The James Award Sponsored by James McGrath, Santa Fe, New Mexico
Mick Joyce – Corvus
In the morning,
After the jaded storm,
Crows in silhouette
Are mystic couriers
Of life before light.
They are a lost tribe,
Wandering bards
Teasing and cawing
The spirits of sleep
Into a world of colour
It is the time
Before packed lunches
And winter nativity plays
And the noisy irritations
Of ordinary lives in December
Out on the main road
A dead crow is flattened
Eyes and feathers already
Becoming a blur of cave art
Astride the arm of a TV dish
A pair prance and preen
As the south-west storm
Whips the grass and alders
Into desolate lethargy
A whirr of circling crows
Dance through a rainbow
Earthing this shaken planet
In the middle of a radio debate
On sugar and diet
They plunder the trove
Of takeaway leftovers
Dishevelled plastic left
Drooping out of the bin
On the silent promenade
Look at their confident strut
As they squabble over
A bruised toasted special
As the morning sun
Asserts a watery presence
Sated, they retreat again
To their high-wire sanctuary.
The world is already busy
With talk of new politics
And eaten bread.
The Jer Lynch Poetry Award Sponsored by Con Lynch CFE
Nathanael O’Reilly – Pagan Battleground
I hike the boreen uphill
to Lough Coolin past derelict
houses, gleaming fields,
grazing black-faced sheep
and lowing cattle, trudge
across the spongy bog, dodge
sucking mud, shelter from rain
behind ruined stone cottages
in the evicted village.
I circle the lough, skim flat
stones eastwards, scale the north-
eastern slope of Mount Gable
beside miniature brook
waterfalls and grey stone
walls leading ever higher
through saffron heather
to the summit where the Firbolg
gathered before battling
the Tuatha Dé Danann.
I cling to the mountain
within umber, green and finn
grass surveying Lough Mask’s
islands in Mayo and Galway
from Devenish to Bly,
gaze over Clonbur Woods
veiling Ballykine Castle,
then west to the Maumturks.
I press my back against
the moist grass, buttress heels
on moss-covered rocks,
defend against gravity
threatening to send me tumbling
to my death in the depths
of Lough Coolin, relish
the wild west wind whipping
my hair, rain dropping from my jaw.
Maurice Walsh Short Story Award Sponsored by Lee Strand
Helen Broderick – Chemistry
My name is Michael Flaherty or Big Mick as my few friends call me or Big Thick as the smart lads do. Amanda Moloney is the love of my life. She is a goddess. I would do anything for her. She had only had to ask. But she never asks. She probably only sees me as that large lad with glasses who sits behind her in chemistry. If she notices me at all. I watch her golden hair in a high pig tail swish ever now and again, like a horse’s mane, against that slender neck, as her head bobs to write something down or whisper to her friend. It smells vaguely of Palmolive shampoo, wafting intoxicatingly my way in the heat of the afternoon.
I am ever alert to any movement of her head in case she looked back and caught me. I was ready to look away or stare fixedly at the whiteboard. I have to be careful of Old Starchy Pants McCarthy, the chemistry teacher, would have a spitting fit if he catches me not paying attention. Maybe if once she did sense me and turned I might smile at her and she might, fingers and toes crossed, smile back at me. She would be my first girlfriend and me an ancient 15 year old. While everyone else was on to girlfriend number 6 or 7 by now. But I knew my chances were slim. I’d probably go blotchy-faced and drop something to everyone’s amusement.
Then the other day I overheard her saying that she was going Nirvana Nite Club in town to a group of friends in the canteen as they waited in line. I decided it was time to seize my opportunity. I could separate her from the herd in there in flashing darkness and sidle up to her in my suave way and offer to get her a mineral. No, a water would be better. I had it all pictured in my head.
I told none of the lads of my plan. I was tired of hanging out with them the whole time. I didn’t want them apeing like ten year olds or pushing me at her as a joke. This wasn’t primary school any more. I didn’t want to act the ejit in front of her. Not that I needed their help to be one as it turned out.
