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Showing posts from 2013

Ór

Níl a dhath ar an domhan
A chuireann mo chroí
Ag bualadh chomh bríomhar
Is a bhí sé ar an Satharn
Sin ar chósta san Iarthar
Théis dhá uair a chloig
Ag rith na mbóithre is na
Sléibhte roimh thús thonn teasa
Agus gaoth fhuar ag séideadh
Go cneasta ar mo dhroim

Ach d'aghaidh gheal ag
Taitneamh fé ghruaig órga
Is do rosc glas ag breathnú
Díreach im shúile féin,
Do lámha amach chun mé
A fháiltiú chuig do bhaclainn
Ag deireadh rás timpeall an oileáin
Nó ag deireadh lae i seomra an óstáin.

Cé Tú Féin? (Eanáir 2013)

Dá gcuirfí an cheist orm inniu
Is mé im' aonar sa leabharlann,
Seangheansaí rugbaí an choláiste
Á chaitheamh agam d'ainneoin an
Cárta as-dáta aitheantais im' phóca,

Leabhar as-cló filíochta os mo chomhar,
Peann dubh leath-fholamh im' lámh,
Leideanna na málaí gorma fém' shúile
Ar aghaidh nár bhraith faobhar an rásúir
Ar feadh seachtaine fhuar fhada,

N'fheadar an ndéarfainn gur file mé féin,
Nó múinteoir nua, nó fós i mo mhac léinn,
Cúlbáire gan cúl, amadán, leaid saonta óg,
Nó smaointeoir tuirseach ina shuí i liombó.

In Anticipation of Dessert

With favourite recipe, time to perform!
Occasion calls for flavour and romance,
Ingredients for colour, taste and charm,
For energy and passion in the dance.
With seasoning, perfume of spice and herbs,
The sizzling of oil within the pan,
The heat and tender meat, some gentle words
To tease between later and present calm,
Attentive watch to see that nothing burns,
A deft flick of the wrist and skilful hands,
A tasting bite delights a waiting tongue
Impatient to satisfy its demands,

The plates are filled, the first course of our feast,
To be left bare, to be enjoyed, a treat.

Agus Scátháin

Gheallaigh solas bán guthán mo charad
Tráthnóna inné is muid inár suí
Os comhar scáileáin sa choláiste seo
Gan smál ar imeall chathair Luimní,
Tweet ag fógairt go raibh cinneadh déanta
Cé go mbeidh ina nua-phápa
Ar na 1.2 billiún caitliceach
Ar fud an domhain, de réir na nuachta,
Is muid ag féachaint ar 'Cré Na Cille',
Ag léamh guíonna na nguthanna marbha,
Ag gáire faoina sean-traidisiúin,
Deatach bán os cionn na Róimhe
Fiú tar éis gach saghas fidléireachta.

Breathe

This irrational
Nervousness
On the border
Of outright panic,
Trembling limbs
And shallow breath
And racing mind,
Every grim idea
A potential reality,
Every move delayed
In fear of fault
Or failure,
Shyly shrinking back,
A quiet coward,
Imagining the worst
Instead of asking
Simple questions,
This irrational
Nervousness
Comes and goes,
Returns and
Fretfully flows
As I forget to breathe,
As I try to find the words
To ask such
Simple questions
Instead of dreaming
Awful answers.