The Old People Believed

with No Comments

by Attracta Fahy, Galway

 

The Old People Believed

to cut the horns off a black snail, would rid you

of earache.

In the sixties folklore didn’t appeal to my palate.

 

Slugs taken from their natural habitat gave me

creeps, my skin crawled, stomach gagged, as boys

dared me to play with slimy creatures, worse

 

than any ache I couldn’t decide if I felt sympathy,

or disgust. Live, and let live became the motto

I used for divinity. This betrayed what my brothers

 

deemed to be brave. No fear of climbing trees, chasing

through graveyards at midnight, tying scarfs to headstones

just to prove – I wasn’t afraid.

 

I imagined the snail bleeding to death, his family cursing,

dooming me to a terrible fate, scared of not having peace,

I never complained of earache again.

 

I liked sugar, mindful not to eat much as I’d wished,

it caused worms. Imagining slithery organisms

inside my stomach was nauseating, the cure even worse,

 

to sit with a bowl of oatmeal, mother spinning charms

over your head, inviting these white squirmy, maggots

out of your mouth. I stopped eating sugar.

 

Rubbing a snail, it’s smear all over my finger to be rid

of a wart didn’t entreat me either. I was a martyr!

With five brothers– it wouldn’t look good to let down

 

your guard, scream. Being a girl, weakness enough.

I hid a glass coke bottle in the haggard – ‘keep it secret,’

my mother suggested, creating new folklore to relieve

 

the stress. My wart disappeared.

‘We don’t need to kill I explained,’ already enough

on our farm, lambs, pigs, chickens–

 

‘It’s normal, survival,’ my father explained,

‘but, it must be humane, that or starve.’

Only humans were safe, and I wasn’t so sure, still,

 

we had confessions. That’s how it was in the old days,

a cure for everything except fear, and remorse.

Repentance, or plenary indulgence didn’t remedy

 

for me. Earaches, and warts, were tolerable, guilt,

empathy for all life, can be an infliction.

 

Attracta’s poem is based on cures in the folklore collection:

cure for EARACHE: Get a black snail, cut off both horns with one cut instant cure.

cure for WARTS: Get a black snail without looking for it, rub it on warts three times, then hang on a white-thorn bush. As snail withers warts will disappear.

 

The ‘Good People’

with No Comments

by M Ni B., Longford

 

THE ” GOOD PEOPLE”

Down from their secret haunt they come, A-trooping down the hill,

green jackets, red caps, white owl feather

–  proud and bold they step together

 

The yellow moon doth guide them, as implishly they leap

their wizened crinkled faces, as old as rivers deep.

 

At midnight  ’round the red hot coal, they toast their tiny feet,

sipping clean Spring  water, they  search for loosened teeth.

They frown on itchy noses, a bed that’s facing West,

a web they love to weave around, the  Stranger or the  Guest.

 

Theý’re still around,  those little folk, who are both wild and free,

don’t lend an egg or spill the salt,

for certain they will point and say

”these humans are at fault”

The health is the wealth

with No Comments

by Aoife Brady, Sydney, Australia

Covid’s gift

Big houses, new cars, fancy holidays, prestigious jobs.  A legacy of success, importance and wealth.

Our world valued the external appearance. Survival of the fittest. Work hard, play hard. Keeping up with the Joneses.

COVID doesn’t care. It targets all. Indiscriminately. Old and young, healthy and sick.

We’ve seen the best of humanity; the kindness, compassion and generosity.

We’ve seen the worst of humanity; aggression, judgement and wilful flaunting of the rules.

Overnight the “insignificant” became the most important. The nurses, the social workers, the cleaners, the delivery drivers, selflessly putting their lives on the line to get us through.

Forced separation. Working & studying from home. The breakdown of our social habits. Our favourite cafe, bar & restaurant closed. The job losses.

Anxiety, fear, panic, concern. We felt them all. We heard our inner dialogue. The isolation forced us to confront our mental wellbeing

Mental health moved from taboo to mainstream. We learned about our inner world and how we respond to the world.

We learned the importance of meaningful connection for our emotional wellbeing. Honestly replaced pretence.

COVID’s gift is a resetting of what’s important. Our health. Our wellbeing. Who we are as people. Who are you in the post COVID world?

GIRL ON FIRE – A play

with No Comments

by 

M. McHugh, New York

 

“If a girl’s apron takes fire in front it is a sign of marriage. Fire on the side or the back is a sign of misfortune” 

 

A cottage. Girl stands in front of fire. 

 

MOTHER  You’re standing awful close there to the fire.

GIRL         Am I? I’m not, surely. 

 

GIRL moves closer to the fire. 

 

MOTHER  Ah you are now, you’ll catch fire altogether. 

GIRL         Sure, I won’t at all. 

 

GIRL moves closer to fire again. Catches on fire. 

 

GIRL          Oh my apron’s on fire! It’s on fire! 

MOTHER   Jesus above, isn’t that a sign of marriage. 

GIRL           Tis! Tis! Indeed! 

OLD AUNT IN THE CORNER  Looks like your apron is on backwards. 

GIRL           Is it? 

MOTHER    Oh misfortunes, misfortunes! That’s a sign of misfortunes! 

GIRL           Misfortune!

OLD AUNT IN THE CORNER  Indeed! Sure you’re on fire!

 

END PLAY

IF ONE’S EYEBROW BE ITCHY, YOU WILL BE DRINKING WHISKEY

with No Comments

after Flann O’Brien

by Anonymous, Longford

 

When your heart feels very strange and your leg it will not rest,

And you are feeling a trifle frisky,

There’s a piece of advice that you must remember best:

IF ONE’S EYEBROW BE ITCHY, YOU WILL BE DRINKING WHISKEY.

 

The upset tum and the fevered brow are very frightful travails,

But a remedy that will work briskly:

A generous sup of flat 7-up will cure what ails, but

IF ONE’S EYEBROW BE ITCHY, YOU WILL BE DRINKING WHISKEY.

 

Itches descend and they truly offend without reason,

So commit to your memory this key:

A hale and a hearty cure no matter what the season:

IF ONE’S EYEBROW BE ITCHY, YOU WILL BE DRINKING WHISKEY.

 

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8