As Cuimhne

Bhí sé scríofa ar na ballaí fadó.
Go gasta a chuaigh sí
ar na boithre gan treo
go háiteanna nach bhfuil ann
idir aislingí bréagacha
gan machnamh
gan léargas
Chuaigh sí amach as cuimhne
a saoil ina gréasán aici
gan breathniú orm
gan smaointe orm
Ach….gan deireadh
ag fanacht go suaimhneach orm
póg a thabhairt di.

Mac Giolla Fhaoláin 2016

Dislexca

There'll be no second time around
as she comes to take it all down.
You'd better hurry with that frown
and get stuff written down.
There's no second time around.
Between eye and pen
you've gone and lost it once again
You tried that word to spell
now you've ****** it up again.
There's no second time around
for you today.

In dyslexic disbelief
I watched her steal it like a thief.
pleading eyes followed those disappearing lines,
as chalk dust they fall on to the floor.
With an inward sigh my gaze turned to the sky
and watched the blossom fall like summer snow.

and maybe just by chance
I caught the strains of discontent
as 2 migpies tangled with an angry crow
But the tapping of the chalk
violated all my thoughts
And in a vain attempt
I only got one line
before she quickly wiped it all away.

Then the teacher shouted out
There's no time
work it out
There's no second time around for you today.

A Paradoxical Intervention

To those who have hurt and wounded me
Those who have stripped me
Beaten me, shamed me, humiliated me
You who laughted at me when I couldn't
Spell my name or tie my shoe laces
You who took my job when I was still celebrating its getting
You who shot me
You who made me kneel down and put a gun to my head on a border road
You who blamed me when you knew it was not true .
You who snatched my first wage for the sport of others...shaming me again.
You who mockingly whispered in the ears of others in front of me.

You who made me stand naked while others laughed and mocked.
You  who slapped me in the face as I cried with my first migraine.
You who left me lying in my own *****..legs burnt and raw.

You who where not there when I cried alone.


Thanks
To you who illuminated my internal surroundings, my imagination aflame as you played Motsart.
You who read story after story to the class each Friday.
You who intervened with kind words and humour.
You who held my head in your hands without mockery and praised my efforts.
To you who said I couldn't .....a paradoxical intervention
Thank you.

Oblivion.
The writing's on the wall.
A map to no where fast.
Non existent places, empty spaces,
Unreflective,
devoid,
absent,
soundless,
a  quintessential nothingness.
Wrapped in endless streams of non integrated meaning.
Non thought,
yet unextinguished.
waiting,
for that.....
kiss.