I’d planned to take the bus into town and was nearly late for it. I’d been searching high and low for some deodorant but couldn’t find any. I’d heard her saying she hated the smell of sweat off some blokes who’d come over to her at the bar and plonk their sweaty armpit near her. I thought Dad might have some only to realise he never wore any of that smelly stuff as he called it. So I kept searching for something. There was only one option as the time ticked down. I grabbed some lavender household spray and gave myself a few good squirts of it. It stung, but only for a bit. Such is the price of love. Anyway I got on the bus just in time. It was only then I realised how I stank like a flower garden. People near me started to look at me funny and crunch up their noses. I turn to look out the dark window at my own reflection and pretended I didn’t notice anything as I kept my arms clamped to my sides to stop the smell from spreading.
When I got to the nite club I saw all the guys in short sleeves and the girls in light tops and skirt. It was a beach party themed night. I looked a right pawnach as I stood there in my navy hooded anorak, smelling like some flowery plant, not masculine or musky as no doubt she liked. I couldn’t even take my coat off as I’d burnt a mark on the back of my shirt with the iron.
I was half going to stick it out. Surely she would see through my outer cover to the rough diamond beneath that only needed love to shine. Then I noticed some of the smart lads pointing at me and sniggering as they whispered to their friends. I decided to cut my losses and run. I was too late for the cinema and spent the night wandering around looking in partly light shop windows like some sado until the bus came again.
Here I sit in chemistry. A subject I’m only taking ‘cos my mother has big notions that her little Mikey will become a doctor some day like Nora Fitz’s son down the road. I’m ok at it If I do say so myself. I’d much prefer to be a writer or poet but my mum says it’s a waste of time. No one makes money as a writer only men writing detective stories or women writing chick-lit and no son of hers is going to waste his life like that.
Mr. McCarthy is saying something about mercuric oxide decomposing to oxygen and something as he points to a diagram on the board. The sun slants a ray in the window catching a golden lock of hair. Then Amanda swishes her long mane again and I lose all train of thought. Before I know it I’m writing a poem.
Ah, my love
If you indeed are mine?
Would you seek me out?
If I did not seek you?
Would you look for me among heads in a crowd?
Or would you look straight ahead?
Would you turn away from others, just for me?
Or would you turn and flee?
I titled it: A poem to A.M. And sign it with my initials. I know it isn’t a Shakespeare sonnet. I blame my mother for not letting me read more poetry. I stop short of putting love hearts around it.
Jimmy elbows me. I gape at him and straighten up. He gives a brief nod towards the whiteboard. Mr. McCarthy must have just asked me something. I stare at him blankly. He stares back at me. The silence stretches. I can hear a trapped bumble bee trying to find a way to escape against the closed window pane.
Dry mouthed I ask:
“Could you repeat the question?”
I try to awaken up my brain and put it in chemistry gear. What had he been saying about Mercuric oxide? Oh, yes!
“Mercury!” I say rather too loudly before he replies, a relieved smile on my face, “When it’s heated.” I add to show off. I keep smiling but Mr. McCarthy doesn’t smile back.
“I asked; what are you writing there?” he says between prizzy lips.
Flustered I reply. “The formula.” Looking up at the white board behind him only to realise there is nothing there.
“It doesn’t look like the formula from here,” he says, starting to walk down to me.
Sweet Jesus! I start to panic. I know Old Starchy Pants is a stickler for paying attention but why was he making a big deal of this? Surely I was a good enough student that he didn’t feel the need to bully me.
I slam my foolscap shut just as he reaches my desk. He makes a grab for it. I put all my weight on it with my hands. He makes a grunting noise trying to pull it away from me.
There is a titter of laughter from the smart lads at the back. Amanda and her friend turn their heads and look at me. I start to bleed sweat from my forehead. I realise too that sweat is flowing down my armpits. What I wouldn’t give for a bit of lavender house spray now.
“Hand it over” demands Mr. McCarthy with his hand out.
He has given up the fight. His weedy frame bristling at me. He probably skipped too much P.E. as s teen to focus on Chemistry. Jimmy says he looks like a frustrated virgin. I almost laugh at the memory but in doing so I take my hand off the notebook. He grabs it and walks to the top of the class flicking through it.
