Interview and Poetry with Aine MacAodha, Irish Poet

My Church Has No Windows

My church has no windows
in fact it has no doors either
and to be fair no altar
it has no ordained minister
or priest or gospels.
Its in my heart, in
the starry sky
the moon shining over the land
its the planets in our solar system
the sun when it shines or not
its the foods god/creator
left us, berries, leaves, nuts
my church has winter winds that
cut to the bone and to enlighten
I have the sweet smell of roses
as I follow the seasons.
It is bog cotton waving on an
early Autumn evening as the
sun bids farewell.
On nights like these
dark and Irish wintery
the familiar trees and hills
become ancient septs
ready for battle with the ether.
Fields caped in winter fog
appear as crafted cities of the dead
souls roam among the rushes
in search of utopia or a home.
Trees scan the darkened horizon
the wind calls out names too and
winter hangs around like a threat.
This is my church.
 
first published in Episteme magazine



 

           Between two Worlds


When sister Agnes, for my own good

left me standing at the back of class

arms outstretches like Jesus

on his symbol of torture, I was scared.

A dreamer and talker being the youngest

of five, I knew my rebellion had begun.

Living in two worlds at nine does wonders

for the imagination but little for the outer shell.

I wondered about this god of vengeance

being so good and all, why punish?

For I had the minnows in the burn

glimmering and darting like silver angels

over my feet as i walked upstream.

I had a voice inside that knew the beauty

in a mountain shadow, how to gather primroses

and lay them at the feet of our lady.

I felt i knew better than the dark nuns.

“First Published in Boyne Berries Spring 2014”

 


Meditation and Medication

Between the two
I drift along through the crisis
Of 6 rounds of chemo, an operation and waiting
Waiting on a bit of healing, guilt of wanting covid to hurry itself on
to some underground vault
and leave the world in peace.
Did it fall though the clouds
Rise up from the already polluted
Rivers fighting amongst the sea realms.
Have the species effected by plastics
Fukushima
oil spills
Clawing around the sea foam
Cause the virus?
I can’t think anymore
Need my meds
Need my meditation. 

I asked Aine about her journey…

I first began what I called poetry at the age of 9 /10ish reading from my mothers ballad books she purchased monthly. Many of them had rhyming couplets and she sang them a lot. when I would read them I’d change the words to suit my own stories and began rhyming and creating.
After many rejections I finally got noticed as a poet by getting poems in anthologies. i was happy that some editors liked my poems. Although I write short stories it was my poetry that got noticed first.
The journey was a long one. I set myself goals to submit to many of the Irish, UK and USA literary magazines. I did and perseverance payed off I had enough gathered for my first collection,
‘Where the Three Rivers meet’
edited and published by Jeffrey side of Argotist online who published a second. One of my first poems was published by Karen Bowles of luciole press and we are great friends since. i now think I have earned the title poet with the third book
‘Landscape of Self’ published by Lapwing Press in Belfast.

My passion is always ignited by the natural world, landscapes and old histories of a place and I travelled the length of Ireland visiting ancient burial sites and magical tombs. I’m so intrigued by the moon too since childhood and pay homage to it in my writings often.
I’m by nature an introvert so nature it all its beauty keeps my soul at peace and my words flowing.

Prince Harry and Megan Markle

Prince Harry’s good work for veterans left with life changing injuries, his work for mental health, his championing of many charities, are all abandoned by him since Megan Markle decided that being royal was not glamorous enough for her.

When they were interviewed on the occasion of their engagement, they told Mishal Hussein that they were fully prepared for married life in the public gaze. It is on visual/audio record.

Now, that is contradicted. Prince Harry’s grandfather has died, and Harry is not nearby.

Megan Markle did like the hard work of being a public figure. It is grueling. Tiring. She did not like that their home was smaller than that of Prince William and Katherine. Famously, Megan made Katherine cry on the eve of her wedding. Now that is reversed and Megan is the victim. In her words.

Megan Markle does not love her husband enough to be second place. To honour his role in public life. She does not love him enough to empower him, support him, and be his rock.

She has used colourism to her advantage. She does not look ‘black’. Her TV career used this to her advantage. Now, she accuses the royal family of racism with no proof.

Prince Philip was more ‘royal’than the woman he fell in love with. He was a refugee from age one and his childhood was spent in various countries, after his parents split up. His much older sisters married German princes so could not attend his wedding. One sister was killed in an airplane accident which left the 16 year old prince desolate.

He came to Britain to finish his schooling. Then he became a British citizen, renouncing his titles.

He met Princess Elizabeth when he was 18 and she 15. War broke out, but they stayed in touch. They married and enjoyed normal life.

When his wife became his Queen, he had to leave his career in the Navy. He pledged his allegiance and, in public, always walked one step behind her. In private, it was different. The Queen sought his advice and he was the one person she could trust in all things.

Born to be her superior in old fashioned terms, both royally and in education, he made a happy life by founding organisations to empower young people, conservation, science. He had no constitutional role, so he made one.

This was a man in love with his wife. Megan Markle comes not even close. A modern woman, she does not understand love.