ANN MCMASTER - POEMS

Anne comes from Northern Ireland. She’s read at literary events in Dublin, Belfast, Bangor, Derry and across Northern Ireland.  A professional member of the Irish Writers Centre, Dublin, Anne runs creative writing classes across NI and is writer in residence for a forest. Her poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, UK and Ireland.  

Recovery Time
​

​Sometimes the day casually raked its claws down her
and they could not understand
that she would withdraw
to silence and to peace
waiting for the wounds to heal.
 

Stigmata
​

​I will put you carefully away
like any precious, once-loved thing.
Wrapped completely
in a box
seeming too small
to contain so very much.
I will grasp you, then -
the tiniest shard of you -
held so warm and close
tight in the palm of my hand.
A tiny piercing;
a moment of beautiful pain.
And if those fingers
curled so close around
that last precious fragment of you
were to open slowly -
one finger at a time -
the stigmata would still weep.

Fire
​

​And then the fire
the light
the heat of you
molten on my mouth
searing on my skin.
Your gaze – a flame
your touch – a forest fire.
It was only
when I burned with pain
that I understood
too late
I did not know
how to put you out.
 

The Sign
​

​They have given up;
their house is marked for sale.
I drive past this sign each morning –
watch it slip and list into an unkempt hedge.
Slowly – in a sad reflection
of what they cannot save –
it loses its balance.
Leans languidly in towards its tipping point.
Slips beyond.
And falls. 

Darkness 
​

​When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. (Ralph Waldo Emerson.)
It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright. (Stephen King.)
 
You, my song of Innocence,
You, my tale of Experience;
You, first my dawn and then my darkest night.
You, who gave me such luminous vision;
How could I know you were simply reflected light?