All posts filed under: Contemporary Irish Women Poets

“Consumed” and other poems by Gillian Hamill

Clarity   So still It had to Come to the fore I could feel The tears drop And drip down On to my leg Fully-formed droplets I could count rain In the still Stilled mind forge chatter The sadness had nowhere to go But out. Canal Walk Home What is it About the power of the water To heal hurts Three lads sit on the boardwalk They hardly look like delicate sorts. And yet they gaze out Contemplate The rushing rippling mottles of the Undulating lake Can soothe souls. Car lights are reflected in Striking streaks, always dappling Buzzy thrill of Modern pyrotechnics In the most basic of Science laws. Edged by banking sycamore leaves I took one and put it in my pocket To describe it better. The smell of its earthy salt and bark Present. And the bare elegance Of stripped black branches Spearing themselves into the night air Soldered into the genesis Of life And yes they are Wild quiet. A little further on There’s a piece of street art says Only …

“St Christina’s Gut” and other poems (series) by Clare McCotter

Saint Teresa’s Heart   Claiming it a charism too diamond for the dark they hung her heart out to dry in a glass globe. Scraped and chafed with a life story the walls of its chambers reverberate still. A girl calling out to another, scratches gold swallows and nival lilies on woodwork none can unravel. A mystic with inquisitorial breath brimming the nape of her neck etches on stone: he has no body but my own immaculate and shining in fields of barley this flesh has flown. A nun crossing night’s cedar soul, writes on an acre of snow: O my sisters this I left, leaving only entrails filled with stars and garnets. An old woman contemplating a wide geranium sky pencils in its margins: morning has come all is light and all are inexorably pierced peregrine and moons circling earth’s fine tilth.   Saint Teresa’s Heart published Abridged 0-39 (March 2015), p. 12. (Revised since publication)   Saint Christina’s Gut   Of all the trees my favourite this sea green turning silver pine roosting me …

“Alice and her Stilettoes” and other poems by Lorraine Carey

Alice and her Stilettoes We always walked faster past her little house on the brae. Every so often she’d scuttle out and snare us, clutching a plastic bag with the highest heels, scuffed and peeling, ready for the cobbler’s vice. Her elfin face powdered, her fuchsia mouth pursed, the stain snaked onto her snaggled teeth, crept over her lips. She lay in wait, behind net curtains that twitched. Her ears hitched to the sound of the school bus, stalling, as we stepped off at Charlie Brown’s, stinking of fags. Once John got three pairs of spine benders, for repair, so she had a choice, for Mass on Sunday. Dressing Up I crept the three steps to your room, which smelt of musty aged breath and butterfly panic. Sandwiched between the glass and a chink in the net curtains, a Red Admiral, whose fluttering mirrored my tiptoed approach. I stumbled over slippers to your jewellery box. Fishing out pearls and the ruby ring, that swam off my finger and dropped back home into knotty chains and …

“Alethiometer” and other poems by Eleanor Hooker

Alethiometer for John & Fedelma Tierney   I have one marble only, glass-curled greens and blue. It’s kept inside a golden globe with turquoise studs, I swing it from a chain: my dowsing stone, my truth-seer. Once it knocked against an ancient head, cracked it so its walnut core Leaked sepia images of a being lived inside another time, another age, Before the image replaced the real and the real was more than shadow.   Outside the cave I glassed the play of light and shadow, And when my only marble fell from its golden globe onto a blue Tiled ocean floor, I swam after. The ancient head, wise with age, Told me he had too lost his, recalled the studs Inside the coloured orb, their curled blues, their seedy core His own two eyes: Learian days that left him sightless and a seer.   My ancient friend dismissed the lies of a mummer seer Whose falsest claim is that to love someone is to dispossess him of his shadow, To wipe out every trace …

A celebration of women’s poetry for International Women’s Day 2017

Featured image from “The Infinite Body Of Sensation” by Salma Caller   Salma Ahmad Caller is an artist and a hybrid of cultures and faiths. She is drawn to hybrid and ornamental forms, and to how the body expresses itself in the mind to create an embodied ‘image’. UK based, she was born in Iraq to an Egyptian father and a British mother and grew up in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. With a background in art history and theory, medicine and pharmacology, and several years teaching cross-cultural ways of seeing via non-Western artefacts at Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, she now works as an independent artist and teacher. salma caller artists statement [PDF] “In the Glass Coffin” by Kim Myeong-sun Today, I withstood agony again, Because my life is still lingering, Trapped in scarcely visible sorrow. If my body is trapped Like the life of a dinky, dinky thing, What is with all this sorrow, this pain? Like the bygone prince, Who had loved the forbidden woman, I believed I would live if I danced in the …