All posts filed under: Poet Bloggers

‘Following the River Exe on a Wednesday Afternoon’ and other poems by Kate Garrett

Granny Woman The men leave us be; at times like this they take themselves out to the porch with pipes and tin cups. Everyone trusts the granny woman. She knows best, walks for miles when there’s a baby coming, brings her bag along. The bottles of green-smelling whiskey, fat leaves smooth and big as her hand, rolled into jars, rattle next to mud bases for the poultice. She eases the pains away, welcomes every life into the wild world, soothes swollen breasts so new young ones can feed. Now and then she brews up roots and stems for some silly girl with a problem. I’d say the men on the porch never know much about that. Some must believe they’re lucky. They never say anyhow. They don’t see what we see: the other side of the granny woman, when she doesn’t bring joy, calm and a blessing, when she carries pain in her bag, cramps, red blood, and a flat relief.   *Until the middle of the 20th century, it was typical for rural communities …

‘Eclogue’ and other poems by Tara Lynn Hawk

Eclogue   Recalcitransitory word bubbles Such a dovecote of lies And a blight of didactic, dissatisfied thought Moral originality fades, declines Providence us no longer timeless My infelicities discarded I retreat to my true philosophy Unlimited by my range of perception Back to particles elemental I will not join the minds left empty              and vacant of any flowering Ad infinitum   Originally published on Guy Farmer’s Poems & Poetry Blog Second publication The Dead by Tara Lynn Hawk   Untitled #3   There exists Those who wish to manifest Everything from lawless nothing Creating their own Scylla and Charybdis I seek the forest as Muse And smash society’s cement knot                    of aimless materialism   Originally published on Guy Farmer’s Poems & Poetry Blog Second publication The Dead by Tara Lynn Hawk   Iphigenia   Empty, blood splattered altar Created out of man’s own desire of glory Her own father left reason itself sepulchred    in a tandem endless It’s funeral …

“Love & its Edges” and other poems by Anna Walsh

is it is it ok that i am lying on my bed not having any useful or funny thoughts is it ok that i do this is it ok that i am lying on my bed unshowered and not replying to anyone is it ok that i do this for no grand gesture but just because i can be lazy sometimes is it ok that when i don’t have to work or go, or eat i like that i don’t have to is that ok to just waste some time blinking   in times of overwhelming panic   it’s sometimes too overwhelming and sad to be alive in the world and to know that being alive is overwhelming and sad either way you have to sit down and be quiet and think, fuck, i’m so lucky i love the people that i love i’m not a total prick and i can sleep when i need to   love & its edges   i have decided to start practising assertiveness, and telling people how frustrated it …

AND AGAMEMNON DEAD : An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry

Originally posted on Michael J. Whelan – Writer:
And Agamemnon DeadAn Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish PoetryEdited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann Hi everyone, I’m really happy to announce that a brand new anthology of contemporary Irish poetry has been published today (St Patrick’s Day) in Paris and I am also delighted to say that I have five poems included in the collection alongside a number of exciting and interesting new voices coming out of Ireland in the these early years of the 21st Century. And Agamemnon Dead An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry, Edited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann is published by Muavaise Graine (Paris 2015) – see https://www.facebook.com/mgversion2datura and among its 187 pages you will find poetry from Michael McAloran — Amos Greig — Dylan Brennan — Christine Murray — Arthur Broomfield — Peter O’ Neill — Rosita Sweetman — Michael J. Whelan — Anamaría Crowe Serrano — Peadar O’ Donoghue — Strider Marcus Jones — Colm Kearns — John Saunders — Kevin Higgins — Paul Casey…

‘Bees and The Authorities’ by Dave Lordan

Solinus, on the authority of Camden, incontrovertibly declares that there are no bees in Ireland. Keating impugns both Camden and Solinus stating Such is the quantity of bees, that they are found not only in hives, but even in the trunks of trees, and in holes in the ground.   Modomnoc the beekeeper, who was with St David in Wales, was followed to Ireland by an adoring swarm of bees.   Writing in the 8th century, Bede the so-called Venerable opines Hibernia … et salubritate ac serenitate aerum … Diues lactis ac mellis insula … Or, so Google tells us, Ireland has a fine climate, and is a land rich in milk and honey.   In 1920 Benedictine Brother Adam hybridized the Buckfast Bee. According to The Economist in 1996 Brother Adam was unsurpassed as a breeder of bees. He talked to them, he stroked them. He brought to the hives a calmness that, according to who saw him work, the sensitive bees responded to.   The Buckfast Bee – Brother Adam’s supreme though far …