POETRY ARCHIVE

FEBRUARY 2026

I leave Cork before the sun rises / no map, no plan / just the motor’s steady snarl / the road unwinding like a dare

JANUARY 2026

my body belonged to a land / it didn't know existed / until i heard her lilting voice, / rising from the waves

JANUARY 2026

In the eighties her mother / raised her right: put her in / piano classes. Pinched her sides / when she made mud pies.

JANUARY 2026

You’re sitting beside a murderer. / He’s reading a tear-stained newspaper. / There’s blood in his hair, / a red hand turning to the comic pages.

JANUARY 2026

I’m tired. Well, weary.

I’m always tired so I guess that’s redundant.

DECEMBER 2025

If I stare through binoculars,

will I see the future

closer than it really is?

DECEMBER 2025

a sun will always rise you said / as you smile and roll close to me / pressed heat not like a summer day / but a crack in the dark earth / when molten rises to the surface

NOVEMBER 2025

folded in parts

inside

a time-capsule.

NOVEMBER 2025

I was a fiddlehead with dew-drip tendrils / curled into your warm mud, / suspended, web-like for those hours.

NOVEMBER 2025

On the Pavilion / as the warm night nears, / flecks of sand scatter / into the liquid soil and slivers of / crested scales slip into a silver / stillness.