Tuesday, October 31, 2017

She Leaves

She leaves
a country of mountain tops,
pencil points in nothing
and crosses on current arrows
to where the sun shines on a space.

look over the rails,
cheering ferries on the sea

of her worries  ̶  
or that is where she bobs  ̶
among all the sparklets
on the seatop.
And fears
scratch their fingernails
down the glass

she has left;
not left,
not left.

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Growing Up

  Shortly you will trace lines,
  join the herds,
  leave a trail among the trails
  meandering over the hills.
  We are part of some eccentric’s
  I wish I could tell you more,
  my little love.

Friday, October 20, 2017

Life is glass

I fall, fuck up my face;
my arms and fingers
pouring blood
and I don’t even feel it.

Life is glass.
I discover that I can’t mind myself:
I can’t make the decisions
that protect me.

I meet my broken face in a mirror;
it accuses me.
I stare at it;
I stare at myself.

Sunday, October 15, 2017


The longer I am paddling this canoe:
the more distant my destination,
the less I am.

The less you see in me,
the less I see in me,
the more is light.

The more is light,
the less I dream,
the more all is dream.

Friday, October 13, 2017


When I reminisce about my childhood,
I am running with my schoolbag on my back;
exulting in the speed: one leg extended forward,
the other crooked at the knee,  foot in mid-air;
and a broad grin across my face, brimming happiness.
The church is in the background with a brilliantly coloured Calvary grotto,
and there’s the school and the Harrison Hall, all shining
against a cloudless azure sky.

And all of that is gone
as suddenly as a blizzard  strikes with the flick of a wrist. 

Monday, October 9, 2017

Films in your face

I am watching the film in your face:
your enjoyment crinkling
at the corners of your eyes,
teeth catching your lower lip,
blood draining from the pressure,
draining back as soon.

Furrows on your forehead,
I am smiling at your absorption,
want to stub them out with my thumb
but you catch me looking
so I turn back to the screen
till your face is mine again.

The words on my lips
remain unsaid. A time may come
when, not having words,
I will wish I had spoken; a time
when love being tested, I could say,
I used to watch films in your face.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Literary Events this week/weekend in Roscommon and Leitrim

Late notice this, but not too late if you live in the north midlands or northwest. A very engaging two days of talks and readings entitled Irish Women in Literature. Speakers include Nuala O'Connor, Prof. Luke Gibbons, Professor Christine Kinealy, Jessamine O'Connor and others. Free readings, but booking necessary.

also this weekend in Carrick-on-Shannon

Irish Mountain Festival in Carrick -on-Shannon 6th - 8th Oct. 
Participants include celebrated American writer and folklorist Henry Glassie, King of the Castle author Eugene McCabe and Ireland Professor of Poetry Eileán Ní Chuilleanáin, novelist Pat McCabe, migrant rights campaigner Bernadette Devlin McAliskey and London Imam and sean-nós singer Muhammad Al-Hussaini  among the participants at the festival in Carrick-on-Shannon.Tickets €60/€40

The End of Love, A Chill Awakening


He, who covered my body

with snail-trails,

whose hands were wrack

swept over my skin,

kisses on my back

a colony of shell fish.

He, who would have crossed a mountain range

for an hour between my thighs

now crawls over me

with wizened passion.

Gutted of love,

he comes clawing,


and insults me with lies

that have made greater pincers

of his mouth than his hands.

What does he see in me ?

Meat to excite him,

his groper's desires,

even his fingertips betray him.

But no more,

the erotic becomes ugly,

decrepit manoeuvres disconnected

from their original meanings;

the touches stain you.

I have watched him slither from my gaze

a thousand times a night

while slipping the word love

from his vocabulary;

watched him develop this communication

of knives and forks.