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
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.