The fisherman and the maiden

A fisherman there was,

a handsome young man,

with eyes  like the sea,

hair coloured like sand.

And courted he was

by a young maiden fair,

with sapphire eyes

and long golden hair

And from her long locks

she knotted together

the strongest of nets

for all kinds of weather,

which then when cast out

into the water came back

 so full of fish

it seemed it could snap

For as we all know

or know so we should

the magic in love

is the least understood.

So powerful it is

that just from her hair

the love shone so strong

no net could compare,

And so consequentially

the fisherman he

was the most successful of fishermen

on all of the sea.

But don’t forget we shall not

that it would not have been so

had the maiden not loved him

and when her hair back did grow

The fisherman requested

that she knotted once more

a net twice as big

a net, but what for?

But though questions she had

question she did not

and knotted away

for what would get caught

Then taking the net

he took to the seas

and sailed the waves

led by the breeze

And when the horizon

the edge he did spy

he continued his adventure

he sailed through the sky

Up, up he did journey

up toward the moon

and as he travelled

he sang a soft tune

“For I love her so much “

“my love” he did sing

“I shall capture a star,

for to make her a ring.”

And so casting his net

a star he did find

a star to acknowledge

the love they would bind.

And with star in his net

back down he did go

to his love he did travel

with the star all aglow

And when her door she did answer

he got down on one knee

and requested her hand

and “yes” then said she

And so then they married

and how happy they are

with his nets to catch fish

and on her finger a star.

10/02/2014
Roisin Callaghan

The Baker

As I went awalking across distant land,
I spied a fair maiden asleep on the sand,
She awaited a baker away from the shore
who would come back and find her and leave her no more.

She had courted her baker one morning in June,
But he had made plans for to sail the next moon
She courted him dearly by night and by day
but it wasn't two weeks before he sailed away.

He was the finest of bakers you ever would meet
he would stand by the oven and bake up a treat
he was rugged and handsome with flour on his cheeks
But he'd left his dear sweetheart for a number of weeks

He was travelling to Europe across the great sea
To search across homes for a great recipe
A cake so delicious it would cause much delight
But in France he was caught in a terrible fight

He had taken a recipe from a great King
A cake so amazing it could make people sing
But the king wasn't happy with the payment recieved
and he exiled the baker now branded a theif

And on his way back to England the Baker he found
Himself and the crew he soon managed to drown
he had burnt the ships kitchen baking sweet macaroons
And the ship she sank down beneath the pale moon


He was the finest of bakers you ever would meet
he would stand by the oven and bake up a treat
he was rugged and handsome with flour on his cheeks
But he'd left his dear sweetheart for a number of weeks.

12/08/13
Roisin Callaghan

So it's appalling how long it has been since my last post, and that's if you can even call it a post.
To be honest i never feel i have anything that interesting to say.

I have however begun two new blogs: my art website roisincallaghan.blogspot.com
and a recipe blog i'm doing with my housemates: 61.sixtyone

Bastille - Flaws

Moving back to Norwich so early before term was more of a forced decision than one i made on my own. I had a volunteer position set up every Thursday at the MK gallery, my family, didn't have to buy my own food, bills weren't an issue Milton Keynes was midway through summer of culture, and for the first time in a long time i didn't mind being there...but when the phone rang from work, offering me hours back in Norwich, it was an offer i needed, rather than wanted to accept. So leaving behind the gallery, the full stomach, family, boyfriend and the bicycle i had grown so fond of i made my way back to Norwich, to a new house, on my own.

I have, it is no lie, grown very fond of Norwich over the last year i have been living here, but this time i feel i have been thrown in rather reluctantly and alone. I'm in a new house on a new street alone for three weeks now, two weeks which were without internet. I get paid tomorrow, but the money's going straight to my parents who had to lend me my last rent payment and my cupboards are bare.

When i first was told that i was moving back early, my mum made the decision for me, yes i was a bit upset at first, but i decided to be optimistic. I haven't really produced much art over the summer and i thought being back in my uni town would get me started again, i planned to write, read, visit the library and do research, go to music events and really embrace this wonderful city. However as usual my plans didn't turn out quite how i thought. It isn't really very easy to attend music nights alone, you get funny looks and it's awkward, my mind is still failing to produce any ideas of worth and my pencil fails to mark, my poems are depressing and i forgot my guitar and im not even sure what to research.

I turn twenty-one next weekend and i can't help questioning when my life is really going to begin, because right now i'm tired and its just not the insomnia.


On the plus side my house is much nicer than the mouldy house i lived in last year and once my housemates move in i know it'll be amazing. Its just a matter of waiting i guess, we'll see.

Today is Tuesday

In silence sat,
fleeting time,
seconds wasted
hours speant
idle
alone
not laziness
-fatigue
lost days
The price of company a long walk
communication slow and so
she refuses to go.
Another week of meaningless activity
pointless in her solitude
no bread, no milk
no money to spend
an existnace others remain oblivious to,
a vacant house on a busy street
a face staring out of a window
a glimpse soon disregarded.
The constant waiting
with little satisfaction
The sound of lonliness so loud
insomnia
fatigue
tired eyes, tired mind
tangled thoughts, memory or dream
dream i hope
guilt
for what my subconsious imagines
just a dream
my unreality
seems more real
than the last 245 hours.

She Keeps Bees - CageMatch