Connection Bereft. Your voice, bygone. Perplexed. Your secrets not divulged. Mute. Your words, heeded. Non judgemental. You abandon me. Comfort, safety,privacy- I offer. Hand held mobility- you choose. Synergy. Bereft. – Clare Dollard
Tag: Limerick
Rochus van der Vaart outside Mount St. Lawrence Cemetery
Existence All alone, Between the graves, Headstones, Flowers, All around me, Sad inscriptions, Expired Time, Got to get to my senses, In the moment, I will see, Just how crazy lives can be. Endless morals, Fear of death, Those who died before me, All illusions, wasted time. Got to get out of this…
Tim Cunningham outside St. Mary’s Cathedral
The Lepers’ Squint They call it the Lepers’ Squint: The hole in the cathedral’s north wall, In the Holy Spirit Chapel Tucked away left of the organ pipes, Where mediaeval lepers pressed To peer in at the service, Queued for the bread of heaven. They call it the hole in the wall: The…
Teri Murray on Lord Edward Street
Excerpt from ‘Isis on Edward Street’ ‘On Edward Street hieroglyphs of faded memories scoured by time and rain hunkered at the base of a Rosetta Stone beside the barracks wall Yet May has come again and the year has turned twice the eye of Horus is squinting sunlight through the leaves of a…
Brendan Hayes on Mulgrave Street
Mulgrave Street: A Drinking Song It starts at the Horse and Hound, And ends at the Cemetery, In between, There is the mental home, The jail and Jerry O’D’s. – Brendan Hayes Photographs by Natalie Woociker:
Teri Murray on Newenham Street
The House In Newenham Street I have come to this house along the Slí Dála the ancient route from Dublin to the west Brought all my confusion mania and suffering and placed it on the black mantle-piece where dust gathers taking the hard edge off the pain A woman lived here once…
Leonard Holman by the Plassey Falls
Sitting By the falls in Plassey You and I first sat By the falls in Plassey We spoke of a future together By the falls in Plassey I now sit alone And you long gone to a foreign shore – Leonard Holman
John W. Sexton on Upper Mallow Street
Sky Pouring . to everything of night / badger follows the white path of his face briefly the butterfly a kite on the spider’s steps out-running cloud shadows / sky pouring from the horse’s mane my window holds off night / the bronze eyes of a moth cerise fluctuates green the neck of the pecking…
Teri Murray on Thomond Bridge
The Cowboy Of The Western World He rides the range at Thomond Bridge tracking trampled hooves smeared by heavy plod of wellies ragged tyre threads Branded on rim of Stenson’s brim random ropes of yahoos and sneers bounce off a tarnished silver star a pitchfork’s rusted spears Lassoed on saddle bags a…
Tim Cunningham outside No. 2 St. Johns Square
Mrs. Kirby A protestant lived in our house. We rented the place downstairs, She had a room on top. I knew she was different Because people said she was a protestant As if she has measles Or came from the North Pole. Once when we giggled in church, The woman behind said That…