Cinderella Tráth
Chaill sí a bróg (agus a croí) I bpobal I gConnemara,
Rud simplí ab ea é ag tarlú ó thús staire,
Cad a tharla dár gcailín óg, dár ‘Cinderella,’
Phóg a buachaill álainn deas cailín éigean eile,
D’Fhág sí cuid dá anam ag glanadh miasa go tapaidh,
Tom-Bán ag míniú nuacht dóibh “Bhreatain, cinnte rachaidh,”
Ag an am rinne siad iarracht an seanfhear bocht a éalú,
Beagnach am don chéilí, cad mar gheall ar smuidiú?
Cé go bhfuil sí arais I gCorcaigh fós cloisfeá a guth ag gáire I nGaillimh,
Insóidh na scéalta grinn is fearr, coast a dhó ar an dtalamh,
(An cúinteoir crosta bocht …bhí a fáinne cluasa mar éin),
Scéalta naemhdíobhálach ar an mbus ina bhfir grinn dóibh féin
Mo hata
Look keep your warm calloused hands and your smiling eyes,
Keep those sea wet salty eyebrows under Connemara skies,
Keep the easy-going attitude “Beidh gach rud ceart go lóir,”
Stay there and sit in factor 50 on the sandy shore
Keep the dances we danced together and try to dance like me
Think of Fiachra eating lunch in a jellyfish sea
Keep the classroom coincidences I don’t even care
Sometimes I wish I’d never met the loveliest boy from Kildare
Keep your kayak bravery and your rounders skill
Please promise me you bless yourself when an ambulance passes still
Keep a list of people and counties and keep the Cork lads close
Ní raibh mé do chailín níl mé anois ach b’fhéidir go mbeidh mé fós
Keep “tá Oisín chomh deas” yeah keep especially that
Keep it all ná bach leis but give me back my hat
Jack Hall
His hair was long and greasy to his waist it did fall,
His face was yellow from lack of sun poor ol’ young Jack Hall,
His Father stood, on one leg, at almost six foot two,
But when he leant on the other foot the opposite was true,
His mother who once long before he was told had been pretty,
Now wore within her hair, heart and clothes the griminess of the city,
An army of ivy leaves held their house under siege,
“Gone too far,” “Nothing to be done,” this was of course agreed,
Outside the back, their garden ran a short mess of Bush and tree,
So overgrown that out the window one could barely see,
In the overgrowth danced fifty to seventy very well-fed rats,
A happy coincidence altogether for next door’s tabby cat,
The weather outside brought about the temperature inside,
In winter months their bones d’shiver in Summer months they’d fry,
Electricity had yet to reach, this last house on the road,
And would not for many years until it would at last be sold,
He spent his evenings at the gate confined behind the wall,
Watching the other lads kick a ball, poor ol’ young Jack Hall,
Sometimes alas by accident the ball would bounce up to,
The peeling door of house number a hundred and fifty two,
The woman with the raggy clothes and the horselike mouth,
Would brandish a sharpened butter knife and from the door she’d shout,
“I swear to God the Lord above ye’ll not me disrespect,”
Each time the plastic pound shop ball would soon be truly fecked,
And cast aside in the overgrowth, of grass beyond the knee,
A reminder if her triumph that everyone could see,
One Summer day our Jack he stood and maggots he did make,
Inside his heavy big black coat. He drummed his fingers on the gate,
Music filled the terraced street amplifying as it drew near,
The promise of something sweet that his mother deemed ‘too dear’,
The ice-cream van skidded to a halt in the middle of the road,
It’s tinny song advertising what it was he sold,
A father sauntered out of his house and walked up to the van,
He smiled and chatted on and on, he clearly knew the man,
“Six half cones, Murphy, that’s it for me”
He took the six cones with a wink and quickly paid for three,
A cone for each of his three sons and for their friend Big Noel,
And for the youngest Healy boy who they’d always stick in goal,
He then began to walk, where people didn’t go,
To the ivy house with the tall tall grass nobody’s mow,
He handed Jack the bit of ice cream sliding off the cone,
(Jack Hall the crater who spent his time standing all alone),
Jack’s two eyes lit up with joy, a smile slid across his face,
The ice cream that was in his hand he could all but taste,
For once and not in some cruel game,
He truly felt the same.
