It is so easy to pretend, to live in a world of make believe.

Childlike we clammer to uphold the façade.

Pretense, inauthenticity, all peddling our wares at life’s show and tell.

What are we really telling the world, when screens hide our true selves?

And selfies are tinged with guilt and resentment.

How false are we willing to become?

When ‘A Facebook Life’ becomes a figure of speech!

Is falseness next to godliness as celebrities sow the seeds,

Is genuine, authentic, real no longer a part of our lexicon?

We are so quick to believe the make believe,

We are too willing to bolster the façade.

Copyright © 2021 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Soul Beauty

Soul Beauty

There is a beauty in each note that she cannot explain

Her soul is drawn to the music

She sees what cannot be seen

She feels what cannot be felt

She is what she cannot be, anywhere else

The danger lurks behind every quaver,

She dances on the keys of her soul

Balances on the strings of her heart

Beats of the drum of her life

Wisps of sound surround her,

The Mist of music falls around her,

her beauty shining

 as a reflection in the water

Not the beauty of her scarred skin

Of her sacred soul. Copyright © 2021 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

The Amazing Patrick Kavanagh

Such an inspiration in my Youth- Grateful

O stony grey soil of Monaghan
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the gay child of my passion
And gave me your clod-conceived.

You clogged the feet of my boyhood
And I believed that my stumble
Had the poise and stride of Apollo
And his voice my thick tongued mumble.

You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life conquering plough!
The mandril stained, your coulter blunted
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.

You sang on steaming dunghills
A song of cowards’ brood,
You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,
You fed me on swinish food

You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!

Lost the long hours of pleasure
All the women that love young men.
O can I still stroke the monster’s back
Or write with unpoisoned pen.

His name in these lonely verses
Or mention the dark fields where
The first gay flight of my lyric
Got caught in a peasant’s prayer.

Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco-
Wherever I turn I see
In the stony grey soil of Monaghan
Dead loves that were born for me.

Patrick Kavanagh

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Awakening – A Poem

This is an absolutely beautiful piece. I am so thankful I stumbled upon it this evening. I identify with so much of it wow just wow 🤩

Barstool to the Beach

Peering through the fabric of reality
Beyond normality disguising mass insanity
Like stepping off a treadmill that is in the dark
And wandering through a beautiful sun-drenched park

Therein lies the true-life mission
Through the mind and into the intuition
The constant negative affirmations with which we are bombarded
Leaves the ego off centre, anxious and always guarded

To transcend the ego is the only escape
And then the old ideals will dissipate
A new age can be dawned
From which a new society can be born

With love, compassion and gratitude
Not self-entitled, hedonistic childlike attitudes
Liberation from anxiety and depression
Removal of manipulative covert oppression

The worrying will finally cease
And amazingly the mind will be at peace
And as the consciousness begins to shift
The pressure of life begins to ease and lift

Consumerism offers an external solution to an internal problem
Liberation from the ego allows…

View original post 114 more words

Absence- does it make the heart grow fonder?

Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

Lots of thought and little action, brings tears.

Moments of happiness, are stolen.

Time an immortal enemy,

Distance the battlefield.

Yearning for the one fated glimmer of hope,

Absence, does it make the heart grow fonder?

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved


My eyes are closing, and I am thinking of you,

There are stars in heaven, a bright spark in the chasm of darkness,

Just like you.

Your heart burns with the intensity of the sun,

I am drawn into your light,

As I watch you move worlds with your smile.

My eyes are sore from crying and I am thinking of you,

Your soft skin holding onto me gently,

Your need for bravery and courage in that moment.

My eyes are sore and closing, I am thinking of you always,

As the stars sparkle in the sky and the wind moves the trees,

I breathe deeply,

How lucky I am to have you.

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

You are blood

Blood is thicker than water,

The words of an abandoned daughter.

You will fight for each other,

You will protect each other,

You are blood.

Never take one another for granted,

Never let love make you enchanted.

Fight for each other,

Protect each other,

You are blood.

Watch over sister and brother,

You will not get another

Chance to fight for him,

Moment to protect her.

You are blood.

Now and forever,

Blood is thicker than water,

Do not abandon your kin,

Do not let envy win,

You are blood.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

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Sufficient for the day is its own trouble

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All is quiet now,

the storm within your head is over.

The white squall of words and lies,

calmed beneath the morning sun.

Driven out is the darkness of that night,

a new bounteous day is born on the horizon.

Future worries no, again

Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Photo by Nathan Cowley on Pexels.com

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

I’m sorry

(For the mum who could fight no longer)

A heavy  feeling that everything is not going to be ok, it plagues the mind and robs the day.

There are too many reasons to fear and doubt, there are thorns on every bush now,

They can no longer be stepped over or avoided,

Pushing your naked body through the pain of letting go, to the isolation of reason and love.

