A Saturday Poem by a Woman Author
Caught in the Cross Hairs I bury my face in the thickness of your hair the darkness, the softness, the smell raw brain sweat, your innermost thoughts desire become scent beneath the softness the hard skull skin a barrier you need and I want to penetrate to enter see the wiring observe…
Máire Mhac an tSaoi poetry Original Irish versions followed by English translations . Ceathrúintí Mháire Ní Ógáin A fhir dár fhulaingeas… Ceathrúintí Mháire Ní Ógáin I Ach a mbead gafa as an líon so – Is nár lige Dia gur fada san – B’fhéidir go bhfónfaidh cuimhneamh Ar a bhfuaireas de shuaimhneas id bhaclainn Nuair…
Doris Lessing died a matter of days after I had received permission to carry some of the poems from her Fourteen Poems on this blog indefinitely. I had put up the following note and message and see no reason to remove it. I am happy that I have carried her work for a few years. I wrote a…
The weft of Margaret Atwood‘s The Penelopiad is contained in and revealed through the chorus voiced by the twelve maids hung by Telemachus (on Odysseus’ orders) just after the men returned from their manly adventures. Margaret Atwood runs the chorus line throughout her Penelopiad, the executed maids sing their songs at ten intervals in the book. I was…
Nuala Ní Chonchúir is a writer and poet, who has contributed poems and translations to the blog over sometime. I am linking here to her poetry collections page La Pucelle In the hush of my father’s house, before dusk rustles over the horizon, I take off the dress my mother made -it’s as ruby red as…