Sweet mother of the Divine! I want to rush up after him and pull it from his bony hands. I don’t care if he falls and cracks his skull and I’m up for murder, and the whole school points and laughs at me. Just let him not find the page. A sick feeling growls in my stomach and I want to puke. But I can’t puke. If only I could puke I’d get out of this mess. Surely he won’t be able to find the page and get back to teaching chemistry and stop wasting time. Which is another one of his pet hates.
“Who is A.M.?” he asks.
My heart nearly stops. I feel like I’m having a heart attack. Why can’t I have a heart attack? I’m fat enough.
“My…” I go totally blank, I can’t say my mother. He knows her name and for another it would be too weird. “A pop star,” I reply eventually.
I hear a snigger again from the back. Who says ‘pop star’ anymore?
“A.M.?” mulls Mr. McCarthy slowly, pronouncing each letter clearly.
I’m sure by now everyone in the class has put two and two together and come up with Amanda Moloney. My humiliation is complete. What a big ejit must she think I am?
For some inexplicable reason, Mr. McCarthy squints down at me and looked at me peculiarly. A strange smile crossed his face. Well I think he did. Then he walks back to my desk and puts the notebook down on my desk. He gives it a pat and looks at me in all my glistening glory. Then he walks back to the front and continues the lesson. I see Amanda give me a curious look before she turns around again.
I look at Jimmy and ask with a look, what the heck has happened? There is a cough from the front. I turn back to Mr. McCarthy and straighten up. I smile back at him fixedly.
Later, Jimmy pulls me aside in the corridor.
“That was a close one,” I start to say, “I was sure he was going to read it out.”
“I never knew you like him that much?” Jimmy says with a grin.
“Well my mother says he is good at getting people in medical school. But what has that to do with anything?” I say bewildered, “But it’s Amanda Moloney I meant.”
“A.M. stands for Alan McCarthy too you know.” Said Jimmy raising an eyebrow at me.
I nearly flush beetroot colour as I realise what he’s saying.
“You don’t mean…” I start to say.
Jimmy nods at me and has a fit of laughter.
Amanda and a flock of her friends walk pass. Her eyes linger on me. She actually smiles at me.
A thought starts to grow in my mind. So she thinks I’m gay now. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. I can read up on one of those fashion magazines and watch Today with Daithi and Maura that my mother is stuck to in the afternoons when I get home. Then when Amanda is passing me by one day I can comment on her top or something. She’d think me safe. No some lads leering on her. One of the sisterhood so to speak. What with all the bi-curious business and sexual fluidity nowadays. Yes. That would be my ‘in’. And my mother’s great hope for me was sorted too. I smiled to myself. Finally chemistry was working for me.
Dúais Phádraig Liath Ó Conchubhair Urraithe ag Ciste Turasóireachta na Gaeilge, CCC.
Filiocht Sinsear
Gerard Neville – Iarsma
Báisteach ag titim i dtuilte,
Caithréimeach cruachríoch.
Braonta beathaithe ag sileadh anuas
Ar leac na fuinneoige
A bhí druidte le cláracha scáinteacha
Nó sean-frámaí leapan ag lobhhadh
Faoi mheirg an díomhaointis.
Tuige a bhfuil siad dúnta, meas tú?
Ní fiú bheith buartha
Faoina bhfuil fágtha istigh ann.
Nó an é nach leomhann siad
Do thaibhsí uaigneacha uafásacha an tseantí
Scéal a ndearg-thréigint a nochtadh?
"A chistin fhairsing chlúthmhar,
Nach ort a d'imríodh an feall?
Puíteach na mbó caite i d'aghaidh
Ag dalladh d'urláir,
A thál dóchas do chosa faiteacha
A shleamhnaigh ar domhan guagach.
Do bhallaí lomtha, do shíleáil réabtha,
Croí do thinteáin múchta.
Is do cholainn fhuar
Ag lobhadh, d’easpa teasa."
"A sheoimrín chiúin ar dheis na tine
Agatsa atá na rúin.
Focail ghrá an fhir dá chéile,
Lucháir linbh is gruaim a mháthar.
