Pagan Paeans Anthology and Competition

"Inspirations"
The Paganpoetrypages.com (The PPP) is proud to announce its latest poetry competition, to celebrate the launch of the first anthology of The PPP on May 1st (Bealtine) 2009.
Pagan Paeans is a wonderful collection of poetry from the satirical and comic to the deeply spiritual.

How to enter:
On www.paganpoetrypages.com in the members forum, we've posted two images as inspiration - all you have to do is look and write a poem. The best , most original take on it wins! Just go to the section marked PPP competitions and follow the instructions on how to post an entry.

The winner will recieve a great prize; a £20 gift voucher for Amazon and a free copy of Pagan Paeans, the first PPP anthology (out May 1st!)

If you are not already a member, just register, it's free and very easy to do!
www.paganpoetrypages.com.

If you have any queries please email ppp @ anfianna.com.

Pagan Paeans is published by PPP publications and will be available through Cafepress.com or for Irish members details of purchasing directly from the PPP will be posted on site

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Pagan Paeans

"Inspirations"

The Paganpoetrypages.com is proud to announce its latest poetry competition.

We've posted two images as inspiration - all you have to do is look and write a poem. The best , most original take on it wins!

Launching the Pagan Paeans Anthology

The winner will recieve a great prize; a £20 gift voucher for Amazon.co.uk/Amazon.com and a free copy of [b]Pagan Paeans, the first PPP anthology (out May 1st!)

Please post your entries in the PPP site, in the section "PPP competitions". If you are not already a member, just register, it's free and very easy to do! www.paganpoetrypages.com
If you have any queries please email ppp @ anfianna.com

Pagan Paeans will be available from Cafepress.com May 1st 2009

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I dwell in your heart (i)

The Psalms of Living

I. I dwell in your heart

I dwell in your heart, child
the old woman told me,
I have no other home.
There are places I have laid my head
but they were not home.

I live in the way you laugh
in the things that make you cry
in the days you have not yet lived,
in the nights still to come;
I inhabit these places, waiting.

In your dreams I reach out
in your hopes I find strength
in your memory I am fed, sweetly
You hear me in your own voice
and are comforted.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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Inside Track

Inside Track



He said: Seeing you again
was strange; in a way
I was not sure you existed without me.

Tthat you have a life, a home, friends
that you breathe and speak and think
without my observing, I find odd.

I often think of that now; that space
between intimacy and loss. I have
lost friends and that abyss hurts.

I wonder if they too assume
knowledge, privilege of being current;
or if they feel absence.

I hoard memories and replay
them. They fade despite constant
retouching until only outlines remain.

When I am old, if I make old bones
I will no longer be sure who said
what and whose feat that was.

You cannot leave stories half way
it's too hard to be a main character
without remaining in the plot.

He said he thought I stopped
frozen by his inattention; I did not.
I thrived and grew and moved

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Simple

Simple

It was simple:
-once upon a time,
-it'll all be okay,
-what doesn't kill you.
Mundanities.
Clichés.
No hostages, taken or given
no price not worth paying
freedom defined by lack of,
responsibilities
ties or attachments
plans.
Complex how time
defers payment
cashes the cheque at the last moment
reaching into pockets
taking the ounce of flesh and to hell
with blood.
Not so easy now.
Not so simple, not
so clearcut . Time falling
like snowdrops, moments melting
away before you can touch them.
Simple
how easily it all becomes the past.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

The Wedding Gift

For all those women whose approach to weddings is not to mount a military operation, who don't want to stress, who want to remember the day and the marriage not worry if the napkins match the colour of the bridesmaid's knickers. And maybe as a reminder to those who are acting as if they're about to invade Poland next - there's more to the day than style.

This is the best wedding gift I can give you....



If I could give you one thing
a wedding gift that will last
it would be the memory -
not of a glittering table,
lanterns and rose petals
favours and toiletries, or
chair covers in dusky pink-
but of the time you share
the choosing and the plans
the mother's face, the father's pride
the squeeze of hand, the
slight smile, the excited face
the neighbours gathered,
children pointing, guests
milling, laughter rippling like
a spring - stately walk, solemn vow.

