Winter dippers
I heard no jingle at dawn
no bell or coin
no mournful sounds from the sea
Tino Cassoni was the best baker of bread in our town. His Irish soda bread was superb. Ah, how I loved to eat it warm, with butter melting on it. But his was a hard life….
The red white and blue swans
decided to take off unexpectedly
How do you defend creative writing sessions?
It is a question that the poet Richard Hugo addresses…
A war office letter warned his parents that Ted was missing in action in 1944 behind enemy lines.
“Don’t worry, about Ted,” his mother said. “If he fell into a sewer ted would come smelling of roses.”
Repatriated by Australians two weeks after the crash, he was immediately promoted to the rank of Flight Lieutenant.
The weather man looks cloudy today
moist as the air drifting south
hands that shake from an arctic blast
and eyebrows covered in frost.
When I failed to write an annual letter to the Rector of St Bede’s College, Manchester, Monsignor Thomas Duggan, sent word that I must go to his study. There he ordered to take down my pants and accept a dozen blows from his leather strap. He managed five before I broke free.
of coffee with breakfast and pills
discussion of dreams
and news with the love of my life;
breathless on a sea of mirrors
grey the sullen swell
their thoughts becalmed.
a more fitting sentence
for ripping out the nation’s heart and soul, might be to provide
each with jemmy, black mask, and little black bag, tools of their trade