Emma Clohessy, introduced to Creative Writing by UCC, has since published poems in the Holly Bough, Poetry Ireland, The New Ulster, The Galway Review, Echo, Spillwords and many other journals.  With poems in anthologies ‘Midleton Miscellany’ 2024 and 2019, ‘Chasing Shadows’ 2022,  she’s been short listed by Saolta Arts 2024 and 2023, along with The Independent 2022.  

Emma, a Speech and Drama teacher facilitates workshops for authors who wish to improve their reading in public and prepare for their book launches.

She has been invited to read her poetry all over Ireland, at festivals and local radio stations.

Ducks Seen for the Midleton Train Window

  

Webbed feet imprints of ducks and geese 

on sunset mudflats after

          the tides wash out,

 

reveals a treble clef arrangement

by busy steps writing 

   orchestral notes.

 

Facing east, waterfowl meander

unaware of their 

         music manuscripts.

      

                        Quaver and semibreve on

                                                            vanishing wetlands

                                                                 conducted through picture windows

            

let’s one perceive a harmonious concert.

Relaxed.  Eyes close.

      Stress adrift.

 

On return journey, birds paddle now,

oblivious of how,  

            they lift up human hearts.

 

 

Though the Eye of a Needle

 

Embrace me with your firm fingers, 

my man.  Precise, as you thread, 

then draw and knot.

Repair my ripped stitches of lust,

torn emotions gone cold

deep affections worn, faded.

Find my fondness.  Sew.   Join my 

devotion with yearning,     

locate passion to fasten.

Embroider better or worse

richer or poorer.

All can be tailored.

Focus with patience, stitch

fabric of the heart.  Revive 

a life worth living – ‘in love’.

I write

 

to…    let you feel my freedom

          put pen to paper well,

          careful not to spill ink

but ecstatic to create a spell

where you can glide like an Eagle

for a mile or more,

          across todays sky,

no distress, concern or fuss.

I…    write, pecking on paper

preparing a nest, observing,

finding food to fill my gut

and feed your mind full.

Drum to attract you, my reader.

Defend my territory in verse.

From passed Wood Peckers, 

this mastered

                                                and learnt.

          

Pray Tell

                                                                        

In deluge we run 

to the oratory,

tackle in hand 

with a decision made 

to give beginner lessons 

indoors.

 

Rod and reel assembled 

I practise a cast.  

Slow … back 

          hold 

and swing.  

Our Lord smiles from the altar.

 

I thread a line through rod rings 

while my tutor opens 

a curved-edged walnut fly box 

encasing his coloured array of 

handmade feathered hooks.

We choose from his blessed talent.

 

“Brown trout will hide low 

on this miserable day

so we’ll favour a fly hook to sink, 

add another to float 

and tease them to rise up.”                                           

Two hungry souls, we’re ready to catch.                    

 

Fly fishing and drenched, 

rain drop plops distract me from 

every jump and bite in the lake.

With one strong steady cast… 

I catch!  

What next?

“Reel Prey.  Looks a three ounce brown trout!”

A 3 a.m. Calling                                             

 

With tears of unrest my baby cries out

I wake, weary mother, in darkness walk,

to cot, to lift, to embrace, to rid doubt

she gurgles to me, I chatter and talk.

Dutiful parent I pick up Teddy

she hugs him and curls up, as her eyes close. 

Then for a moment I stand there steady

look between curtains to watch the world doze.

Movement on path slabs, I notice a fox

sniffing blue bells and hawthorn, spear thistles 

and gloves.  Moonlit flowers, edged with limestone rocks

persuades – each moment has reason, whistles

a thought.  ‘That if I’d slept throughout this night,

no call, I would have missed this true delight’.