On Achill the post came twice each week – Tuesday brought Queenshead fivers, postmarked Ormskirk, Tamworth, Kilburn – short letters from villages of men transplanted en masse to alien trenches. Thursday brought brownpaper rolls, neatly wrapped; Anthony Jack flung them from his bike, cursed their weight, their wickedness, their Englishness with equal ferocities. The Achill … Continue reading ‘The English Papers’ by Mike Gallagher
Author: And Other Poems
‘Dublin Puzzle’ by Aoife Lyall
The porous bag sliced through. Sediment gathered in the corners. We upend the pieces into the lid and bottom. We shift through them, panning for edges, corners. We kneel on the green felt kings use to play chess and peer at each piece; inscrutable, divine, mysterious. The gradations, lines, shadings, out of place – the … Continue reading ‘Dublin Puzzle’ by Aoife Lyall
‘Finn MacCool offers his thumb’ by Laura McKee
to my salmon lips to see if I’m ready and when I drip when I spit it burns tells him all he needs to know and he wants to suck the knowing out of me Author's note: The Salmon of Knowledge is one of many stories surrounding the legend of Finn MacCool (Fionn mac Cumhaill) … Continue reading ‘Finn MacCool offers his thumb’ by Laura McKee
‘Armagh Tellings’ by Geraldine Snape
I remember hearing about Newtownhamilton and granny. I was told about how the hens scuttled around where Summer's swifts filled the farmyard. Told about the road to market taken By the broad carthorse that turned the wheel that churned the butter.. That was the pride of Armagh....and Dad wearing a top hat and Him perched … Continue reading ‘Armagh Tellings’ by Geraldine Snape
‘Door to door, Belfast 1969’ by Finola Scott
Imagine a curtained room table set with supper, the radio hums. A knock at the door. Shadows through glass. Staccato bullet-raps on wood. Outside, shoulders square set balaclavas snarl, a fist punches out a rattling can. A barrel winks, trigger oiled Collecting for the lads. Coins shake, paper unfolds. Purse empty, chest pulses. Boots to … Continue reading ‘Door to door, Belfast 1969’ by Finola Scott
‘The Wren Boy’ by David Cooke
The Wren Boy I must have been having the time of my life the year I started singing, trying hard to remember the words, but high on applause and silver. In the lounge bar of a pub in Swinford I tried out a repertoire I’d culled from the Clancys and mixed to a Home Counties … Continue reading ‘The Wren Boy’ by David Cooke
‘Destination: Port of New York, 23 December 1929’ by Maggie Sawkins
Even though your name is there on the SS Cameronia's passenger list: Regina M Keohane, scholar aged eight, of sound mind and body, you were the one sister left behind in Aughnacliffe, along with your Grandda's blue cow and your milk bottle doll. But if you had gone I would not have been born. I … Continue reading ‘Destination: Port of New York, 23 December 1929’ by Maggie Sawkins
‘My Mother’s Reserve’ by Fiona Larkin
My Mother's Reserve after W B Yeats An ash-banked spark, her Lissadell: a small domestic match would fire the turf, and catch her memorising. Rhymes compel. See her break off, to write a life in medical vocabulary, responsibilities undreamt of in Castlebar or Foxford. She weighs the babies, annotates new-birth visits, progress checks, dispenses care … Continue reading ‘My Mother’s Reserve’ by Fiona Larkin
‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough
Most buildings improve as they lose their blueprint finish, weather off architect too-sharp plans. Some wear layered flaked paint, for shuttered quaint takes, while carved seats bottom out smooth. When an engraver’s cut blurs into brass, it surely gains from handled warmth, but this grey braves a Europe-wide boulevard, all pocked out, holed and whole … Continue reading ‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough
‘Cork Schoolgirl Considers the GPO O’Connell Street, Dublin 2016’ By Victoria Kennefick
I am sixteen, standing outside the GPO in my school uniform, which isn’t ideal. My uniform is the colour of bull’s blood. In this year, I am sixteen, a pleasing symmetry because I love history, have I told you that? It is mine so I carry it in my rucksack. I love all the men … Continue reading ‘Cork Schoolgirl Considers the GPO O’Connell Street, Dublin 2016’ By Victoria Kennefick
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