All posts tagged: The Ogham Stone

“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, …

‘At the door’ and other poems by Eva Griffin

Are you feeling this? My desire is holding you in its mouth shaking like a dog toy amputated to fit my mould. Regularly, I confuse excitement for affection in a slow, crowded elevator where a whisper of white buttoned shirts is the scream of a night sky in my head, close as a shoulder brush.   Something to work with For the work, he says. Square panels of it lighting up my screen: tarp-painted abstractions punctuated by self-capturing, sun-faced with grey crown but not old. Never old. A father’s age perhaps. Yet, I open the message; orange brimming notification tells me that he’s thinking of my shivering in bed on the other side of the island. Says that he’ll be good if he gets the chance. Good for me. Good for his ego. Small slip of a thing waiting for a night visit, the hot shower of another body sliding under covers. Strong tattooed grasp on waist; leathered, but not old. Light breath in my ear catches hair like a summer breeze in his stubble. …