Kilkenny Arts Office is delighted to share the 12 poems selected by Rhyme Rag Editor Jessica Traynor. Rhyme Rag workshop’s took place in Loreto Secondary School and Grennan College resulting in beautiful work.
All poems can also be found on the Rhyme Rag website and Instagram account over the coming weeks.
Alstroemeria
by Keysi Emanuelly Tavares Cardoso
In my garden,
there are flowers,
covered with colorful tones of pink,
bringing joy to grey days
Flowers that comfort me
Delicate soft petals,
that dance in the breeze,
So fragile,
like butterfly wings
A charming aroma,
hypnotising, yet so sweet,
like fresh strawberries
So strong that even after winter,
they are still standing there
They never let me down,
always there for me
The beauty of these flowers,
it transcends human comprehension,
Acting like it doesn’t belong to nature
Untitled
By Alicia Hennessy
There’s a box out on your windowsill
Of flowers facing east
You pick a slip of your favourite
And give it to me to keep
And when we’re in the kitchen
We make something to eat
And as we wash up our plates and cups
In the sink, by the window still
Of all the flowers in the box, there is one
Lone sunflower, Facing you.
Walks
by Eve Nichol
I grab the lead and I grab the bag.
We leave the house, one walking fast, one trotting slow.
The bitter cold hits my face
As my small dog drags me,
The street lights aglow.
We’re slowly walking from place to place,
Stopping to sniff at every tree,
And bark at every cat,
The stars shine bright, highlighting how late it is at night.
And my dog seems to agree,
As he pulls to go home, not even stopping at the dead bat.
We arrive at the house, both tired, but happy as we stand in the moonlight.
A Summer That Isn’t Here
By Czarina Sachi
The sun is late. It should be near.
Or maybe I am wrong—it’s March, not clear.
The sky still holds the winter’s breath,
though spring pretends to chase its death.
I sit in class, the pages turn,
but nothing sticks, my thoughts still burn.
The teacher speaks, her words unwind,
but I am lost, I’m far behind.
I skate through streets not yet aglow,
where golden hours stretch and flow.
Where wheels hum low on softened tar,
like whispers from a dream afar.
The air will thicken, slow and sweet,
with melted drinks and sunburnt heat.
The night will hum with neon skies,
where fireflies wear small disguise.
But school is here.
School is now.
The scribbled notes, the furrowed brow,
the weight of days that blur and drown.
And yet, I watch for summer’s hand,
to brush its warmth across this land.
It does not rush, it moves with grace,
but still, it comes—I know its face.
Pencil by Naima Badat
A pencil in my hand,
and a page on the table,
ready to —
sketch dreams in soft twilight,
and words ready to take flight.
As the pencil moves —
whispering on the page,
a silent dance and
a quiet stage.
With each mark a word is born,
or a beautiful Artwork that is reborn.
Untitled By Lais Bonetti
Oh memories, guardians of time, That arise in the mind
like a gentle breeze, Bringing echoes of smiles and embraces,
Moments the heart will never forget.
You are the scent that drifts from the past,
The soft touch that warms the soul,
Images that return and make us smile,
Even when longing spreads within.
On silent nights, you are comfort,
Like a story whispered in the ear,
Reviving joys and sorrows alike,
Shaping who we are and where we’ve been.
Not always sweet, sometimes you sting,
But in the blend of love and sadness,
Memories teach us how to live,
Keeping in our hearts what makes us strong.
Riot in My Throat (Slam Poetry Version)
By Czarina Sachi
You are the snarl in my ribs, the crackle before
the storm,
the match striking—no, the match screaming itself
alive in the dark.
They call you too much—
too loud—
too everything—
Press hush against my tongue like a rusted coin.
Expect me to swallow.
Expect me to sit pretty, sit quiet, sit still—
As if I could.
But you—
you are the tremor in my chest,
the splinter in silence,
the anthem in my blood.
Fists curled.
Breath held.
The moment—
right before the glass shatters.
They say quiet is a virtue—
but you laugh.
Sharp-edged. Wildfire-born.
You split the dark open,
and you refuse—
refuse—
to dim.
I try to keep you caged,
to smooth you down, fold you neat,
make you small enough to fit in their hands.
But you—
you are rising.
A pulse in my throat.
A drum in my bones.
Let them call it noise.
Let them call it chaos.
You and I both know—
this is the sound of something breaking free.
Lives
By Anna Delaney
There’s a cage in my throat with a bird
who sings desire for all the lives I’m not living
There are books whose words could alter my soul so finely
that I may wish to tattoo each syllable across my tongue,
yet I will never taste them.
I crash and dive just to see each sun rise,
hear every song, meet every face,
study each lyric they speak
and trace the print of their heart.
Yet I am doomed with the mortality of time,
Its life wielding such short span
But who am I fooling?
It’s not a long for knowledge but for connection.
I want to see the world
because I want the world to see me.
Concealed By My Glasses By Ruby Ridout
My first ever glasses placed among my face
Almost like a mask, hiding me away
They say I chose them, but this isn’t the case
I observed and that was it, nothing to say
I didn’t see everything, but my glasses did
The love, the happiness, hatred and pain
My emotions being played with like a bid
The glasses blocking my very own rain
My glasses knew me better than anyone
They knew my secrets, memories and feelings
Feelings which were known by no-one
Not trapped but concealed by my glasses.
Beady Black Eyes
By Harijs Bluzma
It’s significance isn’t known to anyone but me,
Intended to be thrown out it could consider itself lucky,
It’s small furry frame easily has lived till its forties,
It’s coat could be compared to something of a yorkie’s,
A small brown bear in crested with an oval button,
It’s tag in another language likely depicting cotton,
Only one beady black eye still remains,
And to think of all the memories it still retains,
My dad’s childhood teddy bear,
Which he has all but forgotten.
A Reflection by Lily Watson
If we saw each other every day,
Would you see me in any other way?
Maybe you’d tire of meeting my gaze
Always echoing a lifeless abyss.
The spark of my iris’ cradled only by you.
Our lives together are long overdue.
Do we wish upon the same stars,
When we plead for help to mend our scars?
Yours were deep, your blood spilled into mine
Though the gashes never truly felt full.
I always thought enough time spent with you,
Could fix that defect, make me anew.
Would you let us merge as one,
Even if it couldn’t be undone?
Our souls entwined like a ball of yarn,
The woven strands of two types of wool.
One too tangled to ever stop clinging
The other too coarse, like a cut still stinging.
Could our symphonies ever flow separately?
Your waves always crashing down atop of me.
Yet the music we make is too beautiful to waste,
A serene melody that collides with our hearts.
My mind gladly aware of the pain you shed,
The gas of light contorting the view in my head,
Making me see what I only dream of you to be.
A monster, perhaps. One that mirrors me.
The Price of Success by John Davis
One day you finally knew how many people you sacrificed to achieve where you are now,you thought that being at the top would bring you more friends and make your family respect you. But in reality every friend who supported you throughout has left and your family want nothing to do with you, now you know how much you’ve given up just to be at the top. You are in your office feeling sorry for yourself, finally you realize how everyone else felt. When this crazed obsession started. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself you decided there is only one way to end this now as you stand at the edge of the top your final thoughts before you jump are how much you regret hurting everyone and the past decisions that lead to this.