Ionatsa a gineadh agus a rugadh iad,
Tusa a chonaic a dteacht is a n-imeacht.
Seanfhear ag feitheamh
Is corpán os cionn cláir,
Croíthe lána ag fáil fuascailt siúile."
Báisteach ag titim i dtuilte,
An saol nua á bhaisteadh go fras,
Is gan súil le sólás ag seanteach
Ach fothrach fuar -
Is smaointe.
Dúais Phádraig Liath Ó Conchubhair Urraithe ag Ciste Turasóireachta na Gaeilge, CCC.
Gearrscéal Sinsear
Dáithí De Buitiléir – Mo Chéad Ghrá
Bhíomar ag foghlaim Crosa Bhríde a dhéanamh as luachra nuair a sheol Bráthair Rónán dalta nua isteach. D’éiríomar mar aon chomh luath géar is a bhuail sé an doras isteach.
Cailín beag giortach a bhí innti, ach dá raibh, ba leor a gruaig dhubh mhothrach do dhá cloiginn. Seanbhríste dungaraí agus cairdeagan geal gorm a bhí uirthi, agus buataisí rubair a raibh clábar orthu. “Nach álainn an dath,” arsa Miss Ivors, méar á síneadh aici i dtreo an chairdeagain ach í féin ag féachaint díreach ar an mBráthair Críostaí, “an bhfuil éinne in ann smaoineamh, cá bhfacamar cheana an dealramh céanna?”
Níor labhraíodh focal. Níor fhreagair Clíona Ní Ríordáin fhéin an cheist. Bráthair Rónán a bheith i láthar ba chúis leis ár dtost. Bhí súile beaga suaracha aige agus cuma cantalach chuile maidin Luain. Dar le Blinky Roche, bhí an t-uasal Rónán i bhfad rótógtha leis an deoch. ‘Duine éigin?’ arsa Miss Ivors. Shiúl sí chomh fada le clár a bhí breachtha le duilleoga agus cleití, agus d’fhan sí go n-éireódh duine ar bith a lámh. Nuair nach ndearna a leithéid, bhuail sí smitín ar cleite gorm. ‘Sé an dath álainn céanna atá ar an gcruidín, féachaigí.’ Sé an dath álainn céanna atá ar a súile, a mheas mise, iad ag soilsiú mar go bhfuil an snó chomh toiteach aici go gceapfá gur fhan sí rófhada in aice tine móna. Thug Titch Breathnach uillinn géar dom. “Bíodh geall gur tincéir atá againn anseo.” Murach an Bráthair a bheith in ár dteannta, thabharfainn dúdóg mhaith ina ghob dó.
“An t-ainm atá ar an ógbhean siúd,” arsa an Bráthair, “ná Sadhbh Devlin. Tá sí chun dul isteach sa rang seo s’agaibh. Miss Ivors, ní mór a hainm a chur ar rolla.” B’ait an tráth de bhliain chun clárú i scoil nua Lá Fhéile Bríde. “Sadhbh,” arsa Miss Ivors, “nach deas an t-ainm é? A leanaí, abraigí Dia duit, a Sadhbh.” Mar gur i dtionól scoile muid, ghlaomar le céile, “Dia duit, a Sadhbh!” “Agus cad a fhreagraíonn tusa?” arsa Miss Ivors. Bhí an Bráthair ag iarraidh miongháire a dhéanamh, ach Seán na Gealaí an chosúlacht a bhí air. “Sadhbh,’ ar seisean, “abair Dia daoibh le do chairde nua.”
Bhreathnaigh sí orainn. Ansin bhreathnaigh sí tríd an bhfuinneog. “An bhfuil sí chúthail?” a d’fhiafraigh Miss Ivors. Agus théis ísliú ar a gogaide, “Sadhbh, an bhfuil tú cúthail?” D’árdaigh an Bráthair smig an chailín le méar ramhar. “Céard atá cearr? Cá bhfuil do bhéasa?’ D’fhéach a súile geala aníos as éadan toiteach, miongháire soineanta uirthi. Idir a lámha beaga bhí cuma gáirsiúil ar méar fheolmhar an Bhráthar. I bhfaiteadh na súl, bhain sí greim fiacla fiochmhar aisti.