Cinderella Tráth and other poems are © Aoibhe Ní Loingsigh
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Aoibhe Ní Loingsigh is a poet from Cork. Aoibhe writes both in English (her first language) and as Gaeilge (her favourite language). One of Aoibhe’s Grandas inspired her love of Irish at a young age. Time spent in the Gaeltacht helped to further this grá. Aoibhe hopes to work in an Irish college (that she previously attended) in Connemara during the Summer. A short story of Aoibhe’s won a competition in her local library and a past English teacher read a poem of hers at her wedding. Aoibhe wrote a book last summer (while helping with the Leaving Cert exams) in English with the dialogue as Gaeilge. Aoibhe is an aggressively (the word agressive is used for emphasis) optimistic person and decides to see the good in everything. This is reflected in her poetry. Her sense of humour is evident and helps to give her poetry a universal appeal.
Melvina King is a poet originally from Philadelphia, PA but currently studying at the graduate level in Dublin, Ireland. Due to wanting a change in life, and a breath of fresh air she decided to move to Europe to experience living elsewhere. Writing poetry is something that she’s enjoyed since childhood. Back in Philadelphia, she frequents the open mic circuit. Poetry has allowed her to communicate her thoughts, educate others and let go of her feelings. She writes about her experiences as a black woman in this world, being from a West African immigrant family, her interactions with men/people, travelling and from how she sees the world. The themes that are explored her work include oppression, love, race, Pan-Africanism, self-esteem, sexual assault and identity.
Maria Karapish is an Irish-Ukranian poet and artist, her main project includes the In My Orbit zine that contains her original poetry and illustrations. Her poetry focuses on themes of mental illness and how that affects everyday life and relationships along with pieces that stew over those many ‘what if’s? that refuse to leave your brain.
Eimear Bourke is a 27-year-old Irish lawyer who has always been interested in poetry and writing. Born in Dublin and raised in Navan, Co. Meath, she graduated from Maynooth University in 2013 with a degree in Law and English. Her writing focuses on interpersonal relationships and Irish seascapes. She is inspired by Yrsa Daley-Ward and Rita Ann Higgins.
Trish Bennett hails from County Leitrim. She’s got the breeze of Thur (the mountain, not the God) in her blood. She crossed the border to study over twenty years ago and was charmed into staying by a Belfast biker. They have settled themselves into a small cabin near the lakeshore in Fermanagh, and try to keep the noise down in their bee-loud glade. Bennett writes about the shenanigans of her family and other creatures. Sometimes she rants. She was a finalist in seven poetry competitions in the past two years, including North West Words, The Percy French, Bailieborough, and The Bangor Literary Journal, and has won The Leitrim Guardian Literary Award for poetry twice. Bennett is a Professional Member of the Irish Writers Centre.
Aishling Alana likes to think of herself as the embodiment of organised chaos. In her short(ish) life, she has overcome progressive pain diseases, has met ex-prisoners of death row, interviewed Ted X speakers and gained a Masters in Philosophy of the Arts. She loves bouldering and the sea, and can often be found in the thinking ‘woman’ pose while learning how to code. Having been born in Ireland at the brink of an intense culture shift, her writing takes in fantastical elements of sexuality, religion and identity.
Sarah Chen is an emerging poet and 19-year old college student. Raised by Chinese-immigrant parents in Texas, she moved to Dublin in August 2018 to study English. Her writing experience was previously limited to songs performed with her rock band, but now is expanding into the territory of written poetry. Her collection of poems, Poems Written in Dublin was written in the span of a morning upon completion of her first year of college.
Deirdre Gallagher has works published in A New Ulster, Crossways Literary Magazine, Poethead, Comhar, Feasta and upcoming in The Stinging Fly. Literature is passionate, powerful, restorative, and transformative. It makes an immense contribution to our evolving world. A language enthusiast, she believes that we can dispel the shadows cast by checkered history and disconnection to see the emergence of a bright, compassionate, and equitable future that celebrates the advantages of multilingualism within national and global contexts 
Mary Shine was born in Templemore, Co Tipperary, in 1956 but spent most of her adult life in Dublin. She has a degree in Social Science and a Master’s in Women’s Studies from UCD. Her first poems were written in 1990 and she continued with this creative process for the next decade, while also making connections with the Dublin literary scene. The Rathmines Writers group was of particular importance as it provided her with opportunities to share and publish her work. In 2001 she decided to relocate and moved to Sligo. Her writing was interrupted by the challenges of this upheaval and it was 2016 before she again began writing her poems. In 2017 she published her first collection, A Sense Of A Life. She hopes that the long silence is finally over and that her writing life will continue.
Chris Murray 