Wings appear fragile
Yet carry an angel’s weight
To heaven and back.
Invisible winds,
Can their currents carry us
Away, far away?
Will my feet hold firm
On this shifting gauzy sky,
A wispy cloud’s whim?
Tag: poetry
Leaving
Leaving
by Leslie Noyes
She liked to think she could leave if the need arose, if the weighted words and angry posturing turned into closed fists,
But the time never seemed right; he always apologized for the stinging insults and delusional declarations.
In the end, she finally left. The ambulance arrived and carted her away, bloodied and bruised. Still, he said he was sorry.
Comparison
Why can’t you be like her?
Why can’t you look at me
Like she looks at him,
Like he’s a god and
Her his most ardent worshiper?
Of all the hurtful things he’s ever said, These words cut the deepest.
The Sounds of Making Plans
The Sounds of Making Plans
By Leslie Noyes
Percolating pensiveness, a dollop here, a shuffling of papers there. Tap typing a google search for some
Place warm, but not too hot. A clattering through a drawer of pens and pencils, finding one with ink or another with
Sharpened lead, or sighing in frustration and tossing the whole lot clutter bang in the garbage bin then wondering
If the recycling box is more appropriate for this detritus. A nose wrinkling search through mushy mulch reveals the remains of
Coffee grounds and last night’s leftover pizza among discarded writing implements in the bowels of the trash.
Dropped lid, startled cats. Swishing of soapy hands under running water, ripping strip of paper towel to dry. Sliding out
Boxes of atlases and crinkled yellow maps. Exclaiming over destinations visited; sighing over those that might never be.
The Gaelic Muse
The Gaelic Muse
This lovely statue in Killarney pays tribute to the poets of County Kerry. I discovered it just a block from the Malton Hotel and asked the muse for a bit of inspiration. I’m a patient lass, but any time now would be good.
Wouldn’t you love to know why Pierce Ferriter was hanged? Well, I looked him up on Google:
“Piaras Feiritear, better known via the Anglicized name Pierce Ferriter, was an Irish poet who also served as an officer during the War of the Irish Confederacy, 1641 – 1652. Piaras may have been born about the year 1600, the son of Eamon Feiritear, (Edmond Ferriter)a landowner whose lands on the far western part of the Dingle Peninsula had been the Ferriter family’s homestead for about 350 years when Pierce was born.
Much of what is known or surmised regarding Pierce Ferriter the man extends from his surviving poetry. His use of the Irish language, themes, and imagery indicates that he was a man of education, and probably well taught in both English and Irish. By account he was a harpist as well as a poet. The surviving body of work represents some of the finest Irish language poetry of his era.
Less is known of his personal life. Evidence exists that he was married and from this marriage, there is known to have been children: two sons and a daughter, Dominick, Richard, and Helen. We also know that Piaras was friendly with both the nearby family of the Knight of Kerry, who were Geraldines, and the more distant FitzMaurice family – also a Geraldine line. From the Lord of Kerry (FitzMaurice) he was favored with a commission to raise an armed company from his lands and neighborhood on the Dingle Peninsula. Pierce’s arming and leading of the local citizens was to be in support of the English Crown however, rather than going to war with the Kerry Catholics, he aligned himself with the anti-English forces, and brought his men to join in the siege of Tralee in 1641.
During the siege of Tralee Peirce was wounded, and his active involvement in the fighting after the fall of Tralee is uncertain. With the fall of Ross Castle in 1652, the war in Kerry was lost, and other defeats brought the war to an end in the rest of Ireland as well. Pierce Ferriter’s sons Dominick and Richard left Ireland as “Wild Geese” under agreements made by Lord Muskerry. Pierce remained at large for almost a year, and many of the folk tales and legends surrounding his abilities as a warrior emerge from this interval. At last, in 1653, Pierce Ferriter was brought in to Ross Castle under an assurance of safety.
After an unsuccessful parley was Pierce began his journey from Killarney homeward. Somewhere near Castledrum, he was apprehended by men dispatched by the erstwhile negotiator, Colonel Nelson, and brought back as prisoner. Pursuant to a trial of which no record remains, Piaras Ferriter was hanged, presumably for having been a rebel.”
I tried to find a sample of his poetry, but came up empty handed. I’ll keep looking.
Peace, people!
Travel Games You Cannot Play on an Airplane
One cannot play the alphabet game, the signs are too far below,
And the license plate game is likewise moot, no cars zip to and fro.
One could play the I Spy game, at least a round or two
Until it’s apparent that the objects in view are limited to just a few.
Name That Tune is out, ’cause other passengers aren’t amused,
When you sing an off key Yellow Submarine and they all feel abused.
So I’ll twiddle my thumbs and wiggle my ears the better to pass the time
Or maybe I’ll write silly poems, some may even rhyme.
A Long Way, Baby
I’ve come a long way, baby,
Still got a long way to go.
Every time I think I’m there,
I find myself laid low
Try to rise above the hate,
Ignore the arrows and slings.
They go low, I try going high,
But, damn, their insults sting.
These days of alternate truths,
Lies, if truth be told,
Just wear me out in spirit,
Got me feeling old
But I have come a long way
And I’ll keep traveling on
The road often will be rough
And I’ve got skills to hone.
Driving Away
Driving Away
by
Leslie Noyes
At her lowest point
Her car felt like salvation
Four wheels to freedom
Lock the doors and breathe,
Imagine the horizon
Turn the key and drive
A full tank of gas,
She neared the city’s limits
Never crossed the line
Slimy Lies
Like multi jointed worms, oozing from the earth after a thunderous summer storm, slimy lies wend their way from
Dark places of hiding, feeding on hate and prejudice until the traction they gain propels them through the conscienceless
Oral orifices of greedy politicians. Alternative facts, misrepresentations, broken promises, all squirm from their tongues.
The Fear Gremlin
There are nights when I lie awake, terrified for what the future might hold. Tomorrow is a gremlin crouching in dark
Corners, his fingers wrapped around all the possibilities. There are madmen in charge of our security: liars and mobsters and
Thieves, that some hailed as saviors. But now, those of us who’ve studied history know we’ve crossed lines that may
Never be uncrossed. Who will save us from the gremlin? Who will pry his bony digits from our lives? Only we can save ourselves.
Praying for Eyebrowz 