Still children seeking their way home
Still children seeking their way home

We are grown people we claim.
To prove it our lips form a tight line,
our faces show wrinkles
which remind us of years of
crying after lost loves,
burying friends,
holding babies,
doing the washing and cooking.

Behind all the pretence, the masks,
the make up to cover the sharp lines,
one child meeting another,
forever trembling,
hoping to make sense.

We are grown people we claim
but deep down, if only we had eyes to see,
we are still children seeking our way home.


– –

Poems chosen from an anthology of poems called ‘For Crying Out Loud – Voice of an Exile’, published early 2016.


Bettina John von Freyend-Peterseil was born at the end of the 2nd World War in Germany. She exiled herself early on, travelling the world, never able to settle anywhere for long. She now lives in the West of Ireland, where she and her husband built their home, raised their children and tended the land. She has been teaching, writing and in the past 15 years creating her collage work.

The poetry compilation ‘For Crying Out Loud- voice of an exile’ comes at a time when globally people are forced to move on a large scale. Bettina offers a personal account of the mindset of a self imposed exile. She reveals her disconnection and her longing to belong mirroring a world also steeped in separation.



Poetry by Bettina

Disconnected, heavily defended, I avoid you when I pass you in the street, our eyes don’t meet, like empty shuttles they seem to be travelling nowhere. Disconnected, heavily defended, I...
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Lakishma 2

Poetry by Bettina

I have grown old and tired. My hair turned white over years of longing and reaching for Lakishma. I have looked for Lakishma around every corner and beneath every stone....
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There is a time

Poetry by Bettina

There is a time to hang on and a time to let go. Now is the letting go time, the ending time, leaving the shore time, handing over my will...
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How do you make green?

Poetry by Bettina

In school they threw her out of painting class. She was useless at colours, she says. Her face is wrinkled now. Her frame has shrunk to the size of a...
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धड़कते दिलों की एक किताब

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Poetry by धड़कते दिलों की एक किताब

धड़कते दिलों की एक किताब पन्ने तो सफ़ेद थे पर स्याही लाल थी शब्द अभी भी ज़िंदा थे उसमे और उन शब्दों में छुप्पी कुछ यादें थीं बातें तो पुरानी...
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All That is Given

Poetry by Frank Golden

Hard wind on the turn at Cappaghmore. You drive on, on the cusp of light, along the old road past Mortyclough. To think it’s taken me a lifetime to cool...
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