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Niamh

Poetry

Earth song

I hear the music

not with my ears

but through

the soles of my feet

 

I feel the earth beat

as it changes with time

each season a movement

my life a symphony

 

I am the second violin

to your first,

together we move

in tune

in sync

 

We wait for the orchestra

to join in

to become one body

of song

 

we can heal

the world

if we can all play

the same notes

 

 

© Niamh Corcoran   9/11/2012

Featured post

Luck

if luck were sandy beach

would you  take just a grain,

or a bucketful?

build a castle to share

or a moat to keep

others and the sea at bay

 

if luck were a lawn

would  you take just a blade

or a handful?

let it grow tall and free

or mow it

so others could have less

 

if luck were stars in the sky

would you take a small one,

or perhaps the sun?

put it in a window to

to light the way

or hide it

so others live in the dark.

Featured post

Forgotten

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥
𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥
𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵
𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥,
𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯
𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.
 
 
𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥,
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦
𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺
𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥
𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧e.

Earth Call

Today, I cry,
but my tears
do not fall on
the places where
I burn.
 
 
I cry and I burn
simultaneously
without
synchronicity
or harmony.
 
 
The birds take
to the skies,
animals try
outrun
fires and floods.
 
 
𝙄 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 your cries
of distress,
frustration,
anger.
 
 
𝙉𝙊𝙒! 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚!
This is your
warning,
alone
you choose
the ending
 
 
𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙈𝙀
a new beginning.

A moment

If I could have another day,
an hour, or even a moment
with you,

I wouldn’t waste the time,
telling you how much
I love you

how much you mean to me
I’d put down my book,
my phone,

and look into your eyes
in a way I’ve never looked
before

in a bid to see you
to know you,
to understand

to see not just the father
but the child that lives
within

to see the man you were
and the man that you wished 
to be

the worries that haunted you
the desires that drove you
to become

the son, the husband,
the friend and father
that you were.

 

Dad

You taught us to sail,

to capsize and come up

laughing

 

To climb and when we

reached the top

to aim higher

 

Your life mantra was

mind over matter

never complaining

 

Quiet and allergic

to small talk

a few pints

 

would loosen your tongue

the tales you told,

the life you lived

 

the things that could

have changed you

never did,

 

in everything and always

you remained steadfast

and true.

 

Love you, Dad

Rest in Peace.

 

© Niamh Corcoran

 

 

Time to look

The walls have textures

dents, lines and cracks

I’ve never noticed before,

a grease mark that sends

me scurrying for rubber gloves

and detergent, then I spot

the lonely paw print,

impossibly high, no cat

could stretch that far,

and why only one?

She couldn’t have reached

down from somewhere

higher, it’s the wrong way

round for that.

I stand back, twist and turn

another step away

to peruse it from a slightly

different angle

still it makes no sense.

I crouch underneath,

reach up, testing my flexibility

the cat looks at me as if

I’ve gone insane, glares,

then stands mewing by

her bowl.

It’s dinner time and I’ve

lost the hours since lunch.

 

 

©Niamh Corcoran 31/3/’20

When will you call?

When will you call?
When my body is cold in the ground,
or as I take my last breath?

It's dark and lonely in this place,
my thoughts shout and echo
whisper and sneer,
you're a burden
no one wants you here.

When will you call?
I have a knife in my hand,
the end is near.

I see the social media posts,
telling me you are there,
but a  phone call away,
you are waiting for me
to call in for tea.

When will you call?
you say you love me,
but I don't believe you.

I will not call you,
I cannot call anyone,
for this depression,
the darkness, the blackness
that holds me captive

will not allow me that solace,
it tells me over and over
that I am not good enough
not worthy of your love
of time in your busy life.

When will you call?
Knock on my door? 
Do you know it could save me?

Eulogy

A fragment of life

spoken through gritted teeth

choking back the tears

you thought you knew her

yet you’re hearing of

feats and deeds, courage

that were not part of

your conversations

 

you weep again

for the woman you knew

the one you didn’t

and wish you had,

you only saw half

the mountains she climbed.

Cities of ruin

Come, look, see what we have done,

built towers of glistening glass

concrete and steel, reaching

ever higher, above the gloom,

 

majestic spires, concave, convex

creations, masterpieces of

engineering, so tall we

wonder how they stay upright

 

heads in the clouds we praise

our ingenuity as we peer down

at the streets below almost

hidden by the choke of fumes

 

we too have created; replacing

our forests, our fields of green

with monuments to our supposed

superior intelligence

 

where we can ignore the ongoing

destruction, of this place we call

home,

Fledgling

Do you remember the night

I held your hand

brushed your tears away

chased the monster from

under your bed

 

it had yellow teeth

purple spots on green skin

the longest claws ever seen

eyes like fish bowls

 

you’d drawn it in school

and made it real,

given it a home

where it kept you awake

 

in the early hours I was your

knight in shining armour

the bravest person you knew

you held me close told me

 

you’d never let me go.

Today the bed is gone,

you’ve moved out to start

your new life, an adult

 

I’ve shed a little tear

but know that I am near

should that scary monster

ever reappear.

 

 

© Niamh Corcoran 8/9/19