Saturday, July 4, 2020
Patricia Walsh - 2 poems
Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork. Her first collection of poetry titled Continuity Errors was published in 2010, and a novel titled the Quest for Lost Éire, in 2014. Her poetry has been published in Southword; Narrator International; Third Point Press, Revival Journal; Seventh Quarry; Hesterglock Press; The Quarryman; Unlikely Stories; and Otherwise Engaged. A further collection of poetry, titled Outstanding Balance, is scheduled for publication in March of 2020. 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.
The Joy of Fiction
Somewhere amongst the battering haze
the need for megaphones cranks a little
tight-fisted examinations roll in the marches
cigarette-churning illness shows the way
switching in propriety where it’s wanted most.
Who am I to recidivist old themes?
First a diagnosis searing through the head
failures overriding switching to the system
reading a matter to keep someone sweet,
congregation widescreen podcasts alighting.
Still reason to be cheerful, x y and z
laughing at the enemy, exposing faults
in the tracks of sorrow, audibly silenced.
Going alone to sweeter relatives, off course
brightened exit not an option, for now.
The luxurious symphonies classed as odd
keeping affairs in order for the last time
useless verses detail the common day
hallucinating over the course of smiles
shining light wins, as someone always.
Relieved of other duties, relegated to square one,
sympathetic magic dusting over concern
sundry options following a defunct fashion
the green concepts never one from the dark
the better to shine though the abyss.
Renovating pickoffs for a reinvented window
burning in heaven for the slightest escapade
lighting the way, overcoat permitting
atypically funny guys switch off the dark
dusty afternoons nicely decorate the beginnings
price already paid for the damp surroundings.
it’s always somebody's birthday, it’s a given
conferencing through broken statements
raising questions to keep ego sweet, for importance
reverberating around the hotel in dalliance
none the wiser for swallowing words
nicely shotted now the deed is done.
A muscular loss dances on the periphery,
repetitive conversation driving him insane,
telling you something inside the ordinary
not to be gutted as a means of apology,
that ship is sailing, entertainment aside
no fear of God can remove this stain.
Sour liberty, to be released once again,
to the starlight meteors, caught in the act.w
Counterfeiting experience in a haste of actions
the world’s worse success, cavorting with like
retrieved over failure in a short-term doubt
switching over lessons in a daylight’s turn.
Haphazard advertisements, tumescent message
buy and stay happy, cherishing nothing
wrong turns through paradise painfully home
cascading tears through slavery doomed
giving away nonsense, highlight consumption
a practical costume befitting right.
The human din has me startled
settling frost in an extraordinary fuss,
for the silent day that’s in it, standing erect
plaintively singing for a greater cause.
Darkening around now, safely going home
under the watch of the gimcrack celebrations
future matters around the tawdry lists
securely eating the intellectual motion.
Archives pulled from safekeeping, lighting off
tears for everything scatter the quier
we all promise better, while more drink to come
sozzled in intentiaons quietly broken soon.
A timely noise captures the crowd off guard,
nowhere else to go, what have you.
The clock constraints over what is rightly ours
sapping joy at a child’s enthrallment.
Burning candles at another end.
Fantasy enthralling at another wounded
fleeting though it is, snow on the ground
covering little enough to be deemed white.
Blown out of biblical proportions, hardy as ivy,
evergreen everyday haunts the lonely,
nicely singing through an existing stance
a happy inclusion waits its turn.