Umbilical
09 Saturday Nov 2013
Posted Poetry
in09 Saturday Nov 2013
Posted Poetry
in10 Saturday Aug 2013
Posted Uncategorized
inToday a wise and wonderful person told me that I have been beating myself up. Over not writing a lot, over not knowing if it’s all worth it, over what I’m really doing it for anyway. So taking his words into account I wrote this pretty bizarre, but very enjoyable piece (at least for me when writing it!) I hope it at least gets a chuckle somewhere in cyberspace!
Beat
To hit on, whack or thwack with something. Insert your weapon of choice here…. Mine is my mind.
An egg can be beaten to an inch of its life to make a tasty treat.
Cops do it while walking. At least in the bad movies/soaps/series. At least in America.
It rhymes with wheat and seat and also bleat. All of which can be seen outdoors. Or indoors if you have a preference for sheep and sitting down and well… cornflakes.
04 Saturday May 2013
Posted Flash Fiction, Poetry
inI have no idea where this story came from, but enjoyed writing it. Without a censor I just allowed the words to flow, surreal as they may be!
I saw a mermaid once. She showed herself to me on Strandhill Strand. She had not meant to be seen and flinched on meeting my startled gaze. Pupil to pupil we looked, searched for meaning in each other’s inky pools. Those few seconds changed everything.
When I told my mother she laughed, the sound a smear on my soul.
“It’ll be goblins and wizards next.”
When I pointed out that she believed in fairies, her hand went out. My cheek still stings when I think about it.
–
Around me the wind rises, lifts and drops my dress in a tease.
“I know what you want.”
Its answer is a swirl that pulls at my hair.
–
Down the beach a gull calls. Its cry a raucous shriek of discontent. Another chimes in as they struggle, pull at a discarded crust in a back and forth of beaks and eyes. I will the smaller one to win.
–
At my feet the sea churns. A battle of froth, its licks are the colour of the underbelly of the giant it holds.
Cold paws at my toes. Each lap a whisper.
–
In the distance there are shadows. Bodies waiting in the depths; for the tide, for the night, for me.
–
The chill rises, creeps up in a watery vine. Pins and needles run up and down my legs. It’s a happy kind of pain.
I take a step. Underfoot the stones rattle talking in a language I can’t understand.
–
At my back the wind plays, strokes like hands in a push. We both know its time.
I hope my mermaid is waiting.
29 Monday Apr 2013
Tags
beginning, book, end, life, mentor, nearly writer's diary, reflection, writers, writing
The end has finally arrived! The academic marathon is over with my fate now resting in the hands of six questions and two lecturers. However, even though I was at the last hurdle I found it hard to concentrate and struggled to study for long periods of time without getting distracted. The final push ended up being more of a forced limp.
With the end came celebrations, many toasts that started at lunchtime and ended with the stars. There had been a battle and collectively (half the class that actually started) we made it, a little battered but with something achieved.
So now it’s done and I have my brain and two evenings in the week back. I have to admit though it feels strange not to have something to submit or study. I now have the time, but not the will. I have the horizon in front of me, but no foresight to see past the sun. It’s an end without a real beginning.
But maybe that’s fine. Jumping straight back in isn’t always that easy or advised. In fact most of me just wants to run away to a remote cottage to explore lakes and forest tracks or sit by the sea and just breathe. Stillness is very underrated.
So I intend to dip my toe in slowly. After 5 weeks of missing writing group I will return and even though it’s a short period of time I feel out of the loop. In my absence a book has been born and released into the world. It will be good to touch base and get my writing wings stretched out again.
Plus I will be having another session with my mentor tomorrow; two new stories that I have sent for his critical and discerning eye. I am anxious because I think these ones are good and am afraid of the feedback. But I know that if I want to get better I have to loosen the reins, and see if what I created is a donkey or merely a unicorn in need of some TLC.
27 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted Poetry
inThis poem was inspired by the ‘Being’ poem of Louis le Brocquy’s Human Image series. I always find his work inspiring and love the use of colour in this piece. A beautiful image , I wrote this a few weeks after his death which made the process of writing it all the more poignant.
The ground is still damp
flowers bent beneath your name
like you, she fades
skin as puckered petals.
A ghostly silhouette
raw and nippled
as deep within
rouge glimmers
until it peters out.
20 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted Poetry
inTags
life, literature, moving on, poem, poetry, reflection, relationship, transitions
I have been thinking about transitions lately, moving onto new stages in life. A lot is changing this year, some of which I never thought would happen. Moving into a new phase has brought many things to the surface; old insecurities and that ever pervasive self-doubt. It feels like an internal tsunami that takes who and what you are and spreads it out in all its complex glory.
But these shake-ups are necessary, essential to move on and get out of comfort zones so that new things can flood in, have a chance to seep through the armour constructed to keep us intact. It’s a time for the unchartered and that’s what this poem is about.
It’s just one
a tiptoe
forward
to the shade
of knowns.
It’s regression
a pudgy stumble
tottering
into arms
soft with talc.
02 Saturday Mar 2013
Posted Uncategorized
inTags
life, performance, poem, poetry, sarah kay, spoken word, video, word
I have always admired spoken word poets. While I have read at a number of open mics and launches, it is not with the same aplomb or flair as a practiced spoken word poet. It is a class of performance that I have never tried, a wonderful rhythmic tale that jumps from the tongue as if impatient to come out. After watching this video I was inspired and have the first line of a poem possibly suited to the form – ‘When we met you were yellow’. I am happy to let it germinate and see what sprouts.
This video shows the brilliant Sarah Kay giving a passionate performance of ‘If I Should Have A Daughter’ on TED Talk followed by a talk on her life and poetry.
26 Saturday Jan 2013
Posted Uncategorized
in