Skip to main content

Poems

I like to write poems when I have something bothering me,
I find it to be much more soothing than talking,
Here are some of my bits...


Little Sister
I have one question on my mind
that has lingered there for years.
The answer is one that I'll never find
and thats the reason for my tears.
Why did He take you Marguerite?
Why couldn't You have stayed?
I hear your laughter- it sounds so sweet-
however I am afraid.
I'm afraid someday I'll forget your smile
or that your memory will disappear.
I know that that would take a while
but I will always live in fear.
I'll always love you little sister
I hope you know just how much I've missed you.


I write not as a poet
I write not as a poet
but as a sister lost in grief.
I write not because I owe it
but because it offers me relief.
It's said that death is painless,
Perhaps to the one who died.
To me the pain is endless,
I am the one who has cried.
For hours on end I feel my loss
I cannot hide the hurt.
It's said that everyone has a cross
to bear while here on earth.
Hopefully when I die some day
God will come take my pain away.




Meeting Freddie
"Tins of beans now 29 cent. Store brand toilet paper buy one get one free..."

The monotonous tone emanating from the PA system lulls my senses into a Utopia of freshly baked bread, cinnamon and fried chicken.

The sound of middle-aged housewives' clunky heels running on the cold cream tiles ricochet across the store."It's him I tell you. Look! He's holding the marrowfat peas!"

I am expelled from my Utopia and compelled to follow the herd of chattering women.

Their excitement is intoxicating.

I find myself leaping into the air to try and steal a glimpse of my mushy-pea stranger. I see him! It's Freddie Mercury! All rationality leaves my normally sensible mind. I scream and faint.

"Are you alright? You took a nasty fall out there!"

His honey-toned voice awakes me from my slumber. Remembering my actions I flush a ridiculous shade of red. I open my eyes and mumble a pathetic response and smile. Leaning over he kisses me on the forehead and tells me to take care.

I watch his figure transform into a silhouette as he walks into my imaginary sunset.

Touching my forehead I rise and return to my world of rationality and fried chicken.


The 
Priestess
A pure salubrious  priestess
awaiting Beltaine for her seed,
A goddess to his stag.
Sunset, their Beltaine fire
his sceptre, her chalice.
A licentious lust.
A union never to be remembered
Their love never to be forgotten.
A Greek tragedy to a Celtic air.
Like Jocasta to her Oedipus,
Morgaine is to her Arthur.
A love once pure is now twisted
into a web of deceit and pain.
All because the hunter
fell in love with his Morgaine.








Popular posts from this blog

Thankfuls 31/05/2019

Not many people are aware of it, but I had a bit of a health scare last week. I went for a regular 15 minute check up with my GP and spent the following 5 days in hospital going through every test imaginable to man. I am still in the middle of tests but the prognosis is so far positive and I have been allowed home for rest which is fabulous, but good god did I get a fright. And if I am honest I'm not sure Stuart is quite right after it all either!


I have been joking how I would love a good old MOT (NCT for the Irish amongst us), for a while now. They say mocking is catching, and I have fairly gone through the MOT process this last week. Oh boy has it been a fast week! In that time I have had more blood taken than was shed in the Game of Thrones. My hand is so bruised it looks like I have my first tan! I have seen my pancreas, liver, kidneys and an ovary (very cool scan if I say so myself!), I have had my pee collected in little buckets/bottles for 24hrs, and I have pretty much eith…

Missing Marguerite. 14 years later.

On this day, 14 years ago, the world lost a little bit of its magic, when at 11pm, my little sister took her final breath and life changed as we all knew it. She was only 17 years old. 17 years and 19 days to be exact. As I sat here today reading all the lovely messages written about her, my heart soared with pride in the fact that in her short time with us, she managed to have such a big impact on so many people. Marguerite Mary O'Dwyer, an ambassador for mischief, mockery and for having a marvellous time. I miss her so much.

It is funny how every year there is something different that I focus on for the anniversary. I never choose my train of thought, I think the year since the last anniversary chooses it for me. Last night, I got fairly plastered on wine and when my other half went to his bed, I sat and sang along to every sad song I could think of. I had a wee chat with Mags before I went to bed and woke up this morning well rested and ready to seize the day. 
I got quite sad a…

Thankfuls 24/04/2019

It has been a long, long time since I have written a blog post.
I don't know why, it has taken me so long, nor shall I apologise for it.
I could give you a thousand excuses and reasons, but I guess the main reason is that I didn't feel like I had an awful lot to say!

That is not true, I always have a lot to say. The topics that have been on my mind however are quite emotive (mostly Brexit related, and let's be honest we have read and heard more than enough about that shite), and it is very difficult to write something when you yourself don't even understand how you feel about it.

For me it is mostly disappointment, and nobody wants to read a whole blog piece about me feeling disappointed. So tonight, I am writing a much more positive one. I am writing some thankfuls.
I have spent the last few months reading and writing. I have spent some time with my family back in Ireland, and spent some wonderful time with Stuart, his family and my friends here in Aberdeen. I was ref…