Blood dripping from your cavernous soul as you scream for redemption and reprieve,

No more darkness oozing from your skin,

No more toxic loathing in the crater of your mind,

The souls of the damned pull you downwards, they crush the light in your spirit,

Choke the kindness and softness that once occupied your soul.

Your tear at your skin to make it stop,

You scream at the blinding wind as it robs your breath.

Thorns closing around your throat as the words become muffled,

In a whisper ‘I’m Sorry’

Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Well Hello!

Firstly bloggers and followers, apologies for my absence. I have not posted in a few days. I have been doing a little soul searching and some serious, intense work on myself. With my counsellor last week, I broke down a fairly serious dam which flooded me with a torrent of emotional trauma and memories I was very unprepared for. Perfect fodder for the writer but putting pen to paper did not happen. I wanted to write so much but the words just wouldn’t come together in any coherent manner, honestly I was struggling with the day to day so I took the time out. The anxiety was winning out unfortunately.

I felt like I was drowning a little and just decided to tread water until things in my ocean calmed a little. I was also working for my new role and doing some pretty tough training for that. So my mind was logical and fractured at the same time. And of course there is the Mammy and wife role which demands my energy also. I do not want this to be negative, I am lucky to be safe and healthy in this turbulent time. The ‘Invisible Demons’, I struggle with everyday just make things a little tougher. Sometimes I am not sure what has happened at the end of a day or where the day has gone. Time seems so fleeting, you try to trap moments and memories with your kids or something beautiful you notice, trying to slow down time’s engine. So the demons do not win.

I realise just writing this now is probably not making any sense, but the idea behind this blog for me was the transformative power of writing so annoyingly I am going to waffle on. I have always taught my students that waffles are only for breakfast, you should never use waffle in your writing. LOL 😂 I guess we are having waffles for supper this evening! A few pieces will follow this post, I hope they inspire you or open up something for you as they have done for me whilst writing.

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Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Four winds


Tentatively he moved forward,

Holding his head high, he bowed to the creator.

In that deep moment, a stillness washed over him,

he was no longer calm.

His focus had changed, and he sought to reap what he had sowed

years ago.

He called to the four winds to carry him to the eternal place,

There he would seek succour and bow his head once.

The red leaves wilted in the heat, as he walked along the moon,

 taking deep breaths, he touched the azure blue and recoiled instantly.

From his fingers a great light, in the darkness.


Teutonic he stretched to the heavens and swam in her glory.

Taking sunlight from the sea and basking in heat,

the joy of a moment so profound.

The air around him was humid, beads of sweat formed on his brow

He bent down finding a cricket in the heath.

Splendor was woven in his eyes.

Golden starlight framing his stature,

He called out to the four winds to carry him again to the eternal place.


Twilight facades, beckoned him onwards,

Laborious love sparkling for his favor, he touched the ice and crept silently forward,

tongues licking at his heels,

Arrows gripping his Achilles as the mountain formed above him.

Troubled by the solemn ponderances , he moved cautiously as the snake moved with him,

Warm and comforting she coiled around him.

Green eyes wandering, he slit her gluttonous throat and scattered her ashes to the winds.

Blue twinkling was reflected in the steely glass that covered his magnificent body,

Outstretching his feathers,

He called to the four winds to carry him to the eternal place.

I would really love to hear what you readers think of this one. So please do not be shy, leave me some comments or feedback or mail me r.alpro@yahoo.com. 😁🤓

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Poetry in my 20’s


I watched you that day,

it made me sigh.

Touching you, I wanted to cry.

It felt so comfortable, two people talking,

Felt like always,

two people laughing.

I knew it was wrong being there,

Compulsion brought me to you.

Memories binded me to your side.

You were laughing,

it wasn’t with me.

How cruel it had been then,

Thinking of it only now.

How cruel you had been ,

not to tell me.


Photo by Retha Ferguson on Pexels.com

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Puff! Gone

The hardest thing about Writing for me are not the words or what I will write. It is finding the time to write. As a full-time worker, mum and wife, I find nearly impossible to get time to gather my thoughts and sit down and write a chapter or two. I find myself stealing moments here and there to jot down ideas or type something up quickly. It is definitely a balancing act and I feel like I am still practicing.

I wonder if anyone else feels the same? I have a great idea and then I am asked a mommy question and puff! Gone. I welcome any tips or tricks you may have to help with all this. As I am writing this my son has come down dressed like ‘little red riding hood’ asking for crisps!

I love my job, kids and husband but, I would love an hour alone to get ideas together. Sometimes there is an evening here or there but then as a human I am wrecked from the day and find it difficult to  get my mind in gear.

