Ghosts of The Great Hunger by Thomas A. Thrun

Ghosts of The Great Hunger by Thomas A. Thrun In Ennistymon, County Claire, Ireland the River Inaugh at The Cascades falls o’er bedrock in its wild rush in its hurry to the hungry sea for all the souls lost upon The Burrens the poor unfortunates wasted away buried nameless in mass graves or in theContinue reading “Ghosts of The Great Hunger by Thomas A. Thrun”

Behind Bull Island by DS Maolalai 

Behind Bull Island by DS Maolalai it’s incredible; low tides rolling out behind bull island. a thick duvet being pulled off a bed. and if you don’t look often, you expect just rocks and crabs scuttling — instead of this sloping mess and gently jagged green, like somebody’s broken and thrown away a pool table.Continue reading “Behind Bull Island by DS Maolalai “

Slieve League by Christine Gelineau

Slieve LeagueCounty Donegal, Irelandby Christine Gelineau Cliffs draw us, as margins must: that limitless curiosity limits excite.It’s exactly the 600 meters of granite verticality that insinuates closer, let me show you. Our thirst for clarity runs that deep.The glittering little lake at Bunglass Point observes unblinking as tourists and family groups head off along theContinue reading “Slieve League by Christine Gelineau”

Approaching Dublin — Coming Home by Ken Hartke

Approaching Dublin — Coming Homeby Ken Hartke IThe first smudge of low hills revealed themselves.We approached across a calm and sunlit sea.A few islands. Then an old tower. Then a lighthouse.Then we arrived — to a safe harbor, We came to Dublin and Ireland by sea — on purpose.That is the way my people leftContinue reading “Approaching Dublin — Coming Home by Ken Hartke”

Strandhill Beach in May by M.J. Iuppa

Strandhill Beach in May                                  ~  Sligo, 2019by M.J. Iuppa Instantly my breath is lost in this Atlantic air, inits steady wind swirling around my figure as ifI could be worn down to bits of sand whispering off the dunes —I look back over my shoulderto see the Irish Sea, muscular and taut, risingin its infantry of waves,Continue reading “Strandhill Beach in May by M.J. Iuppa”

Newgrange by Julie A. Dickson

Newgrange Newgrange, County Meath, Ireland, 2015 by Julie A. Dickson To stand before an ancient mound on the Irish countryside, stones hewn and balanced, silent structure stands sentinel, cavern in deep darkness— but for the winter solstice, waiting for early morning light to Illuminate the ritual altar. If I almost close my eyes I canContinue reading “Newgrange by Julie A. Dickson”

Irish Cow Circle by Maureen Grady

Irish Cow Circleby Maureen Grady I sat in a field of damp grass,in the very centerof a Neolithic stone circle,imagining a piece of theatreI’d love to direct there when eight cows approachedfrom the far edges of the field,came right up to me,until their big brown headsencircled me,crowded above me. And one by one,each lay downContinue reading “Irish Cow Circle by Maureen Grady”

Connemara by Maureen Grady

Connemaraby Maureen Grady I must now leave this landthat I love with a physical longing. There’s a Covid! a tiny local woman calls out,breathless and afraid,as she waves to me from the crossroad.She runs round to my windowto see who I might be,and what in the world I am doingthere in the far, far westonContinue reading “Connemara by Maureen Grady”

Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin by Patrick Kavanagh

Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublinby Patrick Kavanagh O commemorate me where there is water,Canal water, preferably, so stillyGreeny at the heart of summer. BrotherCommemorate me thus beautifullyWhere by a lock niagarously roarsThe falls for those who sit in the tremendous silenceOf mid-July. No one will speak in proseWho finds hisContinue reading “Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin by Patrick Kavanagh”

Spring in Belfast by Derek Mahon

Spring in Belfastby Derek Mahon Walking among my own this windy morningIn a tide of sunlight between shower and shower,I resume my old conspiracy with the wetStone and the unwieldy images of the squinting heart.Once more, as before, I remember not to forget. There is a perverse pride in being on the sideOf the fallenContinue reading “Spring in Belfast by Derek Mahon”