Sunday, 26 June 2016

In Flight We Soar, A Nation Recalls | A Poem



This is a poem I wrote earlier on in the year to mark the celebrations of the Easter Rising. It is a slightly different viewpoint on these events. I submitted it to various publications and competitions, but it's pretty clear that it was not a contender! So, I thought it was about time I shared it on the blog. Let me know what you think, do you have any thoughts on the Rising?

In Flight We Soar, a Nation Recalls | A Poem
It was Easter 1916, 
Leaders believed and followers wondered
To share the same heavenly spirit?
Enriched, embedded, embroidered 
In pride –
A technicolour of hope to dust
Our hearts for an age.
A simple case of empowerment of
The Soul,
Iridescence of the Mind,
To purify a cause,
Soldiers ran freely,
Luck being the only weapon.

What do we have to show
These comrades?
We are still scraping through
Iron gates of monetary 
Value;
Controlled, puppeteered through
Blissful ignorance
From the chambers,
Intelligible.

A steadfast yearn for stability
Both liberal and moral,
One promise rings out
To call
Another rising;
To Cherish All Children,
Ripped, ridiculed, repressed
In hands that 
Slipped through time

I would visit them,
Share stories in a glass house
In the scoop of a mountain
Where the mist of March
Comes down to meet
The greenest hue
To show the world
All the reasons 
This should not have been;

Born, bred, brazed and beautiful,
A young soldier,
His helpless mother,
Their tears shake the land.

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Thursday, 23 June 2016

Hope is the thing with Feathers




I am here. I am alive and breathing (no pun intended). I am content. I am relieved and currently feeling ridiculously happy. Why you may ask?

I participated in two years of study, the latter being at a speed too quick for any human to go through, I sat in classes, block classes, extra classes to get coursework completed. I worked my ass off for one French oral exam, where I had to cram and memorise phrases I probably won't use again. I made sacrifices; socially, mentally and physically. I was tired, I had to make deadlines and essentially six years of study boiled down to one big memory test over the span of twelve days.

But sure look, that is the Leaving Cert is it not?

In view of the fact that it has all been said and done, the title of this post is the name of a poem by Emily Dickinson, a poet I studied. I would not read her poetry to find any solace to lift your mood, but I am drawn to this one in particular. It is one of her lighter pieces 

For anyone that doesn't know, the Leaving Cert is one big set of exams that take place towards the end of your time in secondary school. Your grades are translated into points, your points then determine where you study your preferred college course afterwards. Nowadays it is not as black-and-white as that, there are countless routes to get to where you want to go career-wise. That is fantastic and there is a certain level of comfort in that. However when you're studying and preparing for them it is a whole different ball-game, particularly when you have a certain course in mind for afterwards. Considering I have extra bits going on with my health, I am proud of myself for getting through it, and I'm proud of all of my classmates and to anyone else who completed it that might have done it, too. Great job kiddo!

All jokes, sarcasm and general-giving out aside, I am delighted to be finished. I cannot put into words the relief that has showered over me since I finished my last exam. I have heard past Leaving Cert students describe it to me before and I never quite believed them. But kids, it's real, and it is one of the realest things you will experience, possibly ever.

It has been challenging though, as I have said across Facebook/Twitter/Snapchat (all social media links will be linked below), and I am sure people are tired of me talking about it. Having said that, it is all I have been asked about and all that has been happening.

I have truly missed writing, not just blogging but the act of getting a pen out and jotting in a notepad about non-school-related, mundane things. I would describe writing like a muscle, the more you use it, the better it gets, it can get stiff and slightly weaker, but with a little time and perseverance it will come back to itself again. Well, that's always the aim, at least. My actual muscles have become stiff and weaker after the year which was unavoidable. So the plan is that I will go on a stereotypical health kick, look up the #Fitfam hashtag for inspiration and download countless healthy recipes that I I may or may not consider bringing the pots and pans out for. Time will tell, although  I would like to think I am being serious about this "New Beginning" in my life that I am constantly trying to adult-ify.

On a lighter note, what has got me through it? Music, music, music. I still tried my best to keep up with making my monthly playlists. I will make a blog post highlighting my gems since January but in the meantime you can have a listen yourself over on my Spotify, here.

I also called my cousin, Kate regularly considering she went through the year herself last year and also factoring in that we are practically the same person when dealing with the grand aul journey that is life. I generally "checked-in" with a small group of people from time to time just to make sure everything was ticking over as best as possible, not only academically, but mentally too. I rewarded myself with hot baths with an unnecessary amount of hot water and an obscene about of bubbles. 

I learnt many things over the last few months, things, no doubt I will document here in the foreseeable. What I would say is though, it is like I have been drowned in a pool of rich, tecnicoloured hope. Which is a bit of a mouthful to come out with but it really is true. Usually when summer commences I feel a certain, edging dread, mainly knowing I have to head back to a fixed routine in the same place five days a week. Cabin fever you might say? This time though, it's all very different. There will be many changes happening, many of which I have no idea how they will materialise themselves but I am hopeful.

I reckon that I have held myself back to a level both personally and creatively down through the years. Why? I'm afraid I can't pinpoint that to a pulp for you. I am not mainstream, I am not "run-of-the-mill", because of these differences I never felt completely understood by a lot of people. That is changing because I'm changing and delving into my person-hood at a much calmer pace now. Or growing-up for the want of a better turn of phrase.

My own micro-ism is expanding, becoming interlinked with the world's macro-ism and that can only be a good thing, surely?


"“Hope” is the thing with feathers - 
That perches in the soul - 
And sings the tune without the words - 
And never stops - at all"


(I am using snapchat a lot more to have the chats with you all, if you want to join in on the conversation add us up!)