All posts filed under: Blasphemies

‘Cry Oceans’ by Mary Cecil

Cry Oceans   Cry oceans and weep the seas Where waves flow over The endless motions of life The swimming perfection that flees   The Armageddon of destruction By all means possible The mechanisation of death The beginning of the end   For whales and tuna to consume The mercury to garnish The insatiable greed to fill The merciless plunderers   To crush and pulp for cattle The wanton waste of the world That flies in the face of God And wilts in the sun   The lonely song of the whale That echoes in silent reproach The albatross that soars Over oceans of emptiness   The flowering coral that dies Blooming in acid The hymn of death Beneath blue heaven   © Mary Cecil, Rathlin Island   ‘Written in protest to the mechanisation of fishing with super trawlers‘ Mary Cecil is the mother of large family and Grandmother to eleven. The widow of Rathlin Island’s famous campaigner, diver, author (Harsh winds of Rathlin) Thomas Cecil. Lover of Rathlin Island, Northern Ireland’s only inhabited island. Mary …

‘Janus- His Mistress Responds’ and other poems by Peter O’Neill

Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus, by Diego Velasquez (1617-1618) For Máire Holmes Through the serving hatch, or silent butler, The Christ is seen at the moment of revelation, While the maid, in the foreground, averts her eyes From the immediate task at hand. The bowl, which is falling from the table, Like a globe, and which has just startled her Is certainly for mixing the ingredients; As the garlic lying temptingly to her side would testify. With it, no doubt, the contents of the mortar; Pepper and the ‘fine spice’ to add to her Dobladura De Carnero – Hercules being Mythologised in the toasted hazelnuts. Circumnavigating the room, bread breaks to thunder clap, And the bowl erupts at the announcement of the returning of the lamb. Dies Solis… An unseen yellow dwarf, over one million KMs In diameter, transforming 620 million mega tons Of hydrogen into helium per second, in a process Of thermo nuclear fusion, generates luminance, Which is transported upon solar winds, Taking eight minutes and sixteen seconds to touch The …

‘Punishment’ and other poems by Mary Kennelly

Punishment   The music woke me up To early morning winter dark. I have been neglectful of my craft These past few months. Now this new dawn is filled With unexpected promise. Before long all those other things I had set before the sound are gone. I am the mad dog Chasing the wild boar of song. I only crave the tune. But ill-use refuses to reward. My words will not be moulded, They jostle and jar and scorn the path My meagre skill sets out. Locked in this struggle, I begin my day with failure, The melody is gone.   Treasure Trove   When she is gone They’ll sort out all her stuff – Clothes and shoes to charity In seemingly endless bags – Jewellery, paintings, ornaments – All divided out or sold – The books, to God knows where. Then they’ll find the box, Her lifelong treasure chest. Inside a silver-plated wedding coin, First locks, first shoes, first teeth, A plastic holy-water bottle, Price intact at thirty pence, Gift from a three-year-old, Home-made …

‘The Haircut’ by Kevin Higgins

The Haircut   I had it imported from Ancient Egypt, installed upon my skull by JobBridge slaves grateful to be allowed touch a scalp as potentially valuable as mine.   I can smell opportunity at a thousand yards, and in the blink of a synthetic eyelash, I’m off sniffing its however questionable arse. I’m Hillary Rodham Clinton without the young idealist in bad glasses phase.   I use Twitter as a place to practice graciousness, and would sacrifice my favourite granddad to the flames, and enthusiastically throttle both of yours, for the chance to have the Renga I wrote last week translated into Welsh.   I’m small but very well made, apart from my hunchback soul, which I keep under lock and key in a music box given me by my auntie, about whom the less said the better   KEVIN HIGGINS Kevin Higgins is co-organiser of Over The Edge literary events in Galway City. He has published four collections of poems: Kevin’s most recent collection of poetry, The Ghost In The Lobby, was launched …

‘When You Are Old’ by Kevin Higgins

When You Are Old . after William Butler Yeats When you are old and bald and full of crap and sitting there in threadbare rags, reach across to your old bookcase for a dusty old copy of a girlie mag. Fondle it, then, a little sadly in your withered veiny hands. If you can manage to pull the pages apart, take one last glad glance at a naked tart. Remember how once you could get it up, before your pecker just shrivelled up. © KEVIN HIGGINS Kevin Higgins is co-organiser of Over The Edge literary events in Galway City. He has published four collections of poems: Kevin’s most recent collection of poetry, The Ghost In The Lobby, was launched at this year’s Cúirt Festival by Mick Wallace TD. His poems also features in the anthology Identity Parade – New British and Irish Poets (Bloodaxe, 2010) and one of his poems is included in the anthology The Hundred Years’ War: modern war poems (Ed Neil Astley, Bloodaxe May 2014). His poetry was recently the subject of …