I have lots of journals dotted around the house, which I think worked for like a week. I wonder how books will get written at this rate and if any other writers experience this also.

And yes, as a writer, I am envious of all those other writers who have time to read pieces, contemplate and put beautiful works together. I do not want my writing to feel rushed or haphazard. I think in the past 20 minutes, I have said “just a sec Hun, mammy’s typing” at least 6 times.

Puff! Gone

Another time people feel free to Catch-at-me.com or check out the FB page ‘Gourmet for the Soul’- blue icon.

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Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved


(From my early self)

Crows fall silent,

His footsteps pass by.

The air is chilly,

he clings to his coat.

Pivoting eyes,

watching subtle movements,

searching for prey.

Mist descends,

cloaked in darkness as

laughter carries on the air.

Quick to stir,

a phone drops to the pavement,

with her body.

Photo by Artem Lysenko on Pexels.com

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Poems from my earlier self (at the tender age of 13 years)

The End

Remember it all.

Nowhere to go, no one to call,

The fear on people’s faces, ‘to the showers’ they were told.

The odor lingering,

The smell of burning flesh,

Sweeps past gaunt, solemn faces,

Staring at empty spaces.

Stripped of clothes and dignity,

Hearts thumping, fear amounts,

Out of line, a young boy runs,

Towards the guns, he runs he runs.

Through the air a bullet flies,

A boy dies,

A mother cries,

An officer lies.

A body lies,

Twisted, naked, scattered, torn



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Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Invisible Demons

I am plagued by invisible demons,

and the demons of others.

Their mistakes and shame burn my flesh.

Invisible demons that,

swarm like flies on a hot summer’s day,

Persistent, irritating.

Invisible demons that,

Breathe alcoholic odors into your face,

With repetition and ignorance.

Invisible demons that,

Crawl like a ticking beetle on your skin.

Invisible demons that,

Corral your emotions and freeze your heart.

Invisible demons that,

Slowly and insidiously rip you apart.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Smoky hotel room (in my 20’s)

Smoked till my lungs hurt,

Lying back on the double bed,

Making patterns on the ceiling,

Switching from one eye to the next.

Standing, sitting, pacing,

Holding the matching cream phone,

Who to call?

Call out!

Shout out! “get me outta here!”

Tried to shower,

Waters too cold,

Pierces my hot skin,

Jumping back, I catch a glimpse

Of my naked figure in the oval mirror.

Twisting and turning,

Different poses, different shapes

Same body.

Feeling so alone, naked even.

I grab a towel.

Walking into the small hall,

Listening to sounds,

In rooms around me.

Love and anger all at once!

No one there

Lots of noise.

Another cigarette,

Brandy from the mini bar- no ice.

Dizzy head, shaky hands, heartbroken.

Watching some chat show on TV

Watching my life on the small screen.

Big bed, small body,

Little sleep once again.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

For ‘Normal People’

Photo by Andrew Neel on Pexels.com

I tortured my soul with questions and doubt,

I racked my brain for answers.

Crying myself to sleep,

Forgetting to eat.

Tearing myself apart,

The answer so simple.

You whispered, tears in your voice,

“Baby, listen to your heart”


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

A conversation with Me

“Hi Soul, what do you need me to hear?”



“You already have all the answers”

“But I cannot understand them, it’s all jumbled up in my head and my stomach hurts too much and……”


“Stop what?”

“Trying to fix everything, sometimes, things need to be left broken, that is the way it is meant to be”

“But…”. (voice tails off)

“STOP!, Stop trying to control it and just live it, even love it, just stop trying to make it perfect, it will never be. That is the beauty of all this, it’s odd, awkward and strange and that’s what makes it unique- once in a lifetime you might say”

“Yes, but…”

“Let me clarify, sunsets are by their nature, pardon the pun-Beautiful, but so are wrinkles, they tell the story of a life, that was laughed, lived and loved, they are what we consider imperfect.

“I have no strength for this anymore, it’s all too difficult.”

“’You are wasting your energy on the mundane and silly, they’re not the reason you are really here, they’re distractions. Relax enjoy the moments, find the beauty in the imperfect.

“Why am I so scared Soul, why is there so much Fear?”

“You are learning new things, new is scary. You cannot stay in this safe place forever, what’s the point in that?”


“Exactly, nothing, so why do you insist on staying put, hanging on to the past, not letting go?”

“I do not know; I really do not know”

“Yes, you do” (said mockingly like a child)


“Yes, ssooooo????…”


“BINGO, you feel safe now, because you control the narrative, the situations in your life, to a point anyway.

“Hmmm I guess”

“’You guess! If tomorrow you decide to change something, you still can and will feel safe. It is about your perception, everyone can lead the very life they want, how do we do this?”

“ We believe in it, make it happen.”

