All posts filed under: 25 Pins in a packet women creators

The Penelopiad

Poems from “Strange Country” by Kimberly Campanello

These poems were first published by Tears in The Fence and are © Kimberly Campanello Kimberly Campanello was born in Elkhart, Indiana. She now lives in Dublin and London. She was the featured poet in the Summer 2010 issue of The Stinging Fly, and her pamphlet Spinning Cities was published by Wurm Press in 2011 . Her poems have appeared in magazines in the US, UK, and Ireland, including  nthposition , Burning Bush II, Abridged , and The Irish Left Review . Her books are Consent published by Doire Press, and Strange Country Published by Penny Dreadful (2015) ZimZalla will publish MOTHERBABYHOME, a book of conceptual poetry in 2016.   Strange Country can be bought from Penny Dreadful Publications Sanctus by Kimberly Campanello We Protect The Weak by Kimberly Campanello

‘The World Reduced to a Sound’ and other poems by Anne Tannam

Unfinished Business   On their wedding day his father said I’ll forgive you everything if you do right by this girl the unfinished education the empty table setting at Christmas the family name unpolished, unloved.   I never met my grandfather a man who lived under the glare of his wife but I remember my grandmother, a small woman her mouth eternally disappointed with life. Dad bringing us down to visit her to the small dark house on Bulfin Road where the furnishings took themselves too seriously.   Later in that same house, I found a studio photograph of the polished family; my grandfather, something familiar in the way he’s leaning against the table my dad, a beautiful child about three years old sitting beside his brothers and sisters, and there my grandmother upright and disapproving staring into the camera, daring it to blink.   That blonde haired little boy the man who loved his wife for sixty years couldn’t wait to cycle home from work gave up his wages every week cooked our fry …

‘Pillars’ and other poems by Alice Kinsella

Sea walk.   A grey day Bitter winter Biting wind And there was us   We got our shoes Wet and our toes Wrinkled In our socks   The sand clumped Our fingers curled And I tasted salt Coating your lips   Goose bumps rose On our arms And the hairs stood stiff Like tiny white flags   The air licked wet We bundled coats tighter And your fingertips put Bruises on my skin   You said we’d come back When the weather Turned And Wade barefoot.   The weather turned all right. But we never did, Did we?   Tea Leaves   Amongst the ghosts Of coffee dates Gone by Two old friends met to share a brew and some moments. They sat on rickety chairs out of doors in sticky rain. Shredded tobacco with shaking hands Into thin bent rollies And tugged on them to fill their mouths with anything but words. Coffee for her and a green tea for him A long repeated order a rehearsal of a memory And do you …

‘Settlement’ and other poems by Lizz Murphy

$600   Here for $600 you can buy a purebred Siberian husky pup a digital display microwave a proheat all rounder vacuum a freestanding cooker a mini laptop a man’s bike barely used There for $600 you can buy a 12 year-old girl not used at all © Lizz Murphy — from Six Hundred Dollars (PressPress 2010)   Through a Child’s Eyes   She is a child whose play eyes settle on the fine grains sweetly falling through sugar fingers She is a child whose factory eyes settle on a shatter of sequins like falling fire or a stitched up sky When night settles one girl will close her eyelids the other will want to tear hers off Here a forest will grow each leaf a child’s eye © Lizz Murphy   — previously published in Cordite Poetry Review #43 Masque — from Shebird (PressPress forthcoming)   The Morrigan   The Morrigan’s throat-hackles riffle air her baneful call forewarning strife cordoning off territory She hitches up her raven lips her tongue and gum reckoning Her …

‘View’ by Helen Harrison

View   He wrote a picture postcard to me; A fishing boat on the edge of Lough Currane Close to his home. Beside the window where he writes his news The view of fuchsia beside a stone-wall, Flecked with the sun. His side of the glass; depression, for years Dependent on medications; then the Further frustration; As invasion of cancer then threatened A future made all the more precious; Delivered in the post, Passing on this message; ‘I knew you’d enjoy The picture of the lake; thought it would do You the power of good; Though; my dear; I know you don’t need it Pray for me, and write soon,” he pleaded. View is © Helen Harrison Helen Harrison was raised on the Wirral, seven miles from Liverpool, by Irish parents, and has lived most of her adult life in the border countryside of Co Monaghan, Ireland where she is married with a grown-up daughter. During 2014 she was awarded a bursary from the Arts Council of Northern Ireland to study poetry for a week at The …