I would give you the gift
of slowing time, savouring
each and every second,
noticing the important details
- not the trimming on a veil
or pewends tied with ribbon
drapes, capes, canapes,
colours, cut or clothe -
but the whispered love
the tearful eye, joyful
glance, awaited entrance,
first dance, speech and
speechless moments, grace
and bumbling fumbling, funny
sad and lovely, moments
strung like pearls on
the edge of a wedding veil.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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Mud and Bones

Up in the west of ireland on some hillside a few years back bad stormy weather caused a landslide that revealed bones of neolithic settlers, hidden for years. There's a storm almost as bad brewing outside and it reminded me of a poem I wrote ...so I thought I would share...


Mud and Bones

I lie in the dark mud of Connaught
in the cruel rocky earth of the West
where the sun sets low in the evening
and HyBrazil lies just beyond sight
and I am part of your land and your lives,
though you see only the mound of my grave
and the grass growing high above my head
I am the bones of your country, its roots
the anchor of life as you know it
your seed, breed and long generation -
And I lie in the dark mud of Connaught.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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Reality, for Tommie

A poem about friendship: I have a friend, whom I have never met face to face, but whose friendship is real. It is real, because it has endured - differences of opinion, changes in our lives, deep loss, happiness. We sometimes talk daily, sometimes sadly, once a month or even less. Sometimes we chat on the phone, more often online. Sometimes I have confided in her things I could tell no one else, and vice verse. Sometimes we just talk about nothing. This is her poem.




For Tommie; A poem about friendship

Shattered conversations, broken words,
glimpses of each other’s life. My words
rushed on a keyboard in work;
yours in a house with kids and dog.
Thousands of miles apart, heart to heart
across a continent, and over seas
through the ether, on the wire –
friendship spanning time and space.
Face to face, we’ve never been –
impossible to believe! I have held
your hand, felt your presence, seen
through your eyes…you have walked
city streets with me, sat at table, celebrated
family. How can it not be real?
We must redefine physics; ignore these
hard men who would say,
your friendship is virtual. Mutual
trust is real, laughter is real,
time shared is real. The only illusion
is theirs. We know, we know – Our words
are real.

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Making links

Decide now

1.

When Margaret called
I had my hands in washing up
up to the elbows
hair falling in drips
face hot and sweaty

2.

Is it oak or
something lighter?
what lining?
I am winning the war
on grease and remains
I do not wish to be thrown
back into the heated debate
Let someone else decide.

I am paralysed
in the face of brisk
efficiency;
left swimming a bubble
prone to explosion
ready to pierce myself
and be consumed again
by the whole.

There were several
points raised that could
be good or bad, depending.
And some chit chat.
I got off the phone lightly.



Make up your mind


1. So when I saw it
was introduced to it like
I wasn't terribly impressed
but what could I say?
I wasn't listening, it was not I

It was solid,
much more there than I
had imagined
much more final
more respectable

Although - if I am honest
it was obscene. That it was, was
offensive.

Or am I just
panicked?


Let it go

1. It remains to be seen

For some reason that sounds
fanciful and fun
Like,
we can decide it all later
It doesn't really matter
It's not all that important

Whereas I know
it can't be postponed.
I can see, how it would be
awkward
become a point of contention
if we were too
laissez faire.

I compose myself.
Literally I make myself up.
I invent stanzas, so that when
I am asked
I may answer.
This is interminable. Hard benched,
hard pressed. I wait.

I suppose in the face of this;
it all really is
academic.

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Normal Service...

...will be resumed after I finish Nanowrimo; so far I'm on scedule (day 18, 30101 words and counting) and as usual the plot has dived off the rails, the characters have lost the run of themselves and I'm having a laugh.
Highly recommended :)

nanowrimo.org - it's probably too late now but go for it next year - or read around and if you enjoy reading peoples novels donate to the very worthy Nanowrimo Cause!!

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Nanowrimo

I'm doing Nanowrimo again this year.
Nanowrimo is an excellent event, a mad manic "write a novel in a month" event. It literally is a chance to write a novel in one month, 50000 words is the goal. The point is to fling words at a page and enjoy the esperience of writing, rather than editing and rewriting and obsessing over what you write, though some participants manage to achieve both quantity and quality.