“Yes, now you got it girl! Now you got it. Take a break now, come back to me tomorrow, we can chat more then. For now, start by seeing the beauty in the imperfect, look at your wrinkles.”

“Thank you Soul, chat tomorrow.”

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

The Fear

My soul has been drowned by emotions,

They ebb, flow, then cascade.

Sometimes in the still, they are still too.

The Fear RA

Shaded by the branches of everyday

tasks, so mundane they seem needless.

I cannot understand…….. when the fear comes,

It crashes over me and I panic,

It crushes my spirit,

It captures my soul, and I no longer breathe.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Fruit fly

Photo by Leonidas Takao Ishikawa on Pexels.com

You entered my home,

With the assumption you were allowed.

You explored wherever you liked,

Lingering too long in the kitchen.

I watched you intently,

You moved lazily towards the window.

A mist descended upon you,

I hope your time was fruitful,

Little fruit fly.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

The Beginning 2

‘Go to bed’, his low dark voice startled Anya and she jumped. The light in the kitchen had darkened one side of his face, in this moment he truly looked like a phantom. Anya shivered, trying not to reveal her fear.

‘I came in the back, not that it is any of your business’, his voice was raised and angry. Anya knew this tone and how to not rise to its challenge, she murmured ‘ok’, taking the warm milk off the stove.  He watched her every movement, his eyes followed her long fingers as she wrapped them around the cup. ‘Bed’ he repeated in a whisper, Anya obeyed. She listened as he turned out the lights and locked the doors. Her stomach churning as she ascended the stairs.

Silently she placed the cup on the bedside table and slipped under the cool, refreshing covers. As she lay in the dark, her whole body was pumping with her heartbeat, she tried to control it, but it just seemed to get worse. She held her breath, a door slammed. Anya turned her head into her pillow, grabbing it and sobbing so hard she felt sick, but so quietly he could not hear. Her whole body was shaking. Nothing made sense anymore.


Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

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The Beginning 1

undefined RA

The night fell silent. A creeping mist engulfed the paddocks around the house. Anya sat huddled on her cast iron bed, the bars surrounding her like a prison, she was its captive. She knew it wasn’t the bars that kept her prisoner here, but her unwavering love for him. It chained her down and allowed her to soar, all at once.

The fire in the corner had now died away leaving smoky glowing embers. Would his love for her die this way? Would the passionate red licking flames be extinguished ? Clasping her hands over her ears she tried to block out the voices. The voices of fear, unable to open up her heart to him.

The coffee she had made earlier had gone cold, her mind wandering, she picked up the mug and opened the heavy wooden door. It scraped on the rough tiles and the sound echoed through the empty house.

The hall was cold and silent, Anya pulled her dressing-gown around her for warmth. A strange wind whistled outside the house, her heart quickened. The tiles gave way to a soft red carpet on the landing. As she crossed, something caught her eye.

In the glass panel at the side of the front door, she watched two figures blurry but embracing. Anya drew a long low breath, squinting her eyes and moving closer to the banister, she tried to see them. The porch light was dull and obscured her vision.

Glancing back, the china clock struck two am, Anya wondered who was outside and why she had not noticed the hours slipping away.

Quietly she descended the large grand staircase, hugging herself, she was shivering. ‘Damn’ she squealed as the coffee mug, bounced along the blue and white tiled floor before smashing into a thousand pieces. Looking up the figures had disappeared, ‘Damn it’ , Anya muttered under her breath. Panic gripped her heart again, she tiptoed round the mess and crept into the kitchen. Before switching on the light she peered into the darkness outside the window, looking for a glimmer or movement. Nothing.

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Winter is no Friend

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Winter is no friend


The sun has risen and fallen,

The day has come to an End.

The trees are bare and Broken,

Winter is no Friend.

It Smothers one in a snowdrift,

Locked behind a cabin door,

Feeling this could be Forever,

Merely a year or more.

It curls one up by a Fire,

A glow so warm, so safe,

Somewhere you will tire of,

Leaving your heart, a Waif.

Winter is no Friend,

It Misleads you in the rain.

Droplets of fear, Doubt and loneliness,

A numbness that is Pain.

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

Adagio for Lovers


Among all the voices, I hear but one,

inside my head, resounding like a bell.

The line of street lamps glow like fairy lights,

the air is filled with the music of thought.

Tears, as the heart’s rhythm races with the music,

Moonlight tinkling reality’s piano.

In my mind lovers dance, he held her,

red velvet tears, glistening on her cheekbones.

A lone violin as the dancing fades,

Waves of feelings, mezzo-forte, forte.

The tears like the music, have their melody,

Red velvet shimmers and maybe it ends

Copyright © 2020 Gourmet for the Soul – All rights reserved

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