All posts filed under: New Poetry

“Considering Their Pale Faces” and other poems by Erin Wilson

Seed tōgarashi / omoikonasaji / mono no tane the red pepper / I do not belittle / seedlings ~ Bashō I keep a chestnut in the breast pocket of my secondhand leather jacket. When I picked it I thought of (I don’t know why) my mother. The last time my first husband and I made love I knew my womb, because of my mind, was tipped at such an angle that no seed would germinate  there. This is also a true story. Our children and I collected acorns to use for a project we had not yet imagined. They exploded into weevil larvae all over the floor.   A Letter to My Ex Concerning Houseleeks I retrieve the hens and chicks, reminiscent of farms, from my sister’s yard and press them to the dirt in the small half-circle we dig in our own yard and then leave them there to grow and separate   The Mother The last bladder is emptied, the last gleek shot into the sink, the last struggling out of and into, …

“Eat Up” and other poems by Fiadha McLysaght

Eat Up   At home I bury my face in the crease of your elbow You cover my mouth as though quenching a flame In return, my fingernails incise the back of your hand as a gift to you coupled with a promise: I would never do that on purpose I cannot understand why you are not thankful I would be so grateful for that promise, so grateful someone had etched themselves into me   In the morning we sever ourselves on the rim of the tin can that encloses our breakfast haphazardly pried open to devour its kernel I blot my bleeding lip against my shoulder and leave a trail of watercolor stains moving down to the crease of my elbow I reach the back of my hand and realise that should you walk in it might appear as though I am purposefully applying hickeys to my body like a curious teenager   You beckon me into the kitchen once more Having forced open the can and fished out the discernible scraps of tin …

“Night Music” and other poems by Mary Shine

Lines Walk a side line, stepping at a right pace, resisting the intoxication of distasteful rhetoric. Steady the mind for the unprecedented reversal— tomorrow, a deepening unknown; a line I never thought could be, has been crossed. Illiberal States clutter of voices volume of noise a myriad of words exposed — an ugly new world If only it could be the week before all this uproar snapped at my heels like a snarling dog that wants to take me down. I might have had time to rearrange the furniture in my house. I might have set up a barrier or two at back and front doors. I might have put locks on my windows, chains on the gate – keeping the barking brute outside. I might still feel uncrushed– safe within walls of a liberal sanity. Colouring Our Way Forward Plum comes to mind, a deep down bruise. It’s taking over my walls. It’s blocking ease, bringing a swirl of losses. I sense it — out on the streets. I hear it echoed across too …

“affairs of the unsettled” and other poems by Olly Lenihan

The Robin   You show me your robin bright little bird you are gentle with him   He trusts you, dear, eats from your hand not scared in the slightest   Not as he should be not as I was you were not gentle with me   G.R.C.C. (Galway Rape Crisis Centre)   Through winding streets, I’d never seen before it didn’t feel like Galway at all more like a cardboard cut-out town   When I arrived it was silent, empty a maze of corridors identical flowery waiting rooms   A calm space, dangerous nonetheless I felt like if I fell asleep in one of those rooms they’d never find me again   I believe now that ghosts roamed those halls shells of those they’ve hurt white with nausea, I was one of them   Coming home, I caught snowflakes on my tongue pulled my stolen coat tight against the wind I felt so far from home. Still do–   I can’t tell what I am today whether I’m closer to me than I’ve ever …

A Celebration of Women’s Poetry on International Women’s Day 2019

Image: Srilata Krishnan Poethead has been celebrating the achievements of women writers, editors and translators for over a decade. International Women’s Day 2019 is no exception. This year I have decided to highlight the work of women poets from my international index and to introduce my readers to some new Irish poets. I am very grateful to all the poets who submit to the site, especially for their patience. I do not think we would be heading into eleven years this March 2019 without the generous support and uplift that comes from my daily correspondence. Thank you, C. Murray, March 2019 ‘Birth Mother’ by Srilata Krishnan   We are standing in front of the mirror, my daughter and I, brushing our hair and being vain when I think of the doctor’s question: “What was her birth cry like?” I don’t know and never will. She is fine, or will be, I know. But looking in the mirror and into her almond eyes, I wonder what she is like – her birth mother – if she …