Poetry Oonah V Joslin

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: OONAH V JOSLIN

Oonah V Joslin (nee Kyle) was born in Ballymena. She was a teacher by profession and has won prizes for both poetry and micro-fiction and served as Poetry Editor in Every Day Poets and The Linnet’s Wings. Her book “Three Pounds of Cells” ISBN: 13: 978-1535486491 is available from https://www.amazon.co.uk/Three-Pounds-Cells-Oonah-Joslin/dp/0993049370 and you can see and hear Oonah read in this National Trust video. The first part of her novella A Genie in a Jam is serialised at Bewildering Stories, along with over 100 other pieces of writing. You can follow Oonah on Facebook.

My Mother Taught me Birdsongs (Deconstructed Birdsong Pantoum)

the blackbird and the dove repeat repeat repeat their choruses of love coo hoohoo - I’m a pretty bird - clean yer feet

repeat repeat repeat throughout the spring coohoo hoo - what a pretty bird I am - toreador tweet tweet ‘cos it has a nice ring

singing throughout the spring the same varied choruses of love all the pretty birds doing their own thing the blackbird and the dove

(Oonah V Joslin)

Cheviot Dream (an Aisling)

Spring arrives here -- in the proper North real men show no respect -- for changes in climate here -- Summer's a variant of winter darkness abolished -- light dominates loving the zing -- the tingle of May mists southerners are soft -- the penalty an overcoat Mother Cheviot -- feet of solid stone cards wool -- calling her babies home her voice lilting -- lost in coastal frets she greets me – as I were a sister's son wraps me about – in her cloak asks my name

(Oonah V Joslin)

From Vindolanda

My dearest sister, know that I am well here in this most northern garrison. No vines grow here but meat we have and oil and this new road brings regular provision. My wants are few. The local folk have skill in making, doing, mending. My vision of the future is happy but one day I hope we will embrace again. Do write me soon and tell me news from home.

(Vindolanda is a Roman fort and museum on Hadrian’s Wall, famous for its letters.)

(Oonah V Joslin)

All Our Stuff (a Duplex sonnet)

What happens to all our stuff when we’re gone? This last will takes a great deal of discussion.

At some stage we must deal with that discussion. Death can deal a sudden blow to any one.

It’s always sudden and always a blow. That’s the wind of change that drives us.

Stand against it or use it as a propeller. See me flying high for a while but don’t

envy my brief moment in the sky. Soon enough the wind will bring me crashing,

crashing to earth, all twisted wings and feathers, like so many notes of birdsong, scattered to the breeze,

remnants, ashes of a little life. Nobody will care what happens to all our stuff when we’re gone.

(Oonah V Joslin)