All posts filed under: Maps

‘Bind’ by Chris Murray

Bind   if there are birds here then they are of stone   draught of birds / flesh bone wing claw in grass,   rilled etch gathers to her nets dust and fire / tree-step (again)   bird claw impinge and lift.   surely light would retain in silica’s cast or flaw ?   bind again   it gathers outside the perimeter not wanton gargoyle nor eagle it is  of-one-piece       seamed   migratory pattern of   umber dawns rolling a black frenzy down condensed corridors   bind I and bind again were first published in Deep Water Literary Journal (August 2015) Thanks to Tom and Eve O’Reilly at Deep Water Literary Journal for publishing ‘bind’. The new DWLJ is online now and it is well worth a visit. I am adding here a link to Tom D’Evelyn’s blog. Tom wrote about the ideas in ‘bind’. I am, and have been very grateful to Tom who has written so graciously about my work for sometime now. Poets require readers who react to and understand the work, especially when …

“Summer Haiku” by Maeve O’Sullivan

  summer haiku     choppy Irish Sea failing to dislodge this red starfish         poppy bed: the unopened ones as lovely as the blooms         a garden full of sunflowers swaying tall      muddy summer frogpond    no splash             reject samsara ? this wild summer river this wild path         these stone walls hemming him in too- cinnabar caterpillar         cloudy afternoon… my sweet pea flowers becoming peas     A Train Hurtles West     morning downpour- we have both dreamt about our mothers         lingering in my small bathroom… mum’s perfume         Auld Lang Syne in the background- I sign her DNR request              mother dying       a train hurtles west         death cert. incomplete   granny’s maiden name         All through the Night: this out of tune version strangely moving       …

‘Leda Revised’ and other poems by Celeste Augé

Ode More happy love! more happy, happy love! Forever warm and still to be enjoy’d…’ —JOHN KEATS, Ode on a Grecian Urn   You lie across my thighs as I write, my bone-warming hot water bottle, pure latex, guaranteed to delight the most discriminating women, mottle their thighs as they lie deep in their beds, pretending this rubber sack of warm water could never replace their lover.   The women of Ireland drive with you across their laps, hand-knit covers helping to keep you warm. More love, the patterns passed down from mothers and grandmothers, still enjoyed. They knit covers for each new bottle, battle the cold, inside and out.   Every woman remembers her first. I was twelve, three hours after landing in Ireland, in Granny’s front bedroom. You are the best invention after hot water on tap, and when old age hits and you warm through rheumatism— not period pains—I hope to bits I will have more to hug than my hottle (Granny’s word for hot water bottle).   Women Improve With the …

‘the goldberg variations’ by Chris Murray

scene 1: the goldberg variations   a kiosk at the end of a dark train in an abandoned travelyard: two shadowmen ravel orange round about their nothing much the magician in his moth coat appears in a vaudeville flourish. your piano balcony is high above the narrow stone street, your piano plays the rescued Goldberg, plays, and plays through its charred pages, – their black edges. it is the gothic quarter men move in their coffins.  their coffins are white with crosses on (red)  their coffins are on narrow shelves of (stone) aside an archivum (shades of gray):     a shady tree     an etched stone     a skull and crossbones Scene 2 : the goldberg variations     that indestructible piano! the undestroyed Goldberg is playing (again) wending its tones above a skatepark of bullet-glass (the melody plays, yes). I see that:  the romans left their life-size eggs and urns below the city  stitches pull and sting on the underside of my elbow (pain) softening the blow here and here there is no stitching …

‘modern art’ and other poems by Anamaría Crowe Serrano

the stress clinic it’s ok no one need know only negligible impending threat i’m going to leave you let healing happen i’m turning left into the coffee shop it’s easy like this one step one more comforting to sit even on seats slashed by spooks i can wait learn patience is learnt on the edge other worlds where others wait for the breath something that “presents” a hiatus between one distress and the nest you’re reluctant to leave it’s ok the world is out there still the density you love suspended in space preparing the next problem for you to solve you’re good at that talented are you ok? me too it’s just the acid sprung on a tensile in my stomach at ulica Freta, 16 – before radium or polonium the wood seeps into your bones in a room that lives as if its grain & whorls were part of your nervous system – smooth marrow – polished in your tea one lump, two meticulous the molecules contract till they disappear optical illusions have …