Lig Miss Ivors sciúng scéin aisti agus chlúdaigh sí a béal. Bholg súile an Bhráthar ar nós tarbhloscáin. Chomh luath agus scaoil sé a mhéar, chroith sé í mar a chroithimid na lámha théis dó an leathar a thabhairt dúinn. D’fhéidfeá lorg fiacaile a fheiceál ar an gcraiceann corcra. Ar seisean, “You little bitch!”
The Chrissie Nolan Award Sponsored by Nancy and Mary Nolan
Children’s Writing in English
Ruth Foley (Lisselton National School) – The Piece that was missing
This might have been the best news for Dad but this was the worst news for Audrey.
'We're going to America? Why?' Audrey asked. 'Because I got a new job in America!' exclaimed Dad. 'Aren't you happy?' asked Mom who was very, very excited.
If you were Audrey, you'd take this opportunity in a heartbeat! But Audrey has Autism and isn't used to change so she doesn't want to go.
'Yeah, but what about my friends?' Audrey asked sadly. 'Forget them! We're going to AMERICA!' shouted Dad excitedly. 'Dave! Calm down! I'm sure you'll make wonderful new friends' said Mom softly. Audrey felt tears prick her eyes. She began to cry. 'Oh sweetheart, please don't cry. It'll be okay I promise.' said Dad.
That night all Audrey could think about was America. It was a great opportunity for Dad, but it was the worst thing for her.
The next day Audrey woke up at the airport?
'How am I at the airport?' she asked. ‘You slept in the car I didn't want to wake you.' said Mom. 'Let's go everyone!' shouted Dad.
Audrey doesn't like airports. They are often crowded and very noisy.
'Warning CCTV in operation!' 'Please weigh your bags!' 'Check Visas!' 'Refreshing Coffee!' 'Please check passports!' came voices. People kept banging and pushing into her. 'Warning CCTV in operation!' 'Fresh Bagels!' 'Check Visas!' 'Dogs must be carried at all times!' 'Please check your passports!' 'Cold Beers!' 'Please check in!' 'Call 086-107-2295 today!' The voices kept getting louder and quicker and the crowds got bigger and rougher.
Audrey didn't know what to do. She couldn't see Mom or Dad anymore.
'Warning CCTV-' 'Fresh Beers at low-' 'Please check-' 'Toilets on the third-' 'Refreshingly Different-' 'Please carry dogs!' Audrey crouched down on the floor and started humming to herself to calm her down, but it wasn't working. Audrey's sight became blurry, she couldn't see.........
'Audrey are you alright?' Mom asked panicked. 'I'm fine. What happened?' 'You fainted. Come on, let's get on the plane.'
The plane was noisy, but nice. It took seven hours to get there so, it was long. When they arrived, it was two o'clock in the day.
'Wow!' Audrey said in amazement. It was beautiful! They moved into her new house. Audrey loved her new bedroom.
She woke up and was so excited for school. She skipped into school and couldn't wait to start.
'Okay class we've a new student called Audrey.' said Ms. Maple. 'Go and sit where ever you want'
Audrey sat on her own to concentrate. The bell rang for lunch and Audrey got her lunch from the cafeteria.
'Can I sit here?' asked Audrey. 'Okay New-B! you need to past the test to sit here.' said Lola. Audrey gulped. 'Class was so boring today like, why do I need to know that there's six planets anyway' complained Katelyn. 'There's actually eight planets and four of them are made up from a gas called-' 'OMG! She's a nerd! Go away and never sit here again!' said Sorcha.
Audrey felt a if a piece of her was missing. She lost her appetite and ran to the bathroom. She cried until she had to go to her next class.
'How was your first day Honey?' asked Mom. 'Great.. um. I'm ... going to the bathroom!'
She closed the door and cried. She didn't want to tell Mor because she looked so happy. She just wanted to go back home.
School was good but Lunch was the worst! Audrey dreaded lunch every day. The food was nice, but the people were awful! They were especially mean to her because she had Autism.
