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Showing posts from February, 2016

Palette of Spring

©2016 Shers Gallagher
We shouldn't fight against ourselves when letting go of deadened leaves while trusting in the signals our bodies give, the signals intuition provides. There is a time to let go of dying leaves, all colour draining from us until left bare while looking to the process that provides food to the trees, refuelling their barrenness without dwelling on uncertainties. For there is always growth and fruitfulness for trees in springtime, for all life from which we too, in part, complete.


Brain Power

©Shers Gallagher 2016
There once was a man with as much brain as brawn.
Betwixt and between, 
he could never get the two to meet.
Then he took to drink, 
ending up smelling flowers for a living
and becoming the laughingstock of town.
But when sobering from the mead, 
he used brain power to cultivate his seed
and build an empire towering over the rest.
No longer falling between the flowers,
he sits alone these days imbibing the profits of his greed
while caught between the ebb and flow of trading and investing.
Poor sod with his lofty power 
still towering over the rest. 

Aisling Books

The Female Selkie

© Shers Gallagher 2016
I shall protect this lagoon to my death
and all the creatures of its depths
Each bug-eyed, big-mouthed monster with skeletal frame
and gelatinous flesh 
Every creepy crawly thing that claws and worms its way 
to my shores
I will protect them all from the predators
that skim across the water and wreck havoc 
on my strand
Then I shall shed seven tears into the sea 
and don my skin in a moonlight's gaze 
before joining them once again

Aisling Books

Weather Station

©Shers Gallagher 2016
Shimmers of haloes
trembling grey across the sky. Their lines gone underground and travelling.
They're taking on the shapes of flying crows that crosswire all the rain coming down in windy winter-scapes.
Only the sun, moon and stars are offering pocket-lights of peace. I look at you and smile, your smile meaning everything these days: the solace of winter, the taunting of spring.  And then the rains fall, too late for all the doubting of autumn to take wing.
And so I wait for the circling of seasons to take in precious vistas once again. Their colours all-consuming  with each breath of forest clearing lingering all around. Breathe in and breathe out, each kiss of light and misty breath is bringing on the rain. 

Aisling Books