Fête de la musique A capella on the metro Maria hesi- tates into song, her voice broken; she eases her throat open till the notes come clean and clear as wind over ice-fields; she melts ipods, floods the carriage with pure sound, drowns station announcers, and overwhelms the under-breath hymns of my neighbour. I … Continue reading Three poems by Kate Noakes
Author: And Other Poems
Two poems by Nuala Ní Chonchúir
The Lunar Spread On Half Moon Street we eat Tunisian orange cake, under a painting of a melon that spills seeds like love. Over Notre Dame the moon is a plate, tossed by a Greek waiter from rue Hachette. Clear of Galway’s rooftops the full moon – bald as a skull – crowns the … Continue reading Two poems by Nuala Ní Chonchúir
‘Baby in a jar’ by Tania Hershman
Baby in a jar There was just one left, And the shelf seemed so bare and lonely. I took her home. Instructions showed me how to put on nappies; the jar was large and my hands are small. She didn't cry. She never cries. And like a butterfly flapping its wings somewhere across the world … Continue reading ‘Baby in a jar’ by Tania Hershman
Two poems by Emma Lee
Photographing a Ghost Our daughter angles the camera lens to get the whole house in the shot. Fourteen years ago, I took the same photo, ignoring your focus on the experience rather than the need to record it. Now you’re unable to watch her look at the photos her mother took, reach out and … Continue reading Two poems by Emma Lee
‘A Lady Cyclist Learns to Cycle (England, 1917)’ by Jonathan Davidson
They led it round the garden and yard on a long rein. They fed it oil. It was black as my jet black boots, heavy as a gate. It ticked, shone. Climbing on it, I felt it shy, lunge beneath me, clatter to earth. They held me up, the men, laughing, shouldered me … Continue reading ‘A Lady Cyclist Learns to Cycle (England, 1917)’ by Jonathan Davidson
A poem by Brian Johnstone
The Commonplace The jar will long retain the fragrance of what it was steeped in when new. Horace They're there in every shipwreck, every trench, stacked in serried ranks or shattered by some trauma in the past that whispers in the ear, the way the thumb prints round the rim speak volumes lost but … Continue reading A poem by Brian Johnstone
‘Koi Pond’ by Robert Peake
Koi Pond in memoriam K.J. I went to pay a visit to the koi, to see what they thought of my life, and how I had been living it. Beneath the imperturbable surface, they mouthed the words, saying "bleb" and "bleb" and "bleb." Some torpedoed, others swung a lazy fin, like an oarsman, turning … Continue reading ‘Koi Pond’ by Robert Peake
‘Formica’ by Matthew Stewart
Formica An ochre dusk through the window, stewed apples sighing from the hob and slippers squeaking back and forth on the lino. Mum’s become Gran, Son now Dad, but a boy still plays at the same Formica table. This kitchen’s hub, its ersatz knots are giving off a perfect shine. (published in The … Continue reading ‘Formica’ by Matthew Stewart
‘Sleep’ by Roger Robinson
It becomes clear to you the night your father asks you to wake him up to see his favourite film on TV, and despite cups of coffee bright lights and company he is asleep with his dark rimmed glasses tilted on his face before the opening credits. And there hearing the drag of his snore … Continue reading ‘Sleep’ by Roger Robinson
‘Mammy’s Dress’ by Stevie Ronnie
Mammy's Dress There’s comfort in the fading of her dress; each picnic folded into each pelt of rain that’s laundered it simple like infinity accepted as true. This dress dances on a woollen rope strung between two silver birch. The gap in the wall to the burn (today it is full with trickle souls). … Continue reading ‘Mammy’s Dress’ by Stevie Ronnie
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