Snowflakes and blossoms
saunter through the streets of my beloved landscape.
Flowers in bloom –daffodils
and in the manicured, manufactured area of the Green
yellow and red tulips.
The male pigeons flirting and fluffing for their females.
A band of boys hop and pop on the bandstand.
A lone busker gregariously grooves funky tunes.
I love this place that is my home:
Dublin city in bloom.
Where am I
when wishing my feel and feet away
on a stray; locked in?
Time rolls on a tide:
in the angst of unforgiveness
physical overlay of bleak memories inhibit -inhabit the cells.
A desire to be more
To be Better Stronger Clearer
– or whatever- Other
Nostalgia grips
by the ribcage
and cracks it open to the sandstorm of the past.
Sands gritting pumping tearing
the lining of the blood
beating into exposed lungs.
Sea drought to the bone.
Quick; distract tears with an ice-cream cone.
Salty Smoke and Mirrors.
Most of my impetus and drive to express through poetry – and also with painting – comes from a feeling or an intensely experienced moment. I want to describe it; to mould the words that will share the essence of how it inhabited my body or how it hangs in my mind.
One of the moments that I contemplated and wanted to explore creatively was that moment just after any kind of intense pain stops. That moment when you feel ease, your breathing changes, it is releasing, refreshing, and always such a relief. I think there is something so recognisable here. It is a moment that every human being will have, and there are multitudes of contexts that can frame it.
Tormentors Love
Loneliness-grief crushes my spirit,
erodes my trying-to-untwist mind.
A drop of serenity to
dull the cutting words of her
hate
lashing and slicing
at my mind heart body
No more I beg
On my knees I plead
a wish to be left
alone.
Prodding next to anger, to engage me;
my erosion till explosion
she breaks me.
My thrashing about the shark waters
and broken glass shores
is no match for her will to have me.
Desperate. Exhausted. Bleeding.
I welcome her rescue rope and raft
and I love her then for the peace it brings.
Im floating as the world’s alighting off my shoulders.
Oh tidal wave of ease
take me
wash me up onto the shores of that painless place.
I sooth comfort and reassure her with this mood she has wooed from me.
Then she is gone again,
and I am alone
an answered prayer in the coarse crunch of chaos.
I am weak, a sore infected
oozing with a fear
of festering control
I see it inking into my future
sinking my hopes
into the deepening darkness
I loath the discovery of what it is
to loath someone you love.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to want to live.
I have cleared the decks, wiped off the counter-tops, dusted away the cobwebs, cleaned the windows, and cleared the deadwood (actually I’m building bookshelves with it), and I have double clicked the ‘refresh’ button.
Starting with a clean slate… or rather a slate projected onto it a tapestry of sunshine and shadows. 
Rise, Music, out of the Earth!
I feel it below me and just beyond this world
A cavern full of sound, a storm trapped beneath a mountain howls at the edge of my throat.
I burn to let it sing through me!
Rise up, music, in me and devour me-
Angela Galik 2009
Thick grey cloud hangs low on the not so distant horizon hill,
Bobbled with trees, like a grey wool jumper worn many times.
The sliver of white that outlines the bobbled hilltop is disappearing at a speed from the centre out. As the sky meets the land, fields and trees all merge into one grey mass. Seen though this scruffy window it is an old black and white photo found under the floorboards of an almost unremembered time and place, once a powerful evocation of flooding memories to someone else.
More to the foreground in the bottom left corner of the window, the thick and united winds makes it seem like I’m looking out to sea.
Stepping closer to the window a dull half varnished wooden fence with three empty trellises comes into the frame obscuring the valley view.
With one more step I am against the sill. The green mowed-last-month grass splices the lower frame; wet and quivering below the solid unforgiving ineffective shelter of the barren panelled fencing. I hear a buzzing; the mobile fussing and flashing behind me on the table telling me it’s time to go get the train.
The long anticipated year one results arrived with a snap in my letterbox this damp grey day in Leitrim. Jumping up from the kitchen table I ran to the front door leafed through the small pile of envelopes to find the one I hoped was there. Handing my mom her post I grab a gulp of water and then a small pack of tissues. I sit. I stand. I go to the hallway. I sit on the stairs. I stand again and go back the kitchen quickly inching back the sticky lip of the envelope. A deep breath … air and paper release from their captors together. Opening out the folded page I see a list of the word “PASS”
theatresarah 