Patricia Walsh

The Poisoned Bride

Reciting the riot act, its first step backwards
The impression of punishment lingers fine
Rotted in money, the keepsakes infernal
Occupation in hearsay, having heard enough
The catchcry of failure blaming others.

Crying out the emperor, rolling in the fresh
Loving where none right, rummaging in malice
Rubbed in till it bleeds, ambidextrous argument
Holding the nerve until absent notice
Wanting too much, resigned to the shelf. 

Needing feelings too, or at least, some sentiment
Fighting for a full name is certainly not the answer
Rummaging into debt a time rescinded
Aborting for convenience a whistled right
Feelings on both sides unwon, defeated.

The blinded pantomime, growing into a better shape
Parking the likelihood of a matrimonial disease
Philosophical retirement won't do a disservice
Working into disturbances, feeling pretty good
Scribbling at night to uncover the righteous flaw.

Longing for deliverance, meted all year round
Corrosive dissention rises above the acrostic
Stalling at preference, marriage co-starred
The next violin swings on its hallowed hours
Music for the denouement, a cause less likely.


Wanting to be caught out, not helping itself
Not able to, screeching the brakes supreme
The solemn sunlight courses through wind-ups
The settled matter relieved of its costly duties
Stripped of this privilege, fitting in obscurity
The bated anticipation goes forth like a lamb.

Growing into spite the innumerable cashier
More plastic than fish a scourged reality
Minding nets, waiting for the Lord to assuage them
None being indispensable, got up and left
A rock on the church to stand on gracefully
Looking back not fit for glory, as advised.

Looking out for signs, close cousin of information
Gotten away to the bitter end, joyously sick,
The unnerved flirting over extreme drinks
Revealed by the gift, you strain at intellect
Slipping through frosted windows from the outside
Desperate hours covering a multitude of sins.

The world is already on fire, solitarily said
A song for the deaf in an attentive episode
Where the next meal is coming from, cannibalised for food
The employed self-esteem runs foul of tenacity
The pet-name riots through speed and efficiency
The average bolt-hole on a capsized entity.

The Generous Gene

Not always writing, at the end of a smart phone
Hijacking the email at a diffident time
Cracked for marrow, siphoning the bone
Future queens of content, poisoning conversation
Cutting through silk, mumbling on the quiet.

This mark is good for you, like it or otherwise
Picking ou husband's on a father's free will,
The essential bowing down to the break of dusk
The hungry minion basis in its own cold
Hitting gibes at the less fortunate, a date sealed.

What to give for another leeway!  This substance abuse,
Flying in your own hands above a universal slob,
To cease and desist from the potential snowflakes
Crying out scandal, at least before time
Inferno in a heart wiping out transgression.

A place for the self-absorbed, true, it is,
Right time for repentance, paying through the nose,
Growing in stately fear, a port in a storm
Home truths of hell measuring precious deeds
Expelled at midnight through the wedding feast.

Rippling through good, the stately mansions bleating
Gone through sarcasm in a classroom brawl
Lies and conjectures roving through desertion
Falling in hate a growth more than cancer burns
Not returning ever, evermore aged and foolish.

Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland.  To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals.  These include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press; Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet’s Wing, Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo.  She has also published anovel, In The Days of Ford Cortina, in August 2021.

Flights, Issue Six, September 2022