He styles her Blessed, Beloved,
straddles her to feel her exquisite torque;
when she won’t turn over he wheedles
in tones a spinster might use on a cat:
‘Whisha, come on, girl, be good now.’
She thrums to life...
we climb up to fog
where the Plain of Lombardy
is not plain
they are talking about sleet
it sounds like the end
the station clock
by Benito Mussolini
the time is 1922
but we’re not going
to Roma Termini
A poet, short-story writer and novelist with many books and collections to her name, Mary O’Donnell is in the enviable position of having the respect and admiration of the contemporary Irish literary community as...
Introduction for Angela Carr’s poems
I first saw Angela Carr perform some of her poems at a Stinging Fly launch in the Irish Writers Centre last year. Her performance and her words held the audience...
A grey-haired plastic-bag-carrying intellectual wanderer invites himself to stay in a faded country mansion where bohemians Bartholomew and Bella live in elegant dilapidation. They dine on fish and on a diet of homemade dandelion...
Founded in 1991, the Irish Writers’ Centre is the national resource centre for Irish literature. Our mission is to support and promote writers at all stages of their development, however we welcome all those...
I would have liked to be
Locks of rebellious
the worn-out one
from a shoulder.
And to continue tapping
with your slim...