I am a weak novelist :) poetry is definitely my genre. But I have to say I enjoy Nanowrimo immensely. I always go for the humour and it amuses me if nothing else !
If you participate it's also nice to donate (from $10, not much a months entertainment) It keeps the site going, and then additionally raises money for teachers and mentors and books and writing programs for areas that otherwise would recieve no such help.

My nanowrimo

Come have a read, and if you're participating please friend me!

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From the Secret Diary of a Capitalist

From roughly the same "voice" as "Overheard in Dublin": this is a voice that is elitist, but honestly so, caustic and somewhat misanthropic. I thought posting another from the same vein of poetry might help to put "Overheard" in context...not as a literal expression of contempt or dislike but as an imagined and imaginative moment in life.
Never read poetry as purely surface emotion (unless it's in the centre of a Hallmark card :) )



From the Secret Diary of a Capitalist


The girl on the bus
looked normal
’til she fixed her eyes on mine
and solemnly assured me
that the end was nigh. So
with a sigh and a
muttered excuse
I once again changed seats.

This is why I drive. The
much maligned isolation
the experts beg us all to overcome -
within my jaundiced heart I find it a
sweet boon and comfort.
Why throw myself upon the mercy
of the world
or seek comfort in the kindness of
strangeness?

Yes, strangeness. It’s odd to want to climb across
the seats,
reach out clammy hands to touch the
hearts
of others. Daytime pundits of a warped
charity, back off, you living dead.
Armed with every half baked theory of Armageddon
and the reason why
Aliens want sex with earth women.
News flash, kids, I don’t care.

I want my car back. I want
to sink into cushioned seats
and listen to my radio
and change gears with reckless
glee – and pass these sad people
at bus stops on rainy days-
oh, and guzzle petrol and emit
fumes,
and generally be me.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

The Last Rose Blooms

For Emer


The last rose blooms
in rare weather; it takes
rain and sunshine,
good times deferred
bad days and first frost
and luck; good soil,
good stock.

The fading glory appeals
to older eyes; wiser tastes
applaud and accept
its rich fragility,
the final beauty adorning
our autumn days
with grace.

It weathered spring storms
and summer torrents
the sun's relentless beating
and the shade
until it put forth one perfect
bloom; a memory of days
now past

Other plants wither, decay
give in early to the cold
lose heart at the first blasts
of autumn winds -
Some draw on roots that run
deep into good earth -
and bloom.

1.

Overheard in Dublin

Overheard


'I gave her my old phone, she was stone delighted, '
the Navan man said:
while his Cork culchie brethren
blew hot and cold into the headpiece
all bluetooth and shiny smile
schmoozing on the street.
'He said he didn't but what do you think? '
a brunette pushes past me angrily
'That little huir, I hope she's happy now-'
she moves too far away
I am tempted to follow, I want to know
what did he do? and if it's likely, his guilt,
and who is the rival woman?
'I can't, ' the teenager wails,
chewing the fingernails of one hand
a bovine testament to the need
for population control.
'Wha'? ' she stares blankly into middle space
her mothers voice shrill and tinny
spelling out the name of a washing powder brand.
'...if you move that account around, it should be
all right, ' He moves in and out
of earshot, a worried shadow
with quick panicked steps.
So many voices, overheard
I wonder, how few heard over
the din?

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

Recessive Gene

Ah the Recession: I'm not saying its a good thing - god knows it wasn;t a good thing in the 80s, when there were no jobs and no hope. But I confess to a certain amount of fascinated interest watching the kids who grew up in the boom come to terms - slowly - with the sudden loss of instant gratification. Here's hoping it lasts long enough to teach a few lessons and ends soon enough to spare them the worst lessons of the last recession.


We're going back in time
back to the 80s,
back to the time
when pennies counted and money
pinched us
from payday to payday
and we spent our time hounded by
bills, chased
from one crises of money
management
to another.

The Celtic Tiger died
or at least, is ailing beyond
vetinary aid.
I remember the days
when credit cards were all that stood
between the electricity company
and candlelight cold suppers.
We used to count it a blessing
when there was extra.
Not extra in particular
just any margin between us
and the cold.

What will they do?
little cubs, mewling blind,
like headless chickens still running
from Venu to Brown Thomas
not yet aware that they're out of fuel
- Ah is it schadenfreude? but I confess
I want to see them, creditless
in the city. I want to see them walk,
think twice before wasting;
realize in a disposable society
they are disposed of most easily of all.

