Sunday, May 29, 2016

Two Poems

Oisin Large's poems in the recent Senior Poetry Prize competition were commended by Mr Canning: "Oisin wrote a strong body of poems and his experimental one ‘Opposite Line’ very interesting and his coming of age piece celebrating his mother whilst saying goodbye was poignantly sweet."

OPPOSITE line and other sorts

What exactly was it about?
Was it below the above line or
Was I absent from its presence?
It was my lack of abundance and
I refused to accept the truth of line,

Yet I must admit that I denied the signs
That the child gave me, I thought I was an adult
Who knew all about the opposite line.

What happened before the line after I asked?
Were you too afraid to be brave or
Was the line possibly impossible to see?

These modern questions do not answer these ancient riddles
This is beginning to end.
I amuse myself, knowing that I bore you.
A fine mess this is.

The opposite line is bitter-sweet.
It is black on white lines.
It has no body, no, only a soul.
It cannot be fixed, as it is broken in many ways.
When it is cloudy, then it will be clear to you as to were the line is.
Do Tell Me When You Find It…

The time has come

The time has come, mother; I am leaving.
Hear me, I am the last one from the nest
And know that you have helped me believing
That I have the potential to be with the rest.

The time has come, mother; for me to embrace the next life.
To learn of new friends and of old worlds
I can see their many faces, those eager eyes
That I can see from afar, I will have new wings.

I remember the little things that you taught me.
I remember your unconditional love
That you gave me in the darkest hours
Erasing my bad dreams.

I remember the toy soldiers.
I remember the little things
Even with the weight of me on your shoulders
And accepting my blame, again and again.

I am here now, mother; to pronounce my departure
I will leave soon, mother; to walk before you
The time has come, mother; to say Thank You.

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