Niall Cahir – A True Departure

P Naill Cahir LE P&W Vol 1 2019

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Poems by Niall Cahir

Niall Cahir  -Writer, Photographer, Artist. Based in Birr Co Offaly. Born 1966, in Cork city. Niall’s poetry is honest, deep and meaningful. Snap-shots of everyday life, thought provoking, with spiritual imagery. Measured shares of shade and light, strong yet delicate in texture, just like the man himself! Niall has performed at events such as ‘Scene of the Rhyme’, ‘Voices Raising’ and at music festival ‘Electric Picnic’. His framed writings hang in a number of private collections in Germany, the UK and Ireland.

Oxmantown Mall

This morn I trail through foggy drapes
Where amber steals the stars
Highlighting dates on pressed reg plates
Of brand new shiny cars

Despite her mix of modern fix
She just can’t shake the past
Her Georgian rhyme, her silent mime
Her structures built to last

I stand alone, by hand-laid stone
Walls built, by skilled trades-man
And count the trees, ten thousand leaves
Where horse-drawn, carriage ran

John Johnson’s vaulted ceilings
Gives way to morning breeze
As though to brail-read scriptures
Inscribed on cornice frieze

And silenced teams still build his dreams
Where muted stones stand still
Bound banded beams, by plastered seams
Bore holes by hand-turned drill

A space where time is bowed to
By beveled natural slate
Where gothic relic rapture
Parades toward castle gate

Her Georgian lines, of finer times
Portrayed on trodden board
Fanned furnished panes, of coloured stains
Cast steely crimson sword

And all I need to feed my greed
To stem my hungry sense
Is plain old lines, of finer times
Stands wearing weather hence

A cat decides to walk my pace
Distance being safer choice
With fleeting glance she reads my face
And shares her silent noise

Pillared porch and fanlight
Panelled fluted void
Where Greece and Rome are well at home
Their classic styles employed

Leather square lashed with horses hair
Make soft the cold hard ground
Protect and ease the welted knees
Where bare-hand workers pound

Can’t help but feel, these ghosts still kneel
On sand-bed gritted way
And lay hand-honed, black cobbled stone
Boiled bitumen sealing clay

A pinch of craft well practiced
One ounce of learned skill
Like Master teaches Trappist
So too the Craftsman will

Compare all this to vapoured piss
Black refuse trapped in rail
Dumped by mindless merchant
Content in ignorant fail

A True Departure

I followed you, beyond the days last breath
And sat in silent silhouette
You fell deep in restful mime
And as you slept, my mind grew calm
No patience required
For I would wait Silurian time
This, I find easy
As my pulse slows to yours
And when you awake, and are ready
Tomorrow, together
We will travel on
And make easy on one another
All the days, long

© Niall Cahir