Author Archives: Aoife Cunningham

seeds

I am a woman of wonder.
Cast into this realm of mortality,
I seek to cleanse my accounts.
Growth is a process of unlearning.

A maze of reckoning lies ahead.
Boundless is the darkness that blankets my consciousness.
I am free

In meditative silence
I see beyond the bindings
of science and psychics.
See beyond the concrete of our earth,
Into the abyss.
And receive the abundance that lies above.

An enchantress in her element.

The road to redemption is a tedious feat.
But I promise no one regrets the journey.

We build clocks yet curse the ticking.
Fear the marching
of the clicking.
The sound
of our own demise.

Slow down moon child.

Time is but a construct
A bid to control the everlasting.

Breathe.
Time is arbitrary
For the essence is eternal.

Flesh is fleeting.
The fossils that house our souls wither away
Then vegetate the grave.

It’s memories that house that coffin.
Create them.

Memories are trinkets.
For power is experience gained.

Fragments of realization pieced with growth.
Benevolence is vested within.
Be patient.

There is merit in this pursuit.

Healing wounds
leave threaded words
Written testaments
of hope.
A survivor despite the climate.

And when sun shines
I smile.
Her warm hug dissolving into my skin.
Recharging my system.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Aoife on Broadsheet

Shutterstock

Ukrainian refugees arrive in Poland this week

Riddle of Reality

Did you know the internet use to be a fun place for watching animal videos?
Instead of watching humanity’s real time demise.
I sit and I scroll through Facebook.
No longer laughing at family anecdotes.
Rather I’m watching this game of chess play out between our world leaders.
The bayonet sings,
As little toy soldiers stain the ground.
History awakened in a denied collective crime.
It started with a virus but it’s ignorance that clogs our veins.
Photographs on my timeline that capture a horror no worse than Stephen King.
Peace menaced by a tyrant.
I can not comprehend this.
Make sense of the senseless.
Reality is a riddle.
The muppets in power continue  this masquerade of sagacity.
I question their sanity.
Everyday this delirium grows.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Aoife on Broadsheet

Reuters

Aged Wisdom

Be a survivor,
Toughened through moments.
A bookshelf,
Of stories unspoken.
Embrace the thrilling tempest of existence.
Weep with the wind.
Dance beneath the beams.
Refuge is in the earth.
Despite how bohemian this seems,
You can heal.
Allow your hurt
dissolve into tears.
You can ooze melancholy
while still spiralling up.
Walk barefoot through the manic meadows.
Surrender to your medication.
The cynic will melt.
Burn that rehearsed farewell.
Accept the transience of peace.
Be a shepherd
But also the sheep.
Forgive but never be naive.
Light that match if
you can function in debris.
Accept, clouds will obscure
the deep serene.
Intoxicated on vulnerability…
Perhaps the journey of life
is to realise our own fragility.

Aoife Cunningham

Sasko Lazarov/RollingNews

Gorse fires smoulder in Howth, county Dublin last July

Earth

The Earth is scarred.
Branded.
by our constant digging.
The drums of war.
The echo of pain.
I have come to realise that
we, humans,
Camouflage our shame.
We have a religious-shaped hole
in our hearts.
There won’t be a eulogy
for this lie we call
democracy.
Shrinking wages.
While expanding profit.
Preaching peace,
With grenades in our pockets.
The poverty in our economy,
Most of us are afflicted with this blindness.
A land painted red,
By the political artist.
the remaining trees bore witness
to the stares of man’s darkness.
Our parasitic consumption
scars the skin of our planet.
With our sons in caskets
buried beneath the foundation of sorrow.
The consequence of pollution
threatens tomorrow.
The regression of our progression
shows that man is a disease.
Drifting through time,
Swallowed by adversity.
Life is a trial.
We are the judges.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Walking To Their Own Tune
Sylvia’s Mothering
Relit
Choosing Recovery
Leading Me Home
In My Element
A Path Made Of Thorns
Memory Storage
Wings Of Wardship
Running Out

RollingNews

Bleak Reality

Drifting into oblivion, living from a bag,

Walking to their own tune.

A life fallen from the trees,

Living on the streets.

Ghosts in denial,

the bleak reality.

Refusing to claim their trees,

The path is endless.

Their journey is short.

Choosing a destiny that injures their pride,

Poisoned and shunned,

the bleak reality.

Existing as mice in a world of man,

Scavengers – puffing and exhaling mortality.

Puppets to a bottle or a pill.

The wails of Jack Daniel echo,

The bleak reality.

Withered souls burnt into ash,

Denying the shriek of sirens.

Manipulating the inevitable,

Ignoring the door of reappearance.

The bleak reality.

That shovel they’re holding,

Keeps them trapped in a state of their own mind,

And the smell of rotten flesh.

