Poetry

Frida Kahlo Visits Ballinasloe

By Nuala O’Connor   Frida Kahlo likes to walk in colour, but she is hard-pushed on Society Street.   We wander together up...

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The Darmstadt Year

by Cynthia D. Nelson   The Darmstadt Year               I read out the sign at our new base:            ...

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Calcium

by Anne Elvey   baíte tipiche         typical huts formaggio            cheese taleggio   ...

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An Afterlife of Stone

by Jenny Blackford The lumpy wrinkled flesh of some great ancient beast a woolly mammoth or elasmothere lies mummified beside the Hume...

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Samhain

by Patrick Stack   A long way off Through fog that veils all else Faint voice is heard So faint no mortal ear Can catch the pitch Save...

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HOW TO MAKE SAND

By Natalie D-Napoleon   First, a star must be formed; bodies colliding into hot bodies   through infinite time and space...

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Fifty-five days

By Denise O’Hagan   We shrugged at bomb scares at school Locked our doors, watched our bags and our steps And skirted any lone bag...

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Memory Box

by Fiona Perry   A collection of mementoes to stimulate long term memory and a sense of identity in dementia patients.   Inside:...

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Some slight redemption

by Jenny Blackford Coventry Cathedral had been bombed, I knew, during the last great conflagration of the world, had lost some of its roof...

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Black Saturday: 7th of February, 2009

By Wendy J. Dunn   When we arrived Another car was there   Strangers at the Lookout We gathered together And gazed at the hills...

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Trial

By Cheryl Pearson   Quick to scuttle in with the cattle sick, or an ankle twisted fat on a root – the caps wring flat by...

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City of Another Home

By Michelle Cahill City of seven islands, guarded by eight-armed Mumbadevi, of the Dravidians, Marathis and Gujaratis, your name alludes to...

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Butterfly Lovers

By Eileen Chong   I Born a girl. By my father’s word, plate of ash untouched— Needle and silk: opaline peacocks, burning...

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Ceremony

By Chelsea Dingman   I open the windows to the house—humid      air like a deer’s breaths in the spring rain. Streetlights flit...

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News highlights – 3 erasure poems

By Lizz Murphy From Aleppo – Rivers of blood women and children… viewed December 2016. From People smuggling – Turkey, Greece...

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War Zone Tours

By Lizz Murphy   I CAN TELL YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE I can tell you what it’s like ears and eyes out on stalks neck cricking...

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Sugihara

By Moya Pacey   His right hand grips the pen dips in and out of the ink-pot – marks the sheet of white paper bold with black...

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Please do not pee in the sink

By Ali Whitelock   in the cafe with coffee cups for lampshades and the sign that says please do not pee in the sink we take an outside...

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Where the feet have been

By Ramon Loyola     Twenty years in the forest in the faces and breaths, not in the last century or in the now of times, my...

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How Many Borders?

By Anita Patel     How many borders will you cross to reach this land? How many doors will you close – forever? How many...

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Polenta Memories

By Jenny Blackford   Our handyman, friend of an old friend, was life support for many years to our decaying inner-city house. One day,...

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Writing Workshops at the Muslim School

By Jenny Blackford     The flowers in the garden of the inner-city Muslim school are kangaroo paws just like mine at home-  ...

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A tanka

By Sandra Renew     she still remembers the brass teapot trampled under soldiers’ boots but then retrieved dusted off and...

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Diaspora

By Nessa O’Mahony   His regular spot; curled foetus-tight, back to the wall at the end of the canal, near the bridge at Baggot...

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Still

By Ellen Shelley   On an ordinary day the water stills the air waves fall silent   birds on parachute wings spiral to gorund...

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Australian Alcatraz
Or why I am not a painter

by Richard James Allen Only weeks, months, at the most a year or so, before Gough Whitlam’s ‘It’s Time’ changed everything, for a...

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31st December 1817 Sailed the Brig Active for Lisbon

By Geoff Budden   The tides and capes of Bonavista now safely astern, Newfoundland below the western horizon they sailed into the new...

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A Voice Unheard

By Bill Cotter     It is a travesty of dawn, this dank And oily semi light, oozing through The alleys, the shattered windows and...

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Of those who stay

By Jeremy C. North   This evening, intrepid plans are forged. A familiar tune of starry-eyed wanderlust that emanates from share flat...

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Shelley’s drowning

By Duncan Richardson     they knew it was him though the fish had scribed their own verses on his skin they knew it was him from...

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