Tag: Doireann Ni Ghriofa
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“Slice” and other poems by Umang Kalra
How To Run Away slowly pry away every hand that wields the nails that dig into your skin, crisscross scratches shaped into dry throats and the taste of dust glistening through humid, hot, sickening summer air sinking into your bones use your fingers, use your words, unravel the knots that hold your feet in…
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A celebration of women’s poetry for International Women’s Day 2017
Featured image from “The Infinite Body Of Sensation” by Salma Caller Salma Ahmad Caller is an artist and a hybrid of cultures and faiths. She is drawn to hybrid and ornamental forms, and to how the body expresses itself in the mind to create an embodied ‘image’. UK based, she was born in Iraq to…
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“Foraois Bháistí” and other poems by Doireann Ní Ghríofa
Foraois Bháistí I mbreacsholas na maidine, leagaim uaim an scuab nuair a aimsím radharc nach bhfacthas cheana ag dealramh ar an mballa: fuinneog úr snoite as solas, líonta le duilleog-dhamhsa. Múnlaíonn géaga crainn lasmuigh na gathanna gréine d’fhonn cruthanna dubha a chur ag damhsa ar an mballa fúthu, an duilliúr ina chlúmh…
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‘Cleaving a Puzzle-Tree’ and other poems by Doireann Ní Ghríofa
Cleaving a Puzzle-Tree 1. I didn’t see my grandmother’s tree in Chile, araucaria araucana, though they grow tall there and are many. I must have walked under them every day, tripped over their seeds, but I didn’t think of her, oceans away, standing in a square of green, raking leaves around her monkey…
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A Celebration of Irish Women Poets on Bloomsday 2014
Eleanor Hooker The Fall Oh she bared her soul alright; it fell from a star cloud Reigned by Canis Major. They knew it was authentic, It whimpered like an unknown set loose inside a crowd Of urban predators: fierce curs and savage sceptics That roamed in packs. A few select gave shelter in The…
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‘Swallows’ and other poems by Doireann Ní Ghríofa
Swallows The knitting needles drew melodies from silence as stitches seemed to follow one another like swallows alighting upon a wire, watching the tiny dress of softest yellow wool grow like a sunrise waiting for she who waited within. She, who came and left all too soon. Stretched and stitched, I lie empty, raw, alone…
Chris Murray 