St Mary’s, Nenagh, Tipperary

St Mary’s Nenagh Poetry

Scraps at Dinner

I begged my parents everyday

For a friend to feed, pet and play

You came into my life fragile and small

A canine companion, a friend to all

Years came by, we both grew up

I’d grown tall, a to c cup

You’d grown out, large and round

Got arthritis that got worse with each pound

‘No more scraps at dinner’ I’d cry

But you just ate more, didn’t even try

We were supposed to keep growing together

However

For you, a future was never

We brought you into the vet one last time

She said your eating habits were a crime

One last goodbye, a kiss on the nose

No more scraps at dinner…I suppose

Girls

There once was two girls,

Their eyes bright and their heads full of curls.

They were kind and gifted

But as they got older something shifted

No longer were their heads full of curls

And no longer were their doodles filled with swirls

Now they were make-up to cover their faces

Just to “earn” some warm embraces

Because from an early age there’s rules to follow

Which make us girls seem quite hollow

When we give some real criticism

Were told to go back to the kitchen

And when we call for feminism

Were told to stop moaning and bitchin’

Presentation

While I stand there,

And as they stare

I hear their laughter

Until long after

The thought of their chatter

seems to be the only thing that matters

They stand and talk to their peers

I stand and face my fears

Their whispered words go through my head

They follow me all the way to bed.

Untitled

Loud and boisterous, of course she is
What a great mask she models.
Center of attention she always craves,
So hard to figure her out, like a maze.
But I see right through her, I always do
Insecure and fragile it’s what she is.

Pretty girls

I hate pretty girls, the girls with the curls
Not because they have pretty privilege or cuz there popular at school
It’s cuz I look at myself every day and night she’s too cruel
They get male validation, I don’t care
I care to think do you have prettiness to spare
I hate them not because there pretty
I hate them that when I look at myself I hate me too

Desert Orbs

A neon gaze haunts my soul,
The remnants of a once blazing sun,
Now turned to a dripping liquid gold,
Her shine harsh against my soft emerald field.

Sand dunes engulf her presence,
Tall and unwavering,
A burnt rust against my shallow crater,
The terra is left marked and scorched.

My rocky kingdom,
My dried out skin,
Oh my heart can only bleed.

I stand before her but my fields are left for dust,
For in that sandy place she pierces through all my being,
What was once fertile is no more,
Grass bows and keels over.