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
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.
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.
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
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 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?
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.
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,
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
I can no longer hold you
or speak to you,
comfort you in your sorrow
but I am here.
I can no longer reach out a hand
to wipe away your tears,
assuage your fears,
but I am here.
In the warm sun on your back
in the gentle breeze
that carries your worries away
I am here.
In the soothing purr of a cat
the whisper of butterfly wings
the scent of a rose
I am here.
In the moon and the stars
that light up the night sky
I am never far from you.
I am here.
Though you cannot see me,
or touch me,
say my name silently or aloud
I am here.
©Niamh Hill
I am watching you
and everything you do
keeping careful note
of the way you move,
the clothes you wear
the way you do your hair
which colours you favour
the foods you choose
pretending I love you
that I’m in awe of you
you lap up each compliment
growing more trusting
and vulnerable with
every passing day
unaware that I am building
an ammunition store
I’ll use your trust and secrets
to diminish you, crush you
for I fear you, your strength,
generosity and ability to love
and that which scares me
must be destroyed.
