‘September’ The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian’s bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The…
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‘I wonder how, I wonder why’ By: Ciaran McDermott
‘My heart is in Sligo’ By: Ciaran McDermott
Always in tandem, that golden elixir Coming from seemingly nowhere A common thread among all the scripts When you are on it, the dam it burst Not waiting for the moment, it will all stop That would just be tempting…
‘Subtitles’ By: Ciaran McDermott
Subtitles Search for it, find it, grasp it, love it, live it A picture paints what poetry can’t Poetry paints a multitude of pictures A picture paints a thousand words A poem paints a thousand pictures Each with a thousand…
‘Life’ By: Ciaran McDermott
‘Life‘ Belief in miracles Life is a miracle From inception to autonomous growth in the womb Fully fledged being Brought into this world Chaotic, hectic disturbing the lulling serenity within To the reality of life outside You are a miracle…
‘In Search of Me’ By: Geraldine Galligan
‘Realignment’ By: Ciaran McDermott
Realignment You are how I imagined you would be That same disarming smile That same inquisitive look Little quirks I noticed when we first met Still bring me joy to this day You are unique and beautiful No two faces…
What I think about when I think of times past – ‘Green’ By: Zoé W.G.
Green: I remember dog-eared, green, afternoons when we lay so still on dewy grass we could swear we’d become one. I remember us, still as hairpins, sharp as pruners. How our hands held on so tight, I forgot which fingers…
‘Discover’ By: Ciaran McDermott
I went to meet and greet I took the chance to discover I looked outside at the covers over Rain droplets fell softly on my cheek Clouds breaking overhead Bring it back It was just in time for the old…
What I think about when I think of times past – ‘Blue’ By: Zoé W.G.
Blue: Women kneel before the stream and rub out dust, soil stains, they rub out long days of effort in one choral stroke. Blue stream, blue dresses, blue banging of washboards, echoing like the footsteps of a giant. And there…