All posts tagged: Skylight #47

“Thin Places” and other poems by Eithne Lannon

Thin Places The wild meadow weave, the strand, places of late summer, autumn, a stone skimming water, suspended in air, its slow motion glide punctuated by the drop, touch, rise of a ghostly presence, this wary hesitation between water and stone, mysterious as the rift between music notes in air, unsettling the familiar light which shudders again with tiny rainbow bubbles holding air-drops in. And then the final slide over gravity’s edge, into polished bottomless depths, beyond the belly-aching threshold⎯ dropping, ever dropping, into the quiet whispering, the unspeakable tenderness. Binn Éadair I have waited through the long winter grey for the slow clean curve of spring, the sun a warm breath on my neck, its lips glossed with a damp breeze. Far below, the murmurings of wind and water weave a familiar braid of intimacy, the whole of the blue sky is stretched wide, light falls on us, a lovers’ blanket spread on sand. This moment is already time’s fugitive; sweet rain pooled in a dockweed’s leafy pocket, the soft unwrapping of downy buds, …

‘The Road Taken’ and other poems by Kate Ennals

Cuckoo Before she was mine she drank red wine and spirits With class, in Egypt and Paris An educated forties woman From Wales, aquiline nose, my brother’s eyes Stylish in scarves, tight belt, full skirts, Intelligent. Conversation, politics. A woman of intellect. Studious, serious She pursued kingdoms of change But with each revolution comes sex And she became history. Mine Look, here I come. Cuckoo, cuckoo Before I arrived, my mother was beautiful.   After Alvy Carragher’s ‘Mother’ I have just read a poem: ‘Mother’ By Alvy Carragher over and over: “You said it was love at first sight” Mother, I don’t recall you saying that On this couch where I now lie where, as a child, I snuggled into your woven threads of bosom and breath The words, ‘I love you’? No I would remember Though I heard the scream you held at arm’s length Its tentacles tangled in our threaded embrace.   DNA I come home from time to time Motionless, I stand, glide down Steel de-escalates underfoot My eyes swivel, theatre bound …

‘Live Bulbs’ and other poems by Katherine Noone

In May You are everywhere. Arthur Bells’ yellow bloom fragrant and fleeting, whitethorn buds abound. Mint makes it’s way to our door, ready for picking. Swallows sing a sweet song as they soar. On my route I detour, lured by a lilac in bloom. This month, of the mothers. Our Village in the Fifties Vibrant. Most houses endowed with broods of children. We run around freely unhindered by snatchers and traffic. Play out in the fields rich with daisies and daffodils. Scale over walls to orchards their branches bowed low with ripe rosy apples, maimed by migration it succumbs to stillness and silence. Neighbours reach out. Sheepdogs wait. Footballs deflate. Live Bulbs After red and yellow weather alerts when floods and storms subside. Broken tree twigs around you garden soil stripped aside. Your emerald shoots remain sturdy and serene. With enough resilience, robustness to turn a blue moon green. Live Bulbs and other poems are © Katherine Noone Katherine Noone’s first poetry collection Keeping Watch was published by Lapwing Press (2017). Her poems have appeared in Orbis, …

‘The Music of Stones’ and other poems by Colette Colfer

Stepping Stones   Here are my hands, outstretched for your bare feet so that each step of your path through darkness and gravel bits splintered with thorns will meet uncalloused palms of moccasin softness.   This is your extraordinary journey beyond mapped landscape and into unknowns but my knuckles will jigsaw rocks like keys filling locks to smooth roughness for your soles.   My hands will be luminous with love light anticipating your transformation, pulsating warmth for this your longest night when each footstep is a destination.   Although you are alone you’re not alone, I’m reaching out my hands as stepping-stones.   Anchors   I search shorelines at low tide for portals that open time to the pip of it.   Fingers like a blind man’s on stones, periwinkles, chainies, and drops of smooth blue-glass on sand.   I trace cat-gut through seaweed to hidden hooks on feathers, German baits, spoons and spinners.   Each rock a prayer bead in the litany of belonging. Pock-air, Connigeer, Shollister, Claim.   Worms   The graveyard was …

‘Poet Mother’ and other poems by Felicia McCarthy

  Reading the Omens   A chorus of voices called, No! when I reached for the latch Don’t let her out, she’ll die.   A monarch hatched from the rafters. Her orange and black wings a mirror to the hot coals that waked her.   A trail of twisted cobweb sported flies as if it were a kite tail tied with bows and she ready to be launched to the sky.   Though we turned away, she is with me still, as I plan for the days ahead.   Take this as written: when my time comes, to hatch from this body   I want you to open the window.   First published in Boyne Berries 18, in the autumn of 2015 Published online at Trevor Conway’s website; Poems in Profile #17 (April, 2016-07-15)   Let Morning Come (after Jane Kenyon)   Let the street lamps blink out, the lights of Ballyvaughn grow dim, as darkness gives way to day.   Let the shush-shush of the tides slide into your dream, beckon you awake, to …