Gill McEvoy

Gill McEvoy

Ivy Wreaths are Multiplying by the River in the Woods This is a lonely path, and that’s what I prefer: a chance to watch the dipper in the stream, the deer come down to drink, the wren that bobs along the bank. But lately all my pleasure’s spoiled by ivy wreaths hung...
Owen Gallagher

Owen Gallagher

‘And Yourself?’ ‘Donegal,’ I say. I see the stone and oak pier, Inishboffin, Inishdooey and Tory Island, seals sunbathing on the sandbanks, the sky, blue as a Greek door. I imagine you carrying me, in a hold-all across the dunes to Falcarragh Strand, and then...
Wendy French

Wendy French

Truth The air asks the wind about the silence it carries and the wind scours the mountain for a reply but the mountain looks down on the departing river the river that carries the stone to the fading sea’s edge the stone does not speak of the weight that it carries....
J.S Watts

J.S Watts

Monkey Night at the Circus Monkey see. Monkey do. Monkey gone. No longer my monkey. No longer my circus. Say goodbye to the red haired clowns, the tension, the drama, the spangled tears. No more balancing on an impossible wire, spinning dizzily up high with no way...
Elizabeth Barton

Elizabeth Barton

Absence In the quiet forest, nothing stirs. I hear no sigh of leaves, no woodlark’s song, only the moaning of the bracken. I see your boot prints in the sand, puddled with rain, the claws of a dog beside you. Your lips are silent as the pines encircling us. I follow...