He Didn’t Bite, NaPoWriMo

He was tame, if truth be told-a curtain twitching kind of fool-heartedguard dog making studies of how the othersmade their way through the humdrum.He was sturdy in routine, if not stature-nose in the paper after the Six O’clock newson the far edge of the sofa every night,inside-out sweaters on a Saturdayand passing round the basketinContinue reading “He Didn’t Bite, NaPoWriMo”

The Lounge of No Departures

In the airport barhe was wearing my eyes;circles ripped with hurricanes. The wind reached for my hand,saw me old,took contradictions & splashed themon my brow. Should I make them valentines;the trails, the test? One loves more. One loves less. This ring we’re in; let them lose, win? In the airport barhe was wearing my eyes;circlesContinue reading “The Lounge of No Departures”

There are limits to what we can hold on to

We pick things, pull things,up from under, roots, weeds,things we dropped, things to distract,flowers to fill the spaces since vacated.We pick things, pull things. We keep things, store things,in boxes, under beds, in sheds,under sheets; your stool of supportwhere you watched us, running; out, off, gone.We keep things, store things things we didn’t know, thenhowContinue reading “There are limits to what we can hold on to”

Between the Sea and the Stars, There are Bright Lights

For Rhona Greene, Ankh Spice and Matthew M C Smith Darker days catch brighter lights,Sitting by bay-windows enriched with hopeFalling Into dreams.I close my eyes and we ride bikesWhere the sea sways to the beat of the shore, We are Sandycove and silly,We slip south; the sand now snow, a soft shuffleOver waves now carpetsContinue reading “Between the Sea and the Stars, There are Bright Lights”


Sun shines over sea shell. One holds an echoand the other; a memory of how it feltbeneath the wave, before it dug up the word drought. From this angle, I can see the water consideringits return, but I hold the perspective of distanceand the shell; only sand. And that echo of the sun burning. SunContinue reading “WHEN ONE HAS PERSPECTIVE AND THE OTHER JUST THE SHELL”


  There can be earthquakes in little towns, far from tectonic plates, on little streets, rarely shaken where we sat, once, on the wall of a garden now obsolete, the summer burning through our cool-lessness as we trembled beneath attractions we didn’t have the words to understand while eyes watched from windows, trying to translateContinue reading “LEARNING TO CLIMB WALLS”


  I took photos of us once, together, to remember all I had before I set off to find myself in other fields that other lands had whispered of other welcomes across other waves, moments to return to later as I navigated new roads, strange turns and gates I had to manage alone. Now, ourContinue reading “TO CAPTURE EACH OTHER TOGETHER”


  You loved watching football and found joy in the obituaries; the last lines of life after it had been lost. You liked watching the news and thrived while washing the car, in the driveway, on a Saturday and maybe again on a Sunday after handing the missal out at mass, rubbing and scrubbing overContinue reading “OBITUARIES. FATHER’S DAY”

Paul Stephenson

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