Four Poems by Ursula O'Reilly

 

STRANGE HOUSE

 

Who lives in the house,

Strange house on the hill?

Emerald grass shimmers.

Glittering moonbeams

Reveal silver roof thatch.

Looming trees stand guard.

 

I glimpsed a gnome rambling,

In stillest hour of night.

Spied a train of Wee Folk

Meandering on the knoll.

I watched the door open,

Witnessed them march in.

 

Who lives in the house,

Strange house on the hill?

Fae folk amble to and fro,

Silver moonbeams gleam.

Burnished grasses sparkle,

Shielding trees stand guard.

 

 

HIDDEN

I found a magic wand, hidden

Inside an ancient hollow tree.

Spied silver glinting, I sensed

An unusual occurrence,

Never before encountered.

 

Clasping the object, I gaped.

Incredulous at what I saw,

But not afraid. For I knew,

Faery treasure could not be

Anything but cherished.

 

Gleaming silver, delicate.

About the size of my thumb.

I turned it lightly in my palm.

Suddenly I became aware,

Mischief lurking in the air.

 

Sky was bleak, and the trees

Swayed crazily back and forth.

Foreboding gripped me, I turned

Back towards the hollow tree.

There returned the silvern rod.

 

 

HEATWAVE

 

Inside where I live,

Relentless rain pours.

Outside sun blazes.

 

Garden soil is parched.

Riverbed is dry, sun

Bakes stones like cinders.

 

Warm rays do not reach

Here inside, where

Thunderstorms shudder.

 

Lightning bolts flare.

Winds creak and jolt

Rafters and floorboards.

 

Outdoors the heatwave

Devastates and delights,

I shelter from the storm.

 

 

 

WATCHER

In the desolate house there are holes in the roof, and rain

comes clattering in. Lightning strikes the darkness; 

shadows shift and start. Cold winds that murmur and 

chill, are not felt by The Watcher there. For he feels 

neither cold nor discomfort, none of our physical woes. 

He feels not the chill of the breezes passing under the 

door, as he roams endlessly about the cavernous rooms 

of his domain. He waits for the weary traveller, though 

few souls delay in that place. Waits for a caller to stop 

for a while, though no mortals venture in there.

Ursula O’Reilly is a writer/artist living in County Cavan, Ireland. She is the author of numerous poems and short stories. Her tales are drawn from life experiences, fairy stories and mythology, and people/events, real or imagined.

Ursula’s work has appeared online and in various literary magazines including: ‘Dawntreader Magazine’, ‘Vita Brevis Press’, ‘The Literary Yard’, ‘Poetry Plus magazine’, ‘Woman’s Way magazine’, ‘Young Ravens Literary Review’, ‘Otherwise Engaged Literary and Arts Journal’, ‘Personal Bests Journal ’and by ‘Southern Arizona Press’.