All posts filed under: Images

“English Breakfast Love Song” and other poems by Rhiannon Grant

English Breakfast Love Song   I am longing to pour out my soul to you in words which show my creativity and let off my head of steam but my soul is not so liquid it comes out in funny lumps uneven like old-fashioned sugar ready to make sure your tea is always too sweet and never sweet enough. Unengaged Concepts   Your thin God – onmithis, omnithat— is nothing beside the wildness of Goddess.   Love and suffering may have reasons but are not rational.   You say we can know about ‘chastity’ without living it.   Really?   Outside a seminar in a thick press of people could you look the right way maintain your dress just so be chaste in soul in ways you cannot describe?   You can use the word ‘God’ in a sentence.   So far, so good.   Do not presume to know what my God is like: how flowers dance for Her how Thou is there in silence how His sentences would make no sense to you. …

“mia council casa es tu council casa” and other poems by Ali Whitelock

i am the sea that january. prestwick beach. the sea heaves. swallows herself down like cough syrup in thick slow gulps. we’d sat on this rock just two days before, both of us with our backs to the world staring out across and into the thickness. i counted a thousand and one seagulls that day watched them huddle together, balance like storks on a single orange leg the other nestled up in the warmth of their soft white bellies as they, with uncharacteristic patience, waited for the rain that would surely fall and when the wind whipped up, andrew jumped from our rock pulled his emerald green kite from his rucksack tore off down the desolate beach his kite ploughing a trench in the sand behind him, eager for the gust that would lift it to where it wanted to be and every few seconds he’d turn around and run backwards untangling cords and calling out across the increasing distance between us, ‘c’mon on ali! c’mon!’ and i heeded his call, jumped from our rock …

bind; a waking book by C. Murray

Originally posted on Poethead:
They and I, O how far we have fallen! Just to burn here. ? You can now order bind via Turas Press bind cover photograph is © Christian Caller, original artwork Bound / Boundless © Salma Ahmad Caller bind (Turas Press, 2018) was launched in Dublin on October the 8th 2018. I include here, with thanks, some details from artist Salma Caller’s response to the text. This is a note of thanks and appreciation to those people who have supported the book from the outset. Liz McSkeane, at Turas Press has written an introduction here  She has taken me through the process beautifully, including a visit to the type-setter, discussions on the visual art aspect of the book, and at all times she has kept me up to speed with the process. Turas is a new press, I urge poets to explore the possibility of publishing there. Eavan Boland very kindly read the text and provided an endorsement for me, I am very grateful to her for responding to the text. I have…

‘A Proper Poem’ and other poems by Abigail Dufresne

Big Brother Is Watching.   I wanted to push off into the crashing, Batter against bridges Be swept away by currents   You preferred the shore No sharks on shore No undertows to rip away your red tide sister   I wasn’t allowed to kayak without you, And you weren’t willing to hold all my fire Even with all that water, my flames are still reckless   We were both cradled by waves, Rocked by the sound of seagulls, Ate our sandwiches out of plastic buckets   Last month I fumbled every fiery part of me into the open mouth of a kayak for the first time in years, Held the paddle in both hands, still pretending like I know what I’m doing, Each stroke splatters lake water onto my face, it gets into my mouth, I am smiling so big   You own a kayak of your own now, Step into it with much more grace than the hot coals on my feet could ever manage, There’s a hook for your fishing rod and …

‘Angel on High’ and other poems by Aoife Read

Angel On High   An angel came to me today, small and full of memories a hodgepodge of worn paint, and yellowed glue chipped on her edges and thick with the scent of my youth. Imperfect, old, barely there. You promised her to me when I was as small as her. Imperfect, young, barely there. You said to me, “When I die, you can have this angel, and she will always look after you, even when I’m not around anymore, to do it myself.” It took more than the two years since your death for her to find her way to me but today she finally found me. I’ve placed her somewhere high. Given her pride of place amongst childhood trinkets, things that I can’t bring myself to part with remnants of my smallness. top shelf, where all the best stuff is. She’s surrounded by gold now, real gold. The gold that grazed your weary flesh as you breathed your last. Rested on your pulse as you passed from one void to the next. The …