Thursday, 11 November 2021

Two Fantastic Poems by Margaret Kiernan


 


Deianeira-Day Wishes

after Nicanor Parra

 

1.

Bathing

in the baptism

of her chosen water

her golden carriage

stands unhitched

beside a sea

so clear

it captures

the moonbeams.

At morn time

this alpine mirrored water

will wash her world clean,

but not her sin,

it has all come to this.

 

11.

The widowed Queen

has absolved herself

restored her mind.

From now on

she will be a High Priestess,

wear her tiara

of faithfulness to herself.

 

111.

Become more like the man

she caused to die,

her sword cannot redact,

or she would choose to undo it all.

Allow him

to bring that girl

to the concubine.

O love’s despair.

She would take back

her own slyness,

that jealous rage,

the tunic

with poisoned blood

she gave herald Lichas

to give to Hercules to wear.

Her black heart killed him,

Hercules

her love,

that son of Zeus,

the demi-god.

 

1V.

Hercules

believed the blood-soaked tunic

a gift from her

and put it on himself.

She chooses now

to recall his battle

with Blue Serpent,

that great epic win.

She remembers

the princess she was

when first she encountered Hercules.

How beautiful she was,

he had told her so.

How he had saved her

from the virgin sacrifice

to the water god, Hydra.

Indeed, she was glad.

Or, when trojan runners

sought his help

for the citizens of Troy

those banished away to Hera.

 

V.

When, her father

King Ilus died,

the defeat

of the Blue Cult

was real,

finished.

Over with.

Then her hour

and her crowning,

Queen of Troy

on their wedding ceremony.

Those celebration days.

The games.

The fun.

Her love so strong.

 

V1.

Now,

as a Priestess,

second in line to no one,

she would honour

the memory of Hercules.

He will be her Divine One.

No other.

This she chooses.



The Raven and The Wolf

 

Beyond the horizon, beyond the beyond

Where the veil thins out

Crows and Ravens talk about

medieval battle grounds.

 

Great Queen Morrigan swiftly glides

in either’d sky above

the frozen ground that resists

the wolves hungered cries.

 

The Raven cleaves on the cadaver

unites with the frozen kill

pecks away the scab.

The wolf eats its fill.




Margaret Kiernan writes fiction, non-fiction essay, memoir, and poetry. She has had poetry and prose published in e-book, in anthology collections, and literary journals and magazines - including, Black-lion Press, Pendemic.ie journal-C19 collection , archived at University College Dublin, The Blue Nib Lit-Journal , The Write Life Magazine, Unity Global Festival, Vox Galvia at the Galway Advertiser, A New Ulster Literary Press, The Burrow Lit. Journal, Poet-Head.Wordpress.com, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Galway Review and The Irish Canadian Cultural Newsmagazine, New Brunswick. Nominated for Best of the Net in 2021.

She writes with Over the Edge, Thursday writing/reading group at Galway Arts Centre, and, Ox Mountain Poets, Sligo.

She is listed in the Index of Contemporary Women Poets in Ireland, 2020. 

She holds several Educational qualifications, Including a Degree in Arts in Humanities, from Sligo IT.

Her background is in Advocacy in Human and Social Rights.

Margaret has completed numerous courses and workshops in writing, for prose and poetry.

Tutors in poetry includes, Annemarie Ni Churainn, Martin Dyer, Colm Keegan, Monica Corish, Moyra Donaldson, Noel Monahan, Kevin Higgins.

Tutors in prose includes, Claire Allan, Anne McMaster, Conor Kostick, Carlo Gebler, Malacai O’Doherty, Jan Carson, Ciara Doorley.

Margaret has four grown-up children. She lives in Westmeath with her dog Molly. She is a landscape painter. Is into Nature, walking, gardening, music, and heritage. She is working towards a First collection in Poetry.

Social Media-

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/margaretgibbonskiernan/@kiernanmargaret

Facebook: http://facebook.com/margaret.kiernan



No comments:

Post a Comment

Five Poems by Ken Holland

    An Old Wives’ Tale     I’ve heard it said that hearsay   i sn’t admissible in trying to justify one’s life.     But my mother always sai...