Roisin Markham

Today I stood mid walk around the garden & thought what the hell is that sound? Then this poem happened.

amidst the bird song
a weird noise
not the wind
nor the farmer calling his herd
the clouds cover the sky
the noise has not been audible
Covid had cleared the sky
metal roaring through the last day of April
it’s gone

Sending it out written down for the first time as a tweet. It was the exact moment of me standing in the garden and what was going on around. It seemed an appropriate way to celebrate Ireland’s National Poetry Day.

#PoetryDayIreland #poetry

Poetry can be such a salve to the soul, mind and heart.

Later in the day we were all sitting around the kitchen table, we do that more often now. Our sons were in different stages of boredom and frustration. I was battling peak chore fatigue. So this next poem reflects the afternoon.

the mundane

the mundane arrives in my day
only broken by burnt toast
lazy house young men just eat and leave
I struggle to do basic tasks
my brain argues

the mundane points it’s finger
today feels like tofu
the daily insipid lockdown
extended two more weeks two more weeks
relentless chores,
the sameness gets me
I’m not even doing chores
they remain there

the mundane
that’s all I am today
everyday until Covid lockdown ceases

Sometimes my memories feel poetic. I get snippets. They don’t all roll off the tongue. Some the words they have to hangout for a while, suspended until they feel tuned. Then edited or abandoned. I write, seldom publish. But I’m working on it. Writers write.