The Cathach - Volume One: Spring 2009
I AM THE SEA.
Who am I?
I am the sea.
I am the most powerful natural element when it suits me.
I have no shape. The elements shape me. The wind whips me up and I use my white horses to smash rocks and coastlines,
to reshape the world.
I erode the places that I visit.
I am green, blue or foamy white like a Guinness head.
I can be fierce. I can be calm.
I can let you swim in me and return you to land safely. Or if the mood takes me I can exact revenge on you for polluting me and drag you in my undercurrent to rest in my watery bed.
I meet people, the lost souls from vessels who steal my fish or go to war upon me.
I have no sorrow for them.
They use me. This is my revenge. I never change.
I am here.
Come and conquer me if you dare.
Respect me and I will let you see under my arm pits to the beauty I hide there.
I will let you dive deep to look at my bed, my inhabitants, my life.
Respect me and you will win me over.
Abuse me and I will conquer you one way or another.
I have secrets.
I know what happened to the Titanic, the Lusitania,
and Lord Lucan.
Laugh if you like, I know in milliseconds after the event, things it takes you fifty years or more to figure out.
I laugh at you all the time, in humour or with my evil laugh. Just as my tides change so can I, like the flick of one of your electric light switches.
Beware for I never sleep.
Martin McCabe
SLIGO’S GARAVOGUE.
The Garavogue River sweeps past the Silver Swan.
She glides across the rocky outcrops, falls into fish pools where Cormorants dive to feast on fresh eels.
She carries life within, unseen, unnoticed and yet,
And yet, we know who dwells there.
The frogspawn in a quiet backwater, the Little Egret wading for smallfry.
Swans and Mallard compete for bread.
Canoeists ride her waves, submerge and surface again.
Lifebuoys dotted along the bank, reminders of the tragic souls consumed by her
savage beauty.
She laps gently along the jetty, her mild manner a deceptive cover to the strong current beneath.
We gaze into her as we sip a Latté at Fiddlers,
At peace with our dreams.
Martin McCabe
COULD THE HEAVENS
I remember mountain shadow reflected in lake
Like glass below the evening light.
Is this commonplace
Or something more?
Could the mountains reflect the lake
And shadows cast light on the plain?
Could the heavens above open
And shatter like mirrored glass?
Elizabeth Fox. Nov. 2008
A POEM FOR KATIE
I wanted to write a poem for you
And I remembered a dimpled toddler in red armbands
Waving from the shallow end of a Sligo swimming pool.
Then I see a sunny smiling eight year old floating
Effortlessly in a turquoise Cypriot pool.
We held hands as we played in the warm Mediterranean sea.
I see you laughing at me at the top of a Ferris Wheel at Sligo funfair
And me scared half to death.
In my dreams I swim ephemerally through warm calm waters
Unafraid and free.
I wanted to write a poem for you and I see a beautiful young girl
A precious daughter, true friend, sensitive and courageous
Bubbling with energy
Diving and exploring the waters of life
And in the changing waters may you swim freely
Dive deeply, breathe fully
Float like a flower in the sun.
May you swim in the waters of my dreams.
Swim well.
Elizabeth Fox. Dec. 2008.
