Stories tagged irish-poetry

North from Laguna Beach

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I was Orson Welles skulking in the shadows and you Alida Valli; our time measured like footsteps advancing on Gethsemane.

excerpt from 'Ghosts on Kirwan's Lane'

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I was having a pint in what used to be The Castle, having just had lunch in what used to be the Augustine Cafe. I then walked out to Salthill, past what used to be Mulligans, Apostasy, Le Graal, Taylors, The Oasis and CJ’s nightclub.

The Eleventh Commandment

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I never thought I’d miss the sound of church bells, reminding me of my sudden apostasy, faintly ringing over the rumpus where even the birds can’t get a word in edgeways.

A Dying Art

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Suppose I was to suddenly get up from the table, race across the floor and hurl me through the single-paned window out onto the sidewalk. Grammatically, it's all wrong, but you're probably thinking about the window and …

Mrs. De Florian looks through a north-facing window

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In this the delicate memory through which the birds haunt the light, she knows she was not wounded by a rush of blood, but rather by the flight.

"A bit less hot Tuesday"

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The faces of the sun remain unaltered across the seven day forecast. I am sweat-glued to a poem, looking up at the wall-mounted TV in a diner in the Valley

Summer, 1995.

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I am no different to her, living seven days ahead of myself, looking forward to looking back, as we Irish do so fondly

We didn’t read the news

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I was at my usual booth, half a cold cappuccino in front of me, my daughter crawling over my lapin an attempt to crayon the paper I was reading.The man at the table across the floor looked like the prison warden…