She plucked up the courage and asked 'Can I sit on this chair?' 'Yeah, you can sit on this chair, but over there' said the girl as she pointed over to the dark, dirty corner. They all laughed at her.
She dragged her chair over, sat down and ate her lunch.
She was about to leave when a girl came over to her. 'Excuse me would you like to sit with us?' asked Mia. 'If you don't mind.' said Audrey. 'Of course! Come on over.'
Audrey sat down. 'Hey Audrey!' chirped Amelia. 'Hi' 'You know, you should join our afterschool club!' said Delia. 'It happens every Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do stuff like art, baking, Lego and more! Plus, none of the girls who are mean to you do it.' said Lexi. Audrey thought. 'I'll do it!'
Every Tuesday and Thursday Audrey went to the club and they had great fun! She came home and went on her phone. She was reading the comments on the new video she had posted. They said: 'Audrey sucks!' 'Audrey is so weird!' 'She's such a nerd!' 'She's so ugly!' 'I think I'd kill myself if I was her' 'Why can't she just be normal?'
Audrey stopped. She couldn't bear it anymore. She bawled her eyes out. 'Audrey are you-' Mom gasped.
'Audrey pet, what's wrong?' Audrey showed her the comments. 'Oh Audrey, why didn't you say? Don't worry I'll sort this out' said Mom reassuringly.
Mom told the Mrs. O' Connor our principal and she had all the girls suspended from school. Audrey had some great friends and a new dog called Rocky! She loved her! She now had a lot of fun with her new friends.
At the end of the year, there was an Assembly for graduating seventh grade.
'Welcome parents, students, family and friends to our end of year Assembly!' boomed Mrs. O'Connor. 'We always give our Sarah Jane award for excellence, Grace, kindness, hard work and outstanding courage. I'm delighted to say that we're awarding this to.... Audrey Lyons!'
'OMG! Audrey well done!' said her friends. Mom and Dad were nearly crying with joy.
Audrey felt really happy. With the help of some friends, the piece that was missing was back Audrey felt whole again!
She took a bow for the crowd. She was herself again!
The Chrissie Nolan Award Sponsored by Nancy and Mary Nolan
Children’s Writing in Irish
Gearóid O Lionacháin (Gaelscoil Lios Tuathail) – Plarry an Platapas
Ar chuala tú an scéal faoi Plarry an Platapas riamh? Maítear gur tugadh platapus dainséarach, mímhacánta agus cleasach a ba é. Bhí saol crua ag Plarry nuair a bhí sé fás aníos. Bhí a athair, Parry, fear crua, feargach. Bhí clú agus cáil ag a athair mar cheann do na gadaí is fearr riamh. Fuair a athair bás nuair a bhí Plarry an Platapas seacht mbliana d'aois.
Bhí plean ag Plarry tar éis bás a athair an saol chéanna a chaitheamh. Nuair a bhí Plarry deich mbliana d'aois thosaigh sé ag goid rudaí beag ó shiopaí. Lean sé ar aghaidh ar an shlí seo go dtí go raibh sé ag goid bancanna móra. Bhí rud amháin fágatha ag Plarry a goid, ‘An Diamond Casino’. Ní raibh a athair Parry ábalta é a goid nuair a bhí sé beo agus bhí sé a aisling.
Lá amháin dhúisigh Plarry agus dúirt sé leis féin, ‘Tá seo an lá chun ‘An Diamond Casino’ a ghoid’. Bhí a lán féinmhuinín aige an maidin sin! Smaoinigh sé ar plean agus bailigh sé na rudaí a bhí ag teastáil aige. Nuair a bhí an t-am ceart, rith sé isteach sa chasino agus ghoid sé go leor airgead ó dhaoine a bhí ag imirt na cluichí. Tar eis sin, rith sé isteach sa seomra a bhí an taisceadán. Ghoid sé an t-airgead agus an diamant. Lion sé a mhála agus rith sé amach as an casino. Léim sé isteach ina charr agus imeacht leis ar thóir saol nua.
Ballydonoghue Bardic Festival 