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Aine MacAodha ~ Poetry and Lens

Aine MacAodha

My photo
Omagh, North Ireland, Ireland
Writer/poet,avid photographer with a great interest in Celtic Myths, Mysticism, crystal healing, orbs in photography, Chemtrails, the sky above and the beauty in the Irish landscape . I live in Omagh North of Ireland where the Sperrin Mountains are my inspiration in any season. I have three poetry books published titled 'Where the Three Rivers Meet' and 'Guth An Anam ~Voice of The Soul and my latest Published by Lapwing Press Belfast, 'Landscape of self'~ You can find my links at top of my blog.

Friday, 31 December 2010

Best wishes for 2012

'Athblian shona duit
 Happy new year to you'

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for following my blogs and tweets and for your encouragement and comments on my work, I would like to thank, Ami of Pirene's Fountain, Jeff Side of Argotist online and Karen Bowles Luciole press for their friendship over the years as I have journied in my writing.

Many thanks also to friends on Facebook some old and new, I hope each and every one of you will have all that you hope for over the comming year, peace and blessings to all, Gra, Aine


My daughter Penny and Hubby Mark and Grandson Caleb.

Penny and grandson Caleb, first christmas, so cute!

Thursday, 2 December 2010

That age~ Poem

Greencastle Oham stone.
That age

I think I’ve reached it:

this middle ground in life.

Crows feet emerge without

negotiation; bunches of

greying hair hover like

mist on the October hedge.

My offspring have fled the

roost, making their own now.

Wasn’t easy being Ma and Da.

I think of the failed mixed

marriage, the 80’s being a

time of change—

fusing bodhran and lambeg

was no easy task.

I’m beginning to resemble

my mother. Her frown and

pondering nature, her hand on

hip, stares out to the horizon …

my father’s need for the headlines


I stand still in a changing field,

like the Ogam stones of Tyrone,

grey and pointing skyward.

There are many tracks before me,

all leading down some road.

Morning pains subside in

the summer heat, like the

creaking wood of the stairs.

I think I’ve reached it:

endured the dark nights of the

soul.

What now?