I wrote this poem out of boredem. Honestly, I believed it was nothing more than sentences with no meaning.. Yet when I reviewed the poem, I realised it actually came from the centre of me. It may provoke a sense of a political nature, but despite my Irishness; I have no interest in politics or the government.

Instead, the poem is about Sligo. In Irish, Sligo (Sligeach) means 'Shelly Place', so that's where I got the name. It worked pretty well with the body of the poem, I believe.

It's not my best one, but I'll let you be the judge of that.

Shelly Place

Too big to call it yours,
Too small to compete.
Not the wisdom from your mouth,
Or the knowledge in your feet.
Never yours nor never mine.
Ours, together.

The stones that had sat, old.
The water's depth surround.
It wasn't fame that we did need,
Just organics on the ground.
See, we are all the one,
A family, you might say.
Sheltered from the sun,
but skies are never grey.

The Shelly Place is ours,
Perhaps, we are the shells.
Perhaps, we are not.
Time could only tell.
Home to the big glass house,
And the massive fish.
A location for a prayer,
Or to make a wish.

It is home.