Poems by Brendan Martin
Coo
On a calm winter morning, bright and early
I walked the canal close to my home.
The reflection of sky on the very still water
was dotted with clouds and awakening birds.
Only then I noticed the sounds of my Sunday,
a chaffinch, some sparrows and blackbirds
out foraging,
darting from the rushes or out in the long grass
close to the bank.
Then I heard it.
The coo of a pigeon.
And listening to others, I learned something new,
that every pigeon has a different coo;
like every cow has a different moo;
like we are all the same but different too,
pigeons, cows,
me and you.
I rambled onwards,
as a thrush studied the ground,
eyeing it closely
while the cathedral gonged eight bells
calling the morning to Mass.
Can I?
Can I paint your fingernails
the way you used to do mine
red or pink, either is fine?
My eyes can see for you
and I can do them for you.
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Can I brush your hair
the way you used to brush mine
into plaits, ponytails or pigtails?
I can reach there without any pain
and I’ll brush it for you again and again.
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Can I hold your hand
the way you used to hold mine
and talk about old times and long happy days
giggling and laughing
as we both remember?
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Can I watch you sleeping
the way you used to watch me
making it safe and secure for my dreams?
You made up a story, as I’ll do for you
and make it appear as real as it seems.
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Can I just stay here with you,
like how you used to stay with me?
and the doctors advised me that we shouldn’t cry.
It’s hard for us both, being a tough situation,
but this time, please, if it’s okay, can I.
Don’t Believe What You Hear
So many voices in my head,
I forget what each one said.
Some would whisper, others shout,
and more just shook my mind about.
Some told tales, and others, lies,
fortunes, news about girls and guys.
Devils, angels, fairies, ghosts,
liars, cheats, demonic hosts.
They all advised me what to do,
and seemed to have an inside view
of everything my life could be,
and knew much more of it than me.
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I never listened to what they said,
as I like to think myself instead.
I chose to do what I felt was right,
remaining calm and being polite.
I think everyone sometimes hears other voices
and has the option of simple choices
to think, to see and try to find
the truth in their expanding mind.
They can make you good, or make you bad,
keep you sane or drive you mad.
Just keep your thoughts clean and clear,
and don’t believe the things you hear.
Brendan Martin is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am and Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel, Mullingar. All aspiring and fun writers are welcome.