Pens on the Table


There are pens on my table
I just can’t explain
When every refrain
Is tapped out on the lap top
Or vigorously thumbed
Into iPhone note pad apps
Between bites of baps
And inevitable wine
Lubricating the rhyme
There are pens on my table
I can’t tell you why
When my reach for the sky
Is mainly through wifi
No paper to scratch
Only ideas to hatch
There are pens on my table
I don’t know where from
When my notebooks were stolen
And lost in the bomb
Of my four year old artist’s
Creative monsoon
There are pens on the table;
He must have put them there.

A Modern Celt by Mabh Savage

Hi stearzeebrerorothuysmar2007.

I really want to contact you however you have no option on your page for comments or messages. I’m a little upset that you have made a pdf of my book and are giving it away for free. Assuming that’s what this file actually is. If not, you are using my book to promote a link to something else entirely.

Like all writers, I worked very hard to produce something unique and of value, and according to the stats on this page you have stolen it from me 604 times. If these stats are fake/incorrect, again, you are misrepresenting my work for your own means.

Please, think about the impact your actions have on authors and also independent publishing companies. I’m contactable through all social media channels, which you could have found with a simple Google search; you could have asked me how I felt about my book being freely available, and we could have taken it from there. However you have chosen to steal and encourage others to steal my work, or you have used my work to front the link to something else.

Please remove this link, and any others to work that is current and available to buy from the publisher or its distributors. Any of my followers reading this, please do not follow the link given; I do not believe this is a genuine copy of my book and it may be dangerous to your computer. All the best, Mabh.

Taken from Notes from a Gentle Heart… a wonderful review of my book, A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors. Laura Perry tells us in her own words what she thought of it. Thanks Laura, glad you enjoyed it!


Coming Home to Mouldy Guacamole

I almost wish it were
A metaphor for death; decay!
Instead you’ll be surprised
To hear me say
That coming home to
Mouldy guacamole
Holy moley!
Is actually a measure
Of my happiness
My pleasure
Green and lumpy
Like it should be
Now it’s blue as well:
Oh hell!
But no drama
At this sight;
I shrug and in this moonlit night
In the bin I put the mess to bed
And have a lovely curry instead.

Hopelessly Tangled


Whilst clearing out my handbag, amidst the tobacco dust and tissues were two of my favourite necklaces, tangled beyond recognition as two separate items. I pulled at the chains gently, but was unsure where to start.

‘This is my life’, I thought, depressively. Yes, tangled and snarled with no way to know which way to go without making the tangle worse. I may have sighed resignedly and put the necklace down, but a spark of determination lit a fire I had forgotten, and my deft fingers found a single chain longer than the others.

Following the links, untwisting and unwinding, I though about my own tangle; the things I want, the things I don’t want and the things I am forced to deal with. My illness, changing my mind into an ocean unnavigable. My ambitions, on hold while I pull at these tangles. So many chains, so many ropes, but each rope is a part of me.

I can be a tangle and still work just fine; I’m a mother, a writer, a singer, a musician, a friend, a lover, a sister, a daughter, a call centre worker, a gaming geek; each of these threads tangles into a ball that should not be daunting but delightful.

The twin tangles of chain are slowly parting, and I think of how I don’t want to feel tangled though; I don’t want to feel lost and tied up without the strong to follow through the labyrinth. The necklaces suddenly part, and I feel a sudden sense of freedom; any of the chains I follow will release me, as they are each a part of me.

Necklaces fixed, mind clearer, day brighter; the tangles are still here, but I think I can work them out.