I sing myself to sleep
And slumber amid strains of perfect harmony
I awaken to a symphony
^^^^^^^^^^
He said the right words
I thought him perfect and I trusted.
But Pseudologos was his name
^^^^^^^^^^
The willow scoops the air
No weeping do the tiny birds allow
They dance in freshest breeze
About the Creator
Marie McGrath
Things that have saved me:
Animals
Music
Sense of Humor
Writing
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Love Letters Through Time
Context: Grace (Gráinne) Gifford, was a participant in the Irish nationalist struggle against British rule, which led to ‘The Easter Rising’, Easter Monday, 1916 in Dublin, Ireland. She was betrothed to one of the leaders, who were due to be executed the morning after being taken prisoner. Joseph and Grace were married the night before in his prison cell. Joseph (Seosamh Pluinceid)) was one of the leaders of The Rising, a signatory of the Irish Proclamation and, in death, a revered Irish hero. These are my imaginings of ‘her’ final words to him. I include a few words in Irish Gaelic as the movement that led to the rebellion favored speaking Irish, instead of English. I would wager a guess, as they were both poets and writers in the Irish republican movement that she would have chosen to marry her love of country with her love of him in expressing her devotion.
By Marie McGrathExclusive • about a year ago
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
So serene and beautifully written, Marie~ 💕
Each stanza is beautiful and I enjoy reading them as independent units-- is that how you meant them to be read? I love the first and last stanza.