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What I have to Say – Poetry

Can I tell you before it’s tarnished? Before the lichen crust absolves me of need to share?

Figure of Night – Poetry for Halloween

There is no figure of night pieced together from patches of dark room, scrambled light of a blink.

The Apple Tree and Storm Ophelia

'The apple tree throws down its dead and we kneel, fools for its blackened, overripe flesh.'

Spider Nut – Poetry

Licorice legs and a walnut shell. You could be a crab, tired of the grainy shore, the glucose whirl of a gluey sea.

Fantasy’s Stamp – Poetry

Fantasy’s stamp is upon this sky From the cloud dust remains of a quartet of ghosts, they grow, gather pace on the carousel,

Back Home – Poetry

Back Home Mumbles greets, with pop-to-shop chatter, the ping of welcome, the smell of new, Welsh crafted gifts and the slow-down of browse.Home is in the accent, in the dragon on...

Sculpting – Poetry

My hands are imagining you, the cool pale, your shoulders, like hawk wing, I sculpt,

The Aunts – Flash Fiction

The aunts never shaved their legs. They rolled up their trousers and ran into the sea.

Petals – Micropoetry

When you wake with petals strewn at your inner imaginings, you try to live up to the sweet start,

Micropoetry: Language

It's a mystery, how the mind leaps from primitive sound to intricate, webbed sentence,

Micropoetry: This Moss is her Island

This moss is her island, its dewy green . . .

A Poem for Poetry Day Ireland

When the bough breaks and my oak tree heart is joined by an echo,

Micropoetry – Piebald Rug & Flood

Burgundy-earth patches on cream, soft as calla lily.

Flash Fiction: Maple Leaf

The maple leaf stops them. Its veiny palm invites examination, as peach and pale green cross shades. Autumn does this to maple leaves; scorns their attempts to cling onto their tree of birth, strikes them down, flattens their flame. And then, somebody finds the leaf, finds charm in its crown-like edges, its slight resemblance to thorns.

Poetry – Heron

A solitary heron, silver-grey, his stature great, resides within the river village, old man hunched and scouring.

Poetry – Pebbles

Tricoloured pebbles, the sand stepping-stones of a shuffling huddle, or shifting land - a clinking crowd at ground.

Flash Fiction: Soap-White

She assumes her position at the sink, everything greasy from the day's befores. She scrubs at silver insides; the eternal circle from clean to unclean. The water pounds in and she thinks of the river; a rat's tail - just the tail, moving through rushes.

Poetry – To Ahenny

To Ahenny where slate spills from the land like prehistoric teeth.I bite back, snap with my new camera, angled for scenic views, fail to capture that dead outreach,

Waves, Change and Memories

Jumping waves and paddling have to be two of the most liberating activities it is possible to undertake. I was reminded of this truth when my husband and I brought our daughter to the beach in Bonmahon, recently. At 18 months, she was able to begin savouring the experience of sand and sea. Taking a few jaunty steps, she seemed to enjoy the softness under her toes. She has a bit of an obsession with water, so standing at the edge of the sea, waiting for it to rush in and soak her feet, also proved to be very popular. It was heartwarming just to be there, holding her hand, watching her pad along in her characterful walking style. There is something very calming about the way the sea moves with wavy, surf-edged gestures. I think she felt that too.

Flash Fiction: The Crowd

The crowd surge forward. They all wear blue. Despite the uniformity, I pick out faces. Each expression is unique. I focus on a young man – his brown eyes are round and expectant. His childish complexion gives him a glow. I don't want to see him dashed.