Afraid to drive despite holding the wheel.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Sylvia’s Mothering
Relit
Choosing Recovery
Leading Me Home
In My Element
A Path Made Of Thorns
Memory Storage
Wings Of Wardship
Running Out

RollingNews

The Voice of Diet Culture

Tell me what you ate for dinner,
Because I totally hate my figure.
And I see you’re getting thinner….
So maybe you’re onto a winner.
What did you eat for dinner?

Tip 1.
Replace your meals with practical hobbies,
Like reading a book or fainting.

Tip 2.
Close your eyes.
Take a deep breath.
So you can’t tell the difference from an apple to a slice of bread.
From feeling alive to feeling dead.
Relish in the feeling of emptiness.

Tip 3.
Swallow the good.
Spit out the bad.
Hang ornaments from your collarbones.
Build a staircase around your lung.
Don’t you know?
Bones is the new vogue.

Tip 4.
Burn your body down.
Play Russian roulette with your esophagus.
Your underarms sway,
You don’t want wings!
You cannot fly.

Tip 5.
Remember you only exist in numbers.
The scale is the deciding verdict on how you should feel.
At your lowest you’ll be a fruit at its prime.
And it’s okay if you start tittering on the sharp edges of decay.
We wait for bananas to rippen before we eat them anyway.

Wrestle your body.
It’s a battle ground not a home.
It’s a temporary home not a lighthouse.
Your kind and stomach will fight for years.
Even if your heart just wants peace.
Just like you wanted another piece….

Your body will learn to tolerate.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Sylvia’s Mothering

Relit

Choosing Recovery

Leading Me Home

In My Element

A Path Made Of Thorns

Memory Storage

Wings Of Wardship

Running Out

Pic: Allstock

Aoife Cunningham

Heal

Unwrap your wounds.
Let them breathe.
Forget those tainted memories.
It’s time to heal.

Paint your world in colour.
Learn to dance to the rhythm of change.
For there is beauty in letting go.
This suffering is a restraint.

Stop allowing words to shatter your ribs.
Forget the mistakes,
but not the lesson.
Hope is a blanket of comfort,
Don’t cloud it by depression.

One day
your eyes will be free from tears.
Your soul will no longer weep.
When you smell the wet soil
mixed with morning air,
As you wake
from a soothing sleep.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Sylvia’s Mothering

Relit

Choosing Recovery

Leading Me Home

In My Element

A Path Made Of Thorns

Memory Storage

Wings Of Wardship

Running Out

Aoife Cunningham with her mother Sylvia

Aoife writes:

I dedicate this poem to the strongest woman I know, my mum Sylvia.

Mother

Your heart beat is imperturbable.

As you absolve all of my pain.

Your mind is my resource manual.

As you camouflage all my shame.

You place,

A sunset kiss on my forehead.

Your heart is the softest veil.

You whisper,

Testaments for my future.

A university letter in the mail.

You are the anchor.

For your children’s dreams.

Hold my smile in your palms.

You dance

to the melody of me.

Tuck me in.

Tight and snug.

Under a blanket

of ardent hugs.

Knitted,

With the yarn

of your

love.

Your chest is heavy with languor,

For my elation.

My eyes water,

at the prospect of you…

saying goodbye.

To me.

You made yesterday’s into rainbows.

And turn tomorrow into a promise.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Relit

Choosing Recovery

Leading Me Home

In My Element

A Path Made Of Thorns

Memory Storage

Wings Of Wardship

Running Out

Aoife Cunningham

Firefighters

Quick!

Grab some water.

She sparked another match.

She is aflame,

Again…

The psychiatric nurse sprays,

over my smouldering embers.

Sometimes,

I hold grudges.

Because I’m no longer alight.

Sometimes,

I hold grudges.

And,

My inner wolf bites.

I incorporate anger into my walls.

As you wheel me down the halls.

Down a path of light,

A path or rediscovery.

And recovery.

An unfamiliar road.

When my mind is desperate to go…

on this pilgrimage of fire.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Choosing Recovery

Leading Me Home

In My Element

A Path Made Of Thorns

Memory Storage

Wings Of Wardship

Running Out

Aoife Cunningham

Aoife writes:

I wrote this poem about choosing recovery….

A eulogy to Anorexia

Days go by,

Life goes on.

as we replace time.

My fragile soul is left to rest.

Even if the calculator is permanently embedded in my head,

I’ll say goodbye to her.

Despite being reminded of her presence,

Piece by piece.

I stargaze through stained windows.

Will I be in this prison forever?

I get lost in her seduction.

So badly burnt from her wrath.

It’s time to say,

Our time is up.

We’ve been to heaven,

Plus a thousand hells.

We might always be in love,

But enough. Is. Enough.

Aoife Cunningham

Previously: Leading Me Home

In My Element

A Path Made Of Thorns

Memory Storage

Wings Of Wardship

Running Out