Tag: A Saturday Woman Poet
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Poems from ‘The Wren is Near’- ‘An Dreoilín in ár Measc’ by Ashley O’Neal
The Tale of the Vulnerable The line at the beginning Of the old tale comes from the lips Of the beggar king as he waits In the doorway of old myth, His crown beside him is all rusted and worn. The day breathes a sadness and A wonder that only children of old know. The…
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“Considering Their Pale Faces” and other poems by Erin Wilson
Seed tōgarashi / omoikonasaji / mono no tane the red pepper / I do not belittle / seedlings ~ Bashō I keep a chestnut in the breast pocket of my secondhand leather jacket. When I picked it I thought of (I don’t know why) my mother. The last time my first husband and I made…
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“Birth Mother” and Other Poems by Srilata Krishnan
Birth Mother We are standing in front of the mirror, my daughter and I, brushing our hair and being vain when I think of the doctor’s question: “What was her birth cry like?” I don’t know and never will. She is fine, or will be, I know. But looking in the mirror and into her…
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‘Cigarettes on Grey Street’ and other poems by Julie Hogg
Cigarettes on Grey Street corner seem appropriate. You’re telling me you’re a Redsmith for a contemporary gallery and some northern university or another, while assuming me up and down. I’m wearing a plastic red mac and nude heels with slack slingbacks lacking any firm ankle support but more than adept at softly killing wet pavements.…
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‘The Day Of The Angel” and other poems by Clare McCotter
Goose in memory of Anna McAllister Walking evenings stretched out into a prairie of stars it seemed crimson and gold would not rise through bark and bole and the goose following celestial cues in the music of the spheres would never leave the soft bed you spun for her compassed by a newly hatched sun.…
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‘Fugit Amor’ and other poems by Catherine Phil MacCarthy’
The Chamber One ear to chimney-breast, on bended knee, better to hear trapped wing-beats, he prized ajar the black ornate cast hood. Then, slid his arm inside the flue. As though one gloved limb were deeply sunk in hind-quarters of a cow, to guide the head in utero. Though here, no calf in hairy smear…
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“Satellite” and other poems by Roisin Kelly
To a Writer You write of raspberries and snow of the mimosa flower’s scent of how it makes you feel to put on lipstick and heels. Of how it feels to wander home below the stars, drunk but not too drunk how you always like to show a little cleavage though you never…
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“Mulcair” and other poems by Amanda Bell
The beauty of the game is lost on me when I watch you play. I see the curve of your cheek, the rounded base of your skull – once a custom-fit for my palm – and feel again the warm weight of your incipience. No more walnut-snug in my armour your head now…
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“Blackbird” and other poems by Imogen Forster
Testudo A bone-hard carapace, a shell cast on a hot shore, emptied by the labour of leaving the nurturing sea, scraping broad ribbons up the sand’s glassy slope . Gasping, digging a damp hole, she lays round, sticky eggs, a hundred leathery balls. Then spent, noon-dried, she dies, picked clean by quick scavengers.…
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“The Mission” by Rita Ann Higgins
The Mission I think of the last time we met on the prom in Galway. A sunny day in May you looked cool in those shades. You looked taller somehow. We talked for ages. You told me about plans for your mother’s sixtieth. I felt lucky to have such a nephew. Shades or no shades.…
Chris Murray 