Poetry: Catherine Noonan
Look up, close your eyes,
Imagine what is not there
For the stars did not come out tonight
Outrageously they hide, crouch in their constellations knowing full well that you and I are not
Legend enough for such brilliance of show and yet starless,
We carry on. Trot the mundane.
Our starless condition not even concealed
But humiliatingly sheer from that lacklustre beginning
Still, someone will envy us
Some high-to-low lover crave the steady drill of our no need for
Our tax and insured good night’s sleep
A mile off the ground and upside down suspended in this twirl-scream
Feels, like some kind of home.
And we will never be as free as we are here in this oval cage.
Up, around and down the earth thumps into view and the
Squares of the big wheel’s gondola frame
Up, around and down.
Low to the ground, then blue to the sky
In this; our three euro, six minute,
Now that I know you in a better way
Learnt your mornings off by heart and five pm recitals against the world
I am more bored than worried.
For nothing, I’ve discovered saturates quite like your dark rain
Not even the six o’clock new with its horror and atrocity
It, at least breaks for sport and weather.
No sunny spells here in this Dublin flat!
Just rants, fake madness, as you belt away in effected paranoia
Testing the strength of my fading compassion
Seeing if I’ll snap on your behalf.
Christ! It is not even frightening, this well thought out psychosis
There is none of the release of normal worry.
Yet who am I to blame this bad?
And who’s to know really the difference?
Playing mad is mad in itself but I can’t
Rise to sympathy
I, am more bored than worried
An Evening Meal
Nothing is ever anything compared to your loneliness
Which sad-angry and military-silent begins to march making the room not so much
Uncomfortable as real.
This, this is your talent making a room real
Staring it down sober with a super-ego that is, -I have come to accept-
As much mine to demolish as yours
For perhaps after all it was me with all my ineptitude and imbalance
Who threw you out of the now and into this lie.
Gently, then firmly I try to take you, as the saying goes
Out of yourself, a clear mistake, for the more I layer my anecdotes
The further out I wade in ill-prepared concoction the more
Jesus Christs you spit before clicking the bill and glaring me home
Where I sit in a gale of roars inferred knowing full well
That this is where the whole course of the evening has been travelling
To these one hundred gratuitous degrees
And yet I know how this’ll go, you’ll grovel, come curling and
Reducing me to a fool, an unpaid and unpleasing performer who is
Always at hand for your cowards-dark.
Oh someone jump up and down fool me,
Someone clap-chase me into a circus
That is louder and greater than all the noise and importance of your solitude.
Author’s statement: these poems were written prior to life with her wonderful fiancé.