Poems by Michèle Vassal

Drunk as Brendan Behan Lovers    lovers their empty skins hang limp in opiate closets pulsing between insinuations of naphthalene and the barbitural scent of forgetting, they swing embittered and toxic, mothy costumes of a play that lingers only on faded posters and skin. On the wrong side of midnight drunk as Brendan Behan I scooped [...]

‘Yes, Minister’ a poem by John Walsh

While brushing my teeth I stop to think of the Minister's words and I feel how lucky we are indeed to have a Green Minister like him to tell us not to be wasting water running it while brushing our teeth. And I wonder if he's noticed that it's been pissing the rain for weeks [...]