Newgrange

Following a visit to Newgrange and the surrounding mounds in Fourknocks, I wrote the following poem. Having visited a 'burial tomb' in its natural state and having just previously visiting Newgrange, I realised how wrong the archeologist had got it.

Newgrange was destroyed rather than rebuilt. My guide, a very close family friend, has lived in the area since childhood. He remembered the untouched mound and he also told a very sad tale of arrogance and ignorance. Newgrange is a testament to how an oversized ego can truly destroy a very precious monument. He had worked on the site and spoke from experience in regard to those 'professionals' who knew better.

The poem refers more to Fourknocks and less to Newgrange, except for the final verse, which truly does refer to the desecrated site, once held so sacred.

Newgrange

Cobwebs grow up on the wall,
In a corner, way up tall.
The roof half gone, the rain comes in,
Beside the puddles, the faeries sing.

The grass grows tall between the stones,
Beneath the ground lie ancient bones.
The moonlight glitters across the floor,
Softly wafting through the door.

The sun, the moon and a thousand stars,
Pluto, Venus and tiny Mars.
The bones below with a thousand tales,
For every star, a soul for sale.

Making magic the wee folk dance,
Across the dead they sing and prance.
Beneath the moon and stars by night,
Appearing heedless, for fear no fright.

A ghostly white, soft shimmering,
Above, around, this ancient ring.
Resting centuries undisturbed,
Meddled by man, the spirits perturbed.

All it now but a memory,
Stored up long in Them and Me.
Looks so strange to the opened eye,
The hooded past; the modern lie.

Warrior Princess

Crap Poetry

A few years back I was invited to participate in a poetry reading at the Newman Institute in Mayo. I was extremely nervous at the prospect of standing up and reading aloud to an unknown group. This poem was one which formed in my mind on the morning of the reading.

There were a few of us reading before the 'main act', some poet who I never heard of before (nor since) and who's name I fail to recall.

Alas, I read just previous to her. I was mortified to the max when I realised that she fell into the category of 'crap poetry'. Had this fact been ignored by those around me, this would not have been such a painful experience, however, it was not. I was congratulated for it many times, while over shoulders I received many glaring looks from our 'Honoured Guest'.

Crap Poetry

When I was in the library, I found a book,
And loving poetry, I took a look.
I found some good ones, and some bad
And some really crappy ones, that made me mad.

I sat and I read for about an hour,
Then went home for my tea, and a shower.
I painted my face and brushed my hair,
In front of the mirror, I practised with care. [pause]

My knees tremble, my hands shake,
And deep in my tummy, there's a nervous quake.
Finally it's time, my turn has come,
I stumble and fall and land on my bum.

So sat on my arse, I think of that book,
And printed within it, the crap that it took.
Now taking a stand, I take a deep breath,
Suddenly reading my poetry's no longer a threat.

In front of the room, I hide a small smile,
My tummy's stopped churning, at least for a while.
I'm still just a novice, so cut me come slack,
And always remember, the pro's who print crap!

Warrior Princess

The Writing on the Bookies Wall

One sunny afternoon as I sat in the car waiting for my younger brother to emerge from his then job in the bookies, I noticed two hand prints on the wall, as I sat there, this poem seeped into my mind and formed itself onto a nearby napkin.

The truth of their existence was not as morbid as my mind had projected. In fact I discovered they were put there by my brother's work colleague in a much less dramatic manner.

The Writing on the Bookies Wall

Two prints on the wall tell a tale,
Sweated and once slid they shine,
As he fell in despair grasping for the past,
But alas, it was not there
And to the ground he fell
Once again wishing; wishing for two hours lost
And the fortune within them.

Warrior Princess