All posts filed under: A Saturday Woman Poet

‘Chasing Tails’ and other poems by Layla Hehir

Beware of the Hey Man   Beware of the Hey Man, he’s lurking in the street. That hipster-hatted Hey Man, the coolest guy you’ll meet. He’s sipping on his coffee, a pained artistic soul. The only thing that this guy’s drawing is the dole. His conversation sparkles as he bums a cigarette. He’s working on a book you know, it’s just not finished yet. Beware of the Hey Man, he’s drifting through the crowd. If you keep drifting every day man, the world won’t wait around. The screenplay never written, the painting never hung. You’ve wasted years and missed the boat but hey man, it was fun. Sharon   She scurries through life like a squirrel on cocaine. Her manner is harried, her banter inane. Give her one problem, she’ll come back with twenty. Don’t ask for ideas, you know she’s got plenty.   She’s sorted the inventory nobody needed. If she stays the latest it means she’s succeeded. She feels so hard done by, why all the complaints? Will anyone tell her she belongs …

‘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 …

‘Inishturk’ and other poems by Alvy Carragher

Confession   he gave me three Hail Marys, even though I couldn’t remember any sins to tell him and relied solely on things I’d read in Dennis the Menace, whispered words I’d heard my parents screaming, just to hear how they sounded, see his face fall and figure out how bad they were   I sat in hard pews looking at my sister bent over in remorse and wondered if God heard me lying, stayed head bowed long enough to look like I’d said mine   I slipped the Hail Marys into my back pocket and left my sins to sort themselves out   we made our way home, two miles of country road, my sister high on forgiveness   I pressed against the cold pane, our dog cracked against the chain, there was the smell of scrubbed floors, the mottle of memories stuck in our carpet   I waited for the slump of my sister through the door, slower up the last hill home, I had left her there, the slap of my bag …