All posts filed under: Small Books

“Iago’s Curse” and other poems by Liza McAlister Williams

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September Tenth, 2001   Outside the store, at the sidewalk sale, the breeze lifts each dress again as the shop girl tries to smoothen them: musses the chic brown challis pleats, ruffles the flamestitch voile whose turquoise and chartreuse V’s seem borrowed from another day. Sun, when it shines on this scene, is playful, peeping between steely clouds whose sky business does not admit playfulness. The baking, lazy summer’s over – the long summer when the towers that are about to fall amidst us in ruins have so far felt and withstood only the earliest tremors of their collapse.   Serenade (after Kevin Young) Rain popping on the air conditioner like hail on a tin roof like a handful of pebbles against a window like the pinging of a car engine cooling off – you can make a story to explain being alone again on a drenching night: a hobo curled in the hay of another anonymous barn a virgin with cold feet ignoring the signal to elope a travelling salesman out of gas in …

‘The Last Fire’ and other Poems by Helen Harrison

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CROSSROADS   Nineteen forty-five was like that Free-wheeling to the crossroads; Fifteen miles later; her own birth-place; Travelling was the best part, the wind at her back, A greeting ahead. News from home….   Roaming the familiar lanes, sisters Continuous chatter; away from the Clatter of feeding hungry hens, pigs and Cows. She could roam without children, For a day: To pause for some rest.   A small slip of time away from the chores That shaped her life. No sooner had the Ceili begun, it was time for the door: among Promises to write, feeling satisfied to have rested Those tired limbs. She’d set off, her frame;   Feeling heavier, cycling up hills, the thrill Of the annual visit finished; her spirit slightly Diminished, yet younger. She’d relay through letters, How when she got back to the crossroads….the First thing she’d hear; to spoil her wonder   Were her pigs squealing with the hunger..   PASSING SUNSETS   Evening, and there is nothing To tempt me indoors.   Warmed from a day spent in …

“The Dream Clock” and other visual poetry by Susan Connolly

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Susan Connolly’s first collection of poetry For the Stranger was published by the Dedalus Press in 1993. She was awarded the Patrick and Katherine Kavanagh Fellowship in Poetry in 2001. Her second collection Forest Music was published by Shearsman Books in 2009. Shearsman published her chapbook The Sun-Artist: a book of pattern poems in 2013. She lives in Drogheda, Co. Louth.

What Kind of Love Leaves a Cunt-scar? by Chris Murray

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What Kind of Love Leaves a Cunt-scar ? the bee-sting I arise to close the heavy window against cold fog and her woods are littered with little death of sucked out corpses and dessicate(d) fruit flies and I feel the scar snaking ridged against and spider scatters into her charnel house fast-as-light and her webs are an ocean of exoskeletons   © Chris Murray, a version if this poem appeared in And Agamemnon Dead: An Anthology Of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry.The official launch of the anthology will be take place in Skerries, Ireland on the 23rd May during the Donkey Shots, Skerries First International Avant Garde Poetry Festival Christine Murray is a graduate of Art History and English Literature (UCD, Belfield, Dublin 4). She is a City and Guilds qualified restoration stonecutter (OPW). Her chapbook Three Red Things was published by Smithereens Press in June 2013. A collection of poems Cycles was published by Lapwing Press in Autumn 2013 . A dark tale The Blind was published by Oneiros Books late in 2013. Her …

‘Crystal Clear’ and other poems by Eileen T O’Neill

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Crystal Clear   She sits alone within her own cocoon, Shrouded from her entire surroundings. Eyes stare without seeing today’s world, The sound of talking is silent in her mind. Her crystal lamp is abandoned from care, All belongings are deserted from attention. Her perspective is internally facing forever, Her gaze is transparent in its sad emptiness. This journey is taken in isolation and alone, Farewells too late as her departure had gone. Her dementia deteriorated in a sneaky fashion, Only memories enliven her past participation.   © Copyright Eileen T O’Neill 20/02/2015   Solitude’s Soliloquy   Loneliness is an outpost endured, Alone in isolation bereft of friends. A far flung niche deserted in tundra, Or lost in the coldness of city living. It shrouds demeanour and self-belief, Belonging is seemingly for all others. Unattached except for wishful dreaming, Solitude does not placate a lonely mind. Seclusion is at times a necessity of desire, Its calmness affords tranquillity to muse. Reflections gaze and ponder their silences, In this solitudinous mode one draws breaths. A soliloquy …