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Poetry

In Saoró we be­lieve that read­ing and writ­ing po­et­ry sup­ports a spir­i­tu­al and  cre­ative life be­cause they fos­ter deep pro­cess­ing, emo­tion­al ex­pres­sion, and a  height­ened aware­ness of the hu­man ex­pe­ri­ence. Po­et­ry beau­ti­ful­ly dis­tills com­plex  feel­ings and uni­ver­sal truths into evoca­tive lan­guage, al­low­ing us to con­nect more  deeply with our in­ner selves and the world around us. En­gag­ing with po­et­ry cul­tivates mind­ful­ness, in­spires our imag­i­na­tion, and en­cour­ages a sense of won­der  and awe, all of which nur­ture our spir­i­tu­al growth. Po­et­ry also stim­u­lates our creativ­i­ty by chal­leng­ing the mind to find new ways of see­ing and ex­press­ing re­al­i­ty,  sup­port­ing deep ex­plo­ration and self-dis­cov­ery es­sen­tial to a vi­brant, full and authen­tic life. It is both food and med­i­cine for the soul. 

In Ire­land we have a strong lin­eage of po­et­ry go­ing back to the an­cient times  of the revered trav­el­ing Bard. Every year we host a po­et­ry month on Saoró and we  get to wit­ness the in­cred­i­ble depth and beau­ty of this sa­cred form of cre­ative wor ship that still holds a place in Irish hearts.  

Got po­et­ry you would love to share? We warm­ly in­vite you to send in your work  and we can show­case it on Saoró. This space is free, heart-led, and open to all who  cre­ate with pur­pose, play, and soul. Just send your de­tails & work to us and we will get in touch!  

Submit a Poem

An Open Field

An Open FieldObstacles are our wingsSomeone wrote andIt’s trueTake the hares in an open field:A cold frost early Spring morningNear the mouth of the EstuaryA place where the first rays of sunlightwere breaking over the field aheadglistening with icy dewthen all of a suddenWhile everyone else was looking high up for the warblersFilling the air...

Do Not Call This Love

I feel it.His eyes undressed me,not with tenderness,and not with care,but with his swaggering entitlement.As if my bodywere something to take,something already hiswithout ever asking.His hands reached out,not to hold,but to claim.To possess.To rewrite,to dismantle my boundariesas though they were optional.And still,I am toldthat this is LOVE.But I say no.Absolutely not.Do not dress this violationin...

The Quiet Grief of Almost

Unrequited love.How heavy it feels.The depth of feelingskept close in this gentle embraceof longing,of your arms wrapped aroundwhat will never lean back.It’s a love with nowhere to go,nowhere to rest,only a hollow spacelong after the doorhas stayed closed.I will carry you gentlyin places you’ll never see.And I will speak your nameonly in my private thoughts,where...

The Changing Tide of Womanhood

I am tired,a bone-deep tiredthat sleep does not touch.Anxious in a waythat has no clear source or reason,lonely even whenI am not alone.My mind is fogged,thoughts drifting like mistI can’t quite part.Words slip away.Certainty dissolves.Madness descends.Then the rage arrives,wild,hot,sudden,and heavy,as if something immensehas been dropped from aboveand landed squarelyin my chest.My body achesin unfamiliar places.Tears...

She

I am she.She who is all I will ever need to be.She who is as soft as the flowing stream,And strong as cascades of rivers.She who walks in love,And through her wounds howls for others.Feels their pain just a deep.She who feels the callAnd trusts her soil-stained feet to wander with spirit.To moss-laced forest or...

Shavasana

ShavasanaDuring yoga class emotions surface,tears come too, without warning.A feeling of abandonment springsout of the unconscious.‘I am no-one’s child anymore,nobody calls me their daughter’.I lie on my mat at the end of class,relax my body, struggle to still my mind.Breathe in, two three, out, two three,the weight of grief begins to shift.I focus on the...

Tick Tock – Joan Hardiman

A poem written by Joan Hardiman titled "Tick-Tock", contributed during Activism Month. A stark, reflective poem on humanity’s unchecked greed and self-indulgence, portraying how ego, hedonism, and short-sightedness drive environmental destruction and the erosion of future generations’ legacy.

This is a poem about the ache.

Sometimes the sadness in my bodyfeels so out of reach.too hot to touch,too old to name.It hums beneath my ribs,a quiet ache that rememberswhat my mind has long forgotten.I sit beside it now.Not to fix,not to flee,but to listen.You are ancient, I whisper.You have carried storms and stories,love and leaving,birth and breaking.You ache,because you rememberhow...

Trying to Understand Me

I gave you kindness from my fragile heart,but now it feels shattered and torn apart.Words said in haste ring clear and true,what part of me is reflected when I look at you.I replay moments, searching for sense,each feeling vivid, each thought intense.Was it love that grew, or love that strained?A quiet question that still remains.My...