Brady
March day on the canal
Warmer that June
our weather pattern
keeps on changing
our central heating
needs resetting.
From across the road
gangs of workers erupt
from overheated buildings
sit on metal seats
and gaze into water,
cooling down while
they eat sandwiches
and drink from plastic
bottles or tin cans.
On doorsteps cigarette
smokers melt down in their
skimpy tops and open shirts
enjoying the temperature
of the fresh air outside
and the freedom to banter
with other workmates
their headphones switched
off, away from call centres.
Central heating consumes
the air where bills are paid
and shopping takes place
If the ice melts, we all will
smother, when water
covers us over, our space
gone, buildings buried
a way of life vanished.
Yet we continue to store
water in plastic containers
while our buildings are
heated like pizza ovens.
By Mary Guckian
As always, we welcome contributions to
The Poetry Place, which can be sent to the
‘NewsFour’ offices at 15 Fitzwilliam Street,
Ringsend, Dublin 4. |
