irish poetry

Attraction In Its Purest Form

I want to be close to you.

I want to spend all day by your side,

With your head on my shoulder,

While we listen to music,

And we just exist in each other’s company,

Content and happy,

I want to just be; with you.

I want to kiss you and run my hands through your hair,

But I want it to happen slowly,

Like a burn but the good kind,

I want you to fall in love with me first,

And the first time we kiss will be a ‘fuck it’ moment,

Nothing else will matter anymore.

I want to cuddle up on the sofa and watch Community with you,

I want to be up all night talking to you,

I walk around town holding your hand,

And no one will break us because they won’t understand,

And you’ll sneak through my window at 2am,

I’d be pretty scared but you’d make sure I was alright,

And we’d Skype all night because that’s what friends do,

It might feel confusing when we become more than that,

But that’s what I want,

I want it to happen slowly,

Like a burn; but the good kind,

I want to fall in love with you,

I want the feeling to be mutual,

I just want to be with you.

Drip

In the heat of that night time train
Her wandering eyes found mine
My heart raced.
Darting from the black moonlit nothingness outside
To her olive skin that dripped.

My mouth was stiched and sewed in silence

As she dripped, dripped, dripped away into that black moonlit nothingness

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

— 

Beannacht / Blessingpoem by  John O'Donohue

from Echoes of Memory  

The Divine

I think kissing her,
Having sex with her
Would be like a roller caster ride
And a car crash combined.

I think her naked body
Would be as smooth as a milk bath
And burning hot like wild forest fires.

I think her legs
Would feel like soft, satin sheets’
Her ribcage a staircase to Heaven
(And right now, I’m an angel leaving kisses on each step).
Her breasts, two brilliant mountains.

They say Gods are morally upright, pure
But I don’t think that’s true
Because you are divine and
Even you know you’re not innocent.

They say God is a man with white hair and beard
But to me
Baby, God is you
A girl with soft skin and sad eyes -
The only Divine Intervention I need.

I am an atheist.
Never been a fan of religion
But I’d follow you
And all your rules.
Sunday morning mass wouldn’t be so bad
If it was about you.

- 13th December 2016 11:06pm

Smirk

Meester.
He smirked as he turned to his short speckled friend
In light cool blue shirts and oil black wavy hair.
Don’t pretend.
Crushed pencils and a chair knocked over
Always smirking.
Red brick every where in this timeless school
Sitting at desks and on desks, bleary eyes. Dark pool.

“Can we be in your class?”

A spark, a push, an excitement
Boistrous boys beating
Life bursting out the seams
Rowdy self assured but so fragile

A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard
A voice singing on a May Eve like this,
And followed half awake and half asleep,
Until she came into the Land of Faery,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.
And she is still there, busied with a dance
Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood,
Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top
—  W.B.Yeats

BRIGID (Celtic goddess-Saint)

In Celtic religion and Irish mythology, Brigid (exalted one) is the daughter of Dagda, and had two sisters, also named Brigid, and that’s why she’s considered a classic Celtic Triple deity.

Brigid is the patroness of poetry, smithing, medicine, arts and crafts, cattle and other livestock, sacred wells, the arrival of early spring, all things perceived to be of relatively high dimensions such as high-rising flames, highlands, hill-forts and upland areas; and of activities and states conceived as psychologically lofty and elevated, such as wisdom, excellence, perfection, high intelligence, poetic eloquence, craftsmanship (especially blacksmithing), healing ability, druidic knowledge and skill in warfare, and also seems to have been the Celtic equivalent of the Roman Minerva and the Greek Athena.
In the Christian era, nineteen nuns at Kildare tended a perpetual flame for the Saint, which is widely believed to be a continuation of a pre-Christian practice of women tending a flame in her honour.

Sometimes when a mermaid’s daughter
is in the bathroom
cleaning her teeth with a thick brush
and baking soda
she has the sense the room is filling up
with water


It starts at her feet and ankles
and slides further and further up
over her thighs and hips and waist
in no time
it’s up to her oxters.
she bends down to pick up
handtowels and washcloths and all such things
as are sodden with it.
they all look like seaweed—
like those long strands of kelp that used to be called
‘mermaid-hair’ or ‘foxtail’.
Just as suddenly the water recedes
and in no time
the room is completely dry again
— 

Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill,

The fifty minute mermaid - A Recovered Memory of Water

translated by Paul Muldoon

Rumble

Rumble

Bright lights beam down as I sit staring at the screen of my phone
Plugged in as the mouths of others say
Everyone is staring down. Faces illuminated and still

A chico beside me has a big beautiful bucket of crimson roses tied up with a big red ribbon. Pure white jeans and shiny shoes like the moon. Slick oiled back hair
Sipping on a tin can covered in a green plastic bag.
A couple sit opposite dreaming down.

Aching through tunnels of blackness
Whispers in toungues
Buzzing light beside me
Trains

Trains, everyhere creeping over the earth
This one is whizzing through a mountain
Underneath where they say God gave Jesus this earth
Running from the sea
Lights flash flash flash

Proxima Estacion Les Planes

Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house!
Let me have all the freedom I have lost;
Work when I will and idle when I will!
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.
—  W.B. Yeats