STILL A SWAY TO THE FINAL ANCHOR

  Sea claims what man can no longer cradle but time’s tales can be freed from nasty nets when the wreck is beyond want, when the cable has been cut and we come to the call of the current. Rough becomes rust becomes wrecked becomes ruin, might becomes memory. Day is done but night unfolds […]

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THE THINGS THAT LEAVE US COLD, A PROSE PIECE

  Part I           I stood by the open window and watched and waited, surrounded on all sides by the wisteria that clung on as time passed by and forgave nothing. It felt like I was watching the seasons change as the leaves lost their gleam in the sunlight, found their […]

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UP FOR AIR

  Diving is not that difficult- I’ve held onto trickier things over time than just this breath. Diving is not what’s difficult, not that descent into darkness- it is the light that blinds, it is the sun that burns. Diving is not that difficult- we swim into silence, current cuts movement, we make moments of […]

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RANDOM REASONS

  I live in a country where people say thank you to the drivers of busses- honestly. In the mornings, on school runs and city excursions, a country where people say thank you to the drivers of busses, even at middle door exits where they’ll nod, all the same, to the front, to the driver […]

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IN CONSIDERATION OF WHAT TO PRAISE

  Let us praise the Son returned, Mother and not rush to bash the dishes in the sink at the sound of how much I have grown since that shore where I broke from your breast, surely I was meant to be weaned before we both grew wizened. Let us praise the burial of Agony […]

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THE DRAGON SLAYER OF DOOLIN, HIKES AND HAIKU

  The Dragon Slayer in Doolin Brown cow seeks shelter Such weight under so much rock Hush, soft comes the sea My past is not buried beneath all that rock and weed like I first witnessed. My past has become moss and mould that has made more of these monstrous walls than I first saw. […]

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THE WHOLE

  Remembering Nana Frances on Nollaig na mban (Women’s Little Christmas) Evolution 13. The Whole My grandmother, whose name was Frances and not Nana as I used to think, started baking cakes for Sunday’s tea on a Monday morning, slow and steady was her process like her concentration while waiting for pennies to drop from […]

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