Two Poems

by Patricia Walsh


Freakshow Saga

Being quiet on delicate matters, love permitting
white flowers cascade on the windowsill
the designated day off calls the blink missed
this artisan audience knows better than that
watered and fed under cover of critical mass.

Fearing ruin over breakfast, newspapers as well,
coffee sunk slowly, more lukewarm the better,
sharpening appetite on a watery diet
purchasing freedom on back of a blood test
loving, like a rock, caring little for decorum.

Called by the wrong name, invited to a table
apologised to, the dark veins of a friend,
cracking down on entitlement, this allowing
producing books only the select will read
that is enough, as is said, for another day.

Being looked after is all that truly matters,
seethed though Facebook, awaiting the train,
inexistent crises rummaging in losing handbags
conserving food in face of disastrous teeth
looking pregnant, unproductive, in an age’s heart.

Typing up bygones, the better for wear, again
startled out of time, being the more mature
accepting oneself as per se, free travel abound
as much on the one page, constraints being
destroying all knowledge of previous incarnations.

Throwing Back

Solution to an Irish problem, a craft beholden
excellence through performance worked to a hilt,
interesting times ahead going, less, gone
dressed for the moment therein, goodly soul
stand alone for propriety, stealing home.

The badly-written dolls materialise, spilling coffee
the continuous reverberations cause and effect
excavating bygones on pain of execution
the appropriate effort, cigarette breaks aside
performance led discoveries loved out of measure.

Thinking we were rid of you, illness permitting
goodly sign to hit the psyche where it hurts,
praying for a favourable employment, attractive
avoidance strategy, perpetual guest speakers
noisy cheering from the street punches the air.

No chance of a lift, starbound times beckoning
cutting offf working heads for peace of tomorrow
jettisoning an occupation by dint of responsiblity
calling on heroes as is needed, imbued
with a nutritious relaxation not normally static.

Some common good that was. Being the local joke
swipe-cards proscribing the intentional journey
textbook fantasies beloved by the vindictive graduate
honing craft for posterity, crying from a history
a laughed-at miscreant remains a gibe.


Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland. To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals. These include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press; Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet’s Wing, Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo.

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