From the slums and barracks of Emain Macha
The latter-day Cuchulain
Has routed the pulsating hordes
Of the Queen.
The hero-rage subsides and
Clansmen shake the sleep of a century
From their heads.
They realize freedom – and shell shock.
** I wrote this poem more than a decade ago, but believe it still resonates with the many years of 'Troubles' in my Northern Irish birthplace. History casts long shadows.
The Táin Bó Chuailgné (Raid of the Cattle of Cooley) and the Irish warrior Cuchulain—who defended Ulster against vast forces led by Queen Medbh—are prominent in Irish legend, their themes evocative of these past decades of violence in Northern Ireland
About the Creator
Marie McGrath
Things that have saved me:
Animals
Music
Sense of Humor
Writing
Keep reading
More stories from Marie McGrath and writers in Poets and other communities.
Love Letters Through Time
Context: Grace (Gráinne) Gifford, was a participant in the Irish nationalist struggle against British rule, which led to ‘The Easter Rising’, Easter Monday, 1916 in Dublin, Ireland. She was betrothed to one of the leaders, who were due to be executed the morning after being taken prisoner. Joseph and Grace were married the night before in his prison cell. Joseph (Seosamh Pluinceid)) was one of the leaders of The Rising, a signatory of the Irish Proclamation and, in death, a revered Irish hero. These are my imaginings of ‘her’ final words to him. I include a few words in Irish Gaelic as the movement that led to the rebellion favored speaking Irish, instead of English. I would wager a guess, as they were both poets and writers in the Irish republican movement that she would have chosen to marry her love of country with her love of him in expressing her devotion.
By Marie McGrathExclusive • 11 months ago
Absolute Zero
My ambitious maw couldn't keep me warm anymore. You were the wolfhound that kept attacking it to sustain yourself. Everything you could steal, you did no matter how insignificant. You siphoned my life in small increments in order to achieve a sense of regularity. It was all for appearance's sake. You were the rat king my tail kept getting attached to. I would scurry away but all to no avail. I wallowed in compromise and misery in an attempt to be less for you. I was driven but you were threatened by anything resembling intelligence. You loved me being incomplete. I pretended to be deaf so you could speak for me. I chose silence so you could choose for me instead. I learned to surrender because you felt some desperate need to be in command. My opinion of you continued to shrink. You were never the almighty one you convinced yourself you were. It's amazing how fragile your masculinity was so you had to take my dignity to supplement. I was the undead carcass you kept feeding on. You couldn't find your own food source so you used me for your appetite. You refused to find shelter so I became your haven at the expense of myself. You somehow always knew better, it seemed. Like there was written proof somewhere out there in the cosmos that you were the superior one. I was the deluded victim you had to subjugate and keep isolated. You made it your life's mission to devalue me. You did everything to justify your abusive and callous behavior. You were always my biggest disappointment, You made sure I didn't deserve better. I had to worship you because you lived off of recognition. I was kept hostage for 15 years while you remained drunk off of my tears. I was the aberration I sought but could never enforce. You were the unwelcome savior that felt compelled to trap me. I was held captive and was forced to enjoy it. I soared beyond your limitations but you punished me for that. My entropy was at always at your mercy. You wanted me at my lowest, at absolute zero. My energy was at your disposal. I was a dedicated zombie that couldn't breathe without your permission. I was forever caught in your perpetual undertow. What would it mean to prosper? What would it feel like to reclaim my power? I was the walking dead you feared would rise against you one day. I wasn't willing to join you at your subterranean level. My melancholy is no longer my friend. I have slowly ascended to the height I always pictured myself achieving. My endeavors refuse to be frigid and tepid. You are banished to the frozen exteriors of my mind. Where polar ice and bleak extremities knew me so well. I was once at absolute zero. I was a former version of myself you kept hidden for fear of losing to. I'm not who I used to be. I am allowed to evolve beyond arctic cold. I'm thawing out, slowly but surely. The temperature is rising and so am I. My heat obliterated you because you kept stripping me of it. I was a motionless entity, encased in marble glacier, a reminder of all that I had dreamt of. Those dreams have returned. They have bestowed their value unto me once more. I'm not your captive anymore. I've been diminished long enough. Go be one with your beloved entropy. My energy cannot be destroyed nor removed anymore. You have no more influence over me anymore
By Anna Torres3 days ago in Poets
The Devil's Cut
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Fromm4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
It's remarkable how your poem continues to resonate after all these years.