Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Trees

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Trees keening winter nights away, their wails woven into the wind; heads of hair like seaweed taken from the strand, flails knotted in ...
Friday, August 25, 2017

Don’t say too much

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or you’ll give it away. Peter Doig’s paintings are poetic; magical, mysterious, beautiful and different. Canoes and boats featu...
Tuesday, August 22, 2017

I am weave

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I am weave, flows bare bones of the land, roots, blood my stealth; streams mountain hair, hillsides’ ruminations, meadow f...
Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Writer’s block

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Nothing lands on this plain; nothing moves but its seeping emptiness. Goggled pilot high above this snow-gagged wilderness,...
Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Swallows performed by Garonne

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Elaine O'Dea's song Swallows performed by Elaine and Elisabeth, together Garonne.
Saturday, August 5, 2017

The Trees at the Rath*

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Trees keening winter nights away, their wails woven into the wind; heads of hair like seaweed taken from the strand, flails kno...
Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Meteorite

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Meteorite When the starlings were the full of the sky, we stood, rooted, gob-smacked, exhilarated beyond words, knowing that no ...
Monday, July 31, 2017

Cailleach and the Púca

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The Cailleach* stole apples from her rival Bríde and stored them till they were rosy-cheeked merry. They were in this condition when th...

Spirals, Turnings at Newgrange

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The sun enters the passage; I meet him on my way; he touches my head like water. I emerge into day; in the chamber the su...
Friday, July 28, 2017

A Murmuration of Starlings

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                            Starlings swarming, flashing inward, ballooning outward, spiralling, spilling silver-bellied, undula...
Sunday, July 23, 2017

A colon-wrenching verse

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When the alphabet was blown from the branches and commas were sitting bare, a question mark swooped like an eagle to carry one off to...
Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Two lovers were

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Two lovers were waves of a gentle sea, one on the other: two crests, three hollows surging, rolling, breaking in ecstatic unison ...
Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Trap

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I was in a hawthorn, trapped in its branches; all arms, hands and fingers prevailing on me not to struggle. I was an exhibi...
Thursday, July 13, 2017

A small but not insignificant story of Dublin

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I’m standing under a tree, out of a  shower, and when it’s over, I stay there, under the tree. A police car arrives, they’re wonderi...
Wednesday, July 12, 2017

A dog called Goya

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A dog called Goya. That oh so normal expression mired in what? The morass in which, everyday, I cannot find my le...