Monday, September 5, 2016

A Culture Night Miscellany in Rathmines

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I'm really looking forward to joining  Kevin Hora, Maggie Breheny and Anne Marie McGowan for A Culture Night Miscellany of poetry, mus...

Do we torture what we don't like the look of ?

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Marine. Prostrate on the beach, a slop of sea pulse, a glob black as chewed tobacco fallen from the lip. My mother sa...
Thursday, September 1, 2016

Old Man

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The tyre hanging in the garden is proof that children used to  play there; but in the breeze it’s a shaking head. Today snowfla...
Sunday, August 28, 2016

A poem with a Mantegna painting

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The Lamentation over the Dead Chris Mantegna, in his lifetime, was criticised for imitating sculpture: the loss of warmth that ...
Friday, August 26, 2016

Goodnight to my wished for lover

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Goodnight,  goodnight. ̶ .   I’d like to smash goodnight down  onto your head                  and with those stars write l...
Monday, August 22, 2016

The Fire

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A passion/a destruction. I am in a fire. I am the fire.  It is a place. I am within it.  It is a destruction. That will give. T...
Friday, August 19, 2016

A Brief Note on an Imminent Famine.

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Everyone here will starve: each bone will be a stripe, each hand a bowl, each leg a stick. Then there'll be the glutton...
Monday, August 15, 2016

A Snagging Memory

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Before The End. The bedside lamp shone in the pool of her eye; it made her teeth translucent, runnelled her face. Daylight...
Thursday, August 11, 2016

Fragile Nature

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Interference. A fish is dreaming, elbow deep. With my fingertip I draw a herring-bone across his heaven; he bolts. No...
Sunday, August 7, 2016

What Does He See Where I See Only Stone?

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What does he see where I see only stone? The man is still, his gaze fixed on the ground but that gaze compels you to look again; ...
Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Thou shalt not

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THE GARDEN OF LOVE                   from Songs of Experience by William Blake I went to the Garden of Love,    And s...
Saturday, July 30, 2016

The Less Trodden Ireland

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Every year hundreds of thousands of tourists travel from Dublin to Galway, a distance of 208km (130 miles). They come for a taste of ...
Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Bridge Life

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It was, of course, bridge life: the monk-like garb of old men, their herring-boned elbows on the parapet, at home with those an...
Friday, July 22, 2016

Leaving

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Loch Ryan is Pink Loch Ryan is pink. Stranraer is curling up in a corner with its people shrinking inside it. I'm watch...
Sunday, July 17, 2016

A Sad Week

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It is the week of the Nice atrocity; beyond the Gap, I see, draped over a roadside memorial stone, a tee-shirt flapping in the wind. ...