If we are lucky,
lack of money, lack of choice
fear and the opening of chasms
giddy depths visible for once
beneath well shod feet,
might breed
compassion; might shake
loose our comfortable
bigotry,
might feed something
unnourished by wealth.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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New Poetry Anthology Seeks Submissions

The Pagan Poetry Pages is seeking submissions from new and past members for their first Anthology due out at Yule; the submissions deadline is November 10th and poetry can be submitted along with a bio to ppp@anfianna.com. Poems should reflect the spirutal nature of the poet and/or a theme of nature, seasons, festivals and celebrations of spirituality. However all good poetry will be considered. Submissions must be accompanied by a short BIO and submitted in the name under which they should be published.

1.

And the Leaves begin to turn...

Down by Ben Bulben, the leaves are turning
the russets are emerging
triumphant over green, gold
running riot, copper beeches
glowing. Orange the wayside flowers
and paler blue the sky -
September is arrived.

Down by Ben Bulben
As the road slopes to Leitrim
the Glencar lakeside boasts
colours fit to clothe a king. The crows
startle black against
the spread of the year's last finery
as the sun crowns the day
and the leaves begin to turn.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

Beauty at Dusk

Beauty at Dusk

The room is stilled
dimmed by evening light through
shuttered blinds
A perfect evening, summer spring
treees laced with early leaves
bright fields, sunlight on windowglass
an empty room
and silence


the brightness of the dusk is
blinding - more glaring than noon in dust
and the silence splinters with shrill throated birds
and distant laughter
til the laughter and the song seem silent too
part of the peace that oppresses this room

the beauty is too perfect
too real for me

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

Pomegranate

A little poem I wrote a while back about words, and their richness; incidentally I recently met online a user of a forum whose moniker was "pomegranate" and who turned out to be lovely. It's confirmed this word as one of my favourites :)





I collect words;
Collate and catalogue them
in some library of the mind, to which
I get sporadic access, as the muse decrees.

I hope if I store enough words, there will always be one
no matter how scarce the favours scattered:
that paucity of concept will yield
before the wealth amassed in syllable and dipthong.

I hold some words in high regard
I once spent a day musing on the sound of 'leech'
and make alliterative lists of favourite mots
Whistling, Wonder, Weird, Wildflower.

But of all the troves and chests and caverns
overflowing with jewelled noise, bedecked with meanings and
subtle shades of burnished thought, lies
one word, elegant in its simplicity, its economy of meaning:

yet extravagent in form, reigning
Supremely succulent in tone
a taste of desire and wealth, one word -
Pomegranate.

1.

I Love your Blog Award

WOW thanks to AncestralCelt for a lovely shout out on her blog awards :)

the rules of the award are....

1. The winner can put the logo on their blog
2. Link the person you received the award from
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs
4. Put links of those blogs on yours
5. Leave a message on the blogs nominated

I got two from the lovely AC, one for Scenesofireland and the other for Dreams of Reality, this poetry blog, so i'm only going to do one pass on or I'll be here all day :) so this can do for both lol.
I would have to list Ancestral Celt's blog as one of my favourites, I don't know if you're allowed to do that as part of the list so I'll do 7 others anyway :)

1. McaWilliams Photo Blog
2. InPhotos.org
3. Darren Greene

The above are my inspiration in photography, three incredible photographers with wonderful "eyes" for a shot!

4. Island Blogging by Hermit Life:
incandescent writing, wonderful stories, glimpses of a different way of living, a different way of being.

5. Notes from the Plot

A wonderful blog that induces jealousy every time I look at it; a friend Gina writes about her wonderful adventures in gardening and her lovely produce. I've long been a major fan of her cardmaking and crafts (she made our wedding invitations) but I would love to spend a day on her plot, watching her at work!

6. Nicole Crawford A superb personal blog entitled "A Woman Undeniable"
7. Nick Here and Now Another excellent read, both political and personal, I look forward to all his entries

That's my best choices, although especially where the photography is concerned there are a LOT of fabulous ones out there. Now off to annoy people with an award :)
also an honourable mention to
Irish Photographers a stunning collection of the best Irish photography blogs from the rank amatuer (me) to the professional and talented (above)

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