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,
Stradbally Beach

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.
A bright maple leaf makes a startling autumn sight.

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.