When my daughter was very small, I managed to snatch a few minutes in the morning for writing.  I produced snippets of poetry, some of which, I’ve been able to piece together.  I’m in the process of submitting these pieces to magazines, but I’ve also been going over all my recent efforts and have picked out two to share with you.

I wrote this first one at the end of last summer, in Dunmore East.  It was a fresh day and I felt my emotions stir with the movement of the waves.  I stood on a patch of grass that had grown very long and been flattened, so that it felt springy under my feet.

The Shore

A shot of sea
spills its gut,
deep music.

Waves heave and the rocks
are humpbacked,
graced by a chain of seagulls.

The grass bounds,
green upon green, I
could lie right down at
its springy heart,
feel it breathe me.

K. S. Moore

This next poem was written at a similar time of year.  I’m not a big fan of summer, so I like spotting hints that the season is drawing to a close.  On this occasion, I caught sight of a single holly leaf in the stream, and noticed an ‘oak apple’ or insect gall, on the path, as I turned for home.

Leaf, Bird, Beast

Holly in the masses,
how she basks, alive
in the company of
honey and taupe
stones, so familiar,
they are all wet freckles,
a gaggle of confidants,
how could she not tell every
prickle, every niggle?
She vents . . .

Air and artistry
breathe out a dipper,
adopting a rock,
he wades in, returns,
his beak a fruit bowl
of ripe and squirm.

Our prize is the gall –
a miniature pumpkin,
honed by a pulp-ridden beast,
His zest for fight
lives on in the shell,
its faded coral,
the words I scrawl.

K. S. Moore


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