Tag: The Honest Ulsterman
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“Sundowner” and other poems by Clare McCotter
The House The regularly-occurring representation of the human form as a whole is that of the house ~ Sigmund Freud This is my house my place my home first one I ever owned leave now you dirty scum she screams at auxiliaries gripping wrists and raging elbows washing face and neck and shoulders. This is…
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“Cloud Forest” and other poems by Ellen Chia
Cloud Forest On montane roofs, Veil-thin sojourners Serpentine through green Flightless birds — Myriad crowns perching One-legged, spreading Multi-tiered wings Plush with plumes now Dripping fresh With the gilded bath. In the plumage larders, The green birds set to Spin their sugary fares, While at it, Gazillions of their Tiny lungs Are humming the Three…
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“Tarmac” and other poems by A.M. Cousins
REDRESS After Junichiro Tanizaki. Give us this day your problems. Allow us to torment ourselves about shadow and beauty and good taste and we’ll swap all that we’ve got for one hour in the life of a tortured artiste who wants to sit in a fancy lav and listen to a mosquito. We’d leave the…
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“Alice and her Stilettoes” and other poems by Lorraine Carey
Alice and her Stilettoes We always walked faster past her little house on the brae. Every so often she’d scuttle out and snare us, clutching a plastic bag with the highest heels, scuffed and peeling, ready for the cobbler’s vice. Her elfin face powdered, her fuchsia mouth pursed, the stain snaked onto her snaggled teeth,…
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“Finding Symmetry” and other poems by Jo Burns
Conchita reads Pablo’s letter to God (while he is painting) Your committee for time-keeping has ruled diphtheria a highly unpunctilious event. By consensus you can’t seem to remember this being planned into any agendas. You call me precocious but Pablo, honestly it’s you that Mama has always adored, Papa ignores me, I can’t…
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“Disarticulation” and other poems by Clare McCotter
Selfie With Thelma after Thelma and Louise In the Southwest desert shedding turquoise on an old man’s palm she trades time for a beat up Stetson hat. Only a day or two since she posed with rose red lips black sun glasses and Audrey Hepburn headscarf marking the start of their journey with the…
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Four voices confront the absence of women in Irish poetry
I have endured the scholastic training worthy of someone of learning. I am versed in the twelve divisions of poetry and the traditional rules. I am so light and fleet I escape from a body of men without snapping a twig, without ruffling a braid of my hair, I run under branches as high…
Chris Murray 