Poetry by Maria Wallace


Connemara Landscape

The Blue Mountain 

Shawled woman walks
the winding road
at the foot of the blue mountain.

By her side a child, her child,
fathered by the man
who waits for them
in the blue distance.

She walks
where she has always walked
knowing the blue mountain
will keep
the secret of her footsteps:
no one but her understands
mountain words,
west wind gossip and cloud tears.


Burial cairn

First World War

These stones will not speak
your name,
though I am collecting them
to leave a sign
of where you lay.

I buried you here,
here where I have
nothing but stones
to bless the body
you wore
till you were twenty one.

Beyond veils and matter

What lies beyond the beyond
of all that is?
If it be the truth,
is that not a concept shifting
according to individual,
place and time?

Is there a universal truth
existing beyond that impenetrable
gossamer veil which allows
only death to go through it?

Perhaps beyond veils and matter
one may solely find
unspoken words waiting
to be given a sound.


old monastic garden

Old garden

Barbed wire gates.
Rooks walk atop tall walls,
the Virginia Creeper begins to turn
the colour of rusted skies,
blood red rosehips on the bushes,
darkness underneath ancient trees
where the light cannot reach.

The outside world remains
outside this moment,
this silent garden where once
monks sung their alleluias.

Numbered reality

Life, the throw of a dice turning,
each tumble a different face,
possibilities limited
between one and six.
Don’t blink while it’s rolling,
while numbers spin,
brace yourself before facing
your numbered reality.

Maria Wallace
Maria Wallace was born in Catalonia and has been awarded many poetry prizes over the past 20 years.  She has been published in anthologies, journals and newspapers around the world and is the founder of Virginia House Creative Writers Group (1996). She lives in Tallaght Co Dublin.