Saturday 16 January 2021

Three Poems by Patricia Walsh


 

Asking for It

 

It’s my own fault for not laughing

Seeing the gibe through a pain darkly

Flavour of the month being an easy target

Asking for ridicule is my monumental sin.

 

It’s my own fault for not standing up

Standing ground where none is intended

Being stolen from, getting off my case

A small fee for leaving in peace.

 

It’s my own fault for stating hard facts

Nobody associates with me now

For fear of congregating with damaged goods

It’s my own fault, just keep quiet.

 

It’s my own fault, for not being cool enough

Clothes, hair, makeup, beloved to a tee

Sufficient to impress the boys down the road

Five minutes before the buses leave.

 

It’s my own fault, for being silent.

Bleeding alone through sorry eyes

Scrutinised through the weight of inaction

People knowing my sins before I do.

 

It’s my own fault, conversing with the unknown

Attempts at decipherment running dry

Fear at what’s not understood, laughed at

In time for me to join in the fun.

 


 

Praise of Zeitgeist

Surely you remember, that scar of experience

Dangling around your neck, a forever shame

The spirit of the times calling forever home

Slipping through main streets in full view

Please be seated for another round of coffee

Passers-by don’t know what hit them.

 

Jigs and reels around the fountain

Never enough to vandalise what is yours

Picked on outside the gates, being hit to prophecy

Asking for misfortune in a gutter of snide

Cutting losses while those powers still are

Fleeting insults repeated on the sly.

 

Tying bicycles to railings is your own risk,

A bar on creation masks indolence

Some philistine’s law rocks the opportune cradle

Intelligence just another crime to sink ships

Open mouths catching flies always on target

Slipping curses below par for a bloodied adventure.

 

Eschewing television, the rot of our times

Bonding totally disproved, shamefully disciplined

Meal tickets cautiously exhibited for good reason

A prime associate, temporary though it me be

Starving through laziness, a perfect catchcry

Rifling scandal sheets for proof of same.

 

Planning the psyche’s holiday, never before time

Sleeping in calculations, a congratulatory exercise

Not eating enough to cover the stain

Loved for representation, heavily cracked,

No one knowing where you’re destined, forever

Drinking spirits nicely, besides tracking doom

 


 

 Pushing and Pulling Envelopes

 

Kissed like an eel, studying shape of form

Sneaking out of lectures to surprise you

Cutting losses to eventually inspire you

To caseless to answer, a disaster on arrival.

 

Strung-up bicycles hung out to dry

Gallery of potential theft, out there, seething

Nothing much to say besides bald platitudes

Thread less and dangerous on any road.

 

The brightened code, laughing at resistance

The sacred wooden panel braves the situation

Laughing at circumstance, examinations permitting

A genetic stone pedigree yours for the taking.

 

Repetition of ‘boring day’, in the personal block

Never stopped the rifling of private items

The hiding of make-up soon discovered

Purposeful failure a deft exercise.

 

Bleeding from neglect, an interrogation cleaning,

Some infomercial disciplines the innocent

Writing where discovered, a goodly exercise

Whether liked or not, a sacred offence

 

Different to the whole town, embarrassment of loss

Gibing to perfection that never recovered

Hitting for frustration over nothing going right

Is acting normal such a strain, a disaster as is?

 

Unlocking the private massacres of school

Stories outside, highly hallucinogenic

Welcoming creatures with sweetened spirits

Hiding agendas for the sake of an audience.

 

Informed bliss getting in its own control

Glutton for punishment in every direction

Kissing the switch hardly mobilises obedience

Intelligence postponed, help for what matters.

 

Being left alone a luxury not worth giving

Slipping on the bicycle far from view

Housework to salvation a common trait

Goodness a meant to a sultry end.

 

Forging counterfeit paths in life, to shame

Social sanctity in an eyeball’s twist

Cases to answer happily persist

In bleeding hearts having had enough.

 

Copyright Patricia Walsh. All Rights Reserved.



Patricia Walsh was born in the parish of Mourneabbey, in north Co Cork,and educated at University College Cork, graduating with an MA in Archaeology. Her poetry has been published in Stony Thursday; Southword; Narrator International;  Trouvaille Review; Strukturrus; Seventh Quarry; Vox Galvia; The Quarryman; Brickplight, The Literatus, and Otherwise Engaged.  She has already published a chapbook, titled Continuity Errors  in 2010, and a novel, The Quest for Lost Éire, in 2014. A second collection of poetry, titled Citizens Arrest, was published online by Libretto in 2020. A further collection of poetry, titled Outstanding Balance, is scheduled for publication in early 2021.  She was the featured poet in the inaugural edition of Fishbowl Magazine, and is a regular attendee at the O Bheal poetry night in Cork city.



1 comment:

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