Street Line Critics at The Model in Sligo

Street Line Critics will be at The Model in Sligo on the 24th and 25th of June.  If you are around the area do come and take a look.  There will be a presentation on the projects work and influences to date, followed by a workshop, which will take Sligo’s rich poetic heritage as a starting point and get us chalking out in the town the following day. The event is open to the public and everyone is welcome, either to join our expanding Street Line network or just to come by and watch.

The details are as follows:

24th of June at 2pm

We will be meeting in The Model foyer for a presentation on the project followed by a workshop.

25th of June at 2pm

We will be meeting in The Model foyer and then going on a field trip to the various places around Sligo highlighted in the workshop the previous day, to write our contributions on the street.

For further information please visit: 

And for any questions please get in touch via our email We look forward to seeing you all during the event.

Joe Healy on Howley’s Quay

Gathered in Darkness, Rescued in Light

We gathered in darkness
four in the morning
unbelievable, the crowd
that showed by our side.
For the House they call Pieta
who councel the lonely
hoping to free us
from the stigma of  – suicide.

Like the Vikings we crept
over the Island.
Sarsfield and Thomond
now in our wake.
The Shannon our guide
gently was flowing
its low tide exposing
the love we forsake.

Do you know who
helped us on our walk?
Young people from late
night discos and bars.
They joined us filled
with banter and talk.
We all struggled together
under God’s stars.

By dawn’s early chorus
swans slept near the quayside
necks tucked in the wing
souls under sweet lines.
Each corner we turned
had our saviours and guardians,
how many nights, have they
looked out for signs?

We thank all the fine helpers
working hard, out of sight
who help us poor people
turn darkness to light.

– Joe Healy


Rochus van der Vaart outside Mount St. Lawrence Cemetery

All alone,
Between the graves,
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 story,
The only way that I can see,
Now, is the life for me.
– Rochus van der Vaart

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 cash dispenser centuries along the street,
Left of the blind musician
Where pigeons peck at crisp bags
Littering the city’s north transept.
We congregate, press pin numbers,
Squinting in the sun.
– Tim Cunningham

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 Horse-chestnut
and a resurgent spark
has restored something to me
after my long stay in the house
of the Dead on the other side
of denial where you still dwell’
– Teri Murray
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
perhaps she too
set the menorah on the black mantle-piece
branches like pollarded willow shoots
and remembered Lithuania
the army of the Tsar
pogroms and death
the scapegoats of those
who believed in Christ
Or maybe she heard as I do now
the humming of the walls
or the sonata from a piano
played by the hands of someone long dead
or found comfort
in the curtains
fabric folded
like hands in prayer.
– Teri Murray
Photographs by Natalie Woociker:

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 pigeon
pine cone I search for a poem in your opened scales
reverb on the cuckoo’s call / a cloud slips its anchorage from the hill
one last look at the stars / I make no difference to the sky
the new grass stretches to the rain / tyrannies are subtle
deep in rhododendron the bees saying themselves backwards
in the Republic of Heart we are all one blood
… down at my colourless self in the puddle
– John W. Sexton
Photographs by Natalie Woociker: