THE KILKENNY INVOLVEMENT CENTRE AND RECOVERY COLLEGE SOUTH EAST HAVE PRODUCED A WONDERFUL ANTHOLOGY OF POETRY AND PROSE. ‘WHITE TWINE AND OLD SUITCASES’ COMPRISES OF 128 PAGES AND 60 AUTHORS AND IS COMPLEMENTED BY SOME WONDERFUL PHOTOS AND ARTWORK BY TASK CAMERA CLUB. IT IS PRINTED BY MODERN PRINTERS. IT IS DEFINITELY RECOMMENDED READING FOR ALL LOVERS OF POETRY. THE KILKENNY OBSERVER IS HAPPY TO RUN THE POEMS EACH WEEK TO PROMOTE CREATIVE WRITING AND TO HIGHLIGHT THESE WONDERFUL CENTRES. AVAILABLE IN ALL KILKENNY BOOK SHOPS. €10
The Lost Sliotar
We spent hours flattening
the wayward grasses
prodding the unrepentant ditches
that swallowed it whole,
squinting for a glimpse
of white that would give away
its hiding place.
“Well, you hit it last, where did it go in?”
you queried, voice trembling.
We walked vainly up and down a few more times,
our young eyes lamenting the loss,
knowing it was not easily replaced,
our Summers reduced to big ball games
until mother called us in
and we were glad to end the search.
Kevin Dowling
Nanny
Your love was as natural as the hawthorn
that blessed us with blossom year after year,
as faithful as the blue tits who return
each spring to build their nest in Noonan’s pier.
On winter nights when the adults would go out
your stories opened doors to hidden worlds,
our minds were swallows flying south
along the ancient songline of your words.
With you we could always be children
creeping through hedges into fields full of rhyme.
We grew safe there in your gentle wisdom
as we wandered the old folkways of your mind;
where your memory and our fantasy
merged on the same magical frequency.
You knew why flash lamps failed in fairy rings.
Once you brought a calf back from the dead.
When you spoke to the world behind all things
they seemed to answer every prayer you said.
From signs left behind by things unseen
you deciphered all we needed to know;
‘The Clomantagh dogs are barking, Paudeen’,
meant an east wind was bringing frost or snow.
Running barefoot through the dew wet grass
we picked mushrooms in the cobwebbed dawn.
On Easter Sunday morning after early Mass
you blessed the crops as Christ was being reborn.
As we drank three sups of holy water apiece
the sun danced three times in the East.
Paddy Doyle
A New Voice
Autumn leaves twirling in the wind.
Chimes of joy.
Like children on a carousel.
Laughters of freedom.
Letting go
and creating memories.
Stars shining in the winter nights
are metronomes,
giving a steady beat
between dark and light,
the yin and the yang.
The new voice,
interconnecting
with the old one.
At any instant, we might lose one
but discover a stronger one.
A new tune to sing,
a clean air to breathe.
Some beautiful words to share,
even in the silence,
only with our presence.
Sandrine Dunlop
