www.newstalk.com/podcasts/hig...
www.newstalk.com/podcasts/hig...
www.newstalk.com/podcasts/hig...
www.newstalk.com/podcasts/hig...
In winter air, a scent of harvest.
No form of prayer is needed,
When by sudden grace attended.
Naturally, we fall from grace.
Mere humans, we forget what light
Led us, lonely, to this place.
John Montague ‘Blessing’
In winter air, a scent of harvest.
No form of prayer is needed,
When by sudden grace attended.
Naturally, we fall from grace.
Mere humans, we forget what light
Led us, lonely, to this place.
John Montague ‘Blessing’
The hiss and purl of spiralling waves, the skid
And visible snarl of wind, horizon’s disintegration,
The glower & sharp glint of a tired sky.
…
Now for the decisions of night, the heart’s undoing:
The time where reason & emotions meet.
Valentin Iremonger
The hiss and purl of spiralling waves, the skid
And visible snarl of wind, horizon’s disintegration,
The glower & sharp glint of a tired sky.
…
Now for the decisions of night, the heart’s undoing:
The time where reason & emotions meet.
Valentin Iremonger
The lightening’s strict hour,the time of anger
…
May he survive unscathed the Dunkirk of middle-age
& cardiac decay,the Crete of married life,
The Peloponnese-like archipelago of children,to fish lazily
In the reaches of a quiet old age.
V. Iremonger
The lightening’s strict hour,the time of anger
…
May he survive unscathed the Dunkirk of middle-age
& cardiac decay,the Crete of married life,
The Peloponnese-like archipelago of children,to fish lazily
In the reaches of a quiet old age.
V. Iremonger
She needs to be placed pronto
in the recovery position, gently hold
her chin up, bend the left arm at the elbow,
hand above the head, palm facing down
— waving goodbye or hello?
Greg Delanty #IrishPoetry
She needs to be placed pronto
in the recovery position, gently hold
her chin up, bend the left arm at the elbow,
hand above the head, palm facing down
— waving goodbye or hello?
Greg Delanty #IrishPoetry
wounds closed,senses cleansed
as over our bowed heads
the mad larks multiply
needles stabbing the sky
in an ecstasy of stitching fury
against the blue void
while from clump & tuft
cranny & cleft, soft footed
curious, the animals gather around.
John Montague
wounds closed,senses cleansed
as over our bowed heads
the mad larks multiply
needles stabbing the sky
in an ecstasy of stitching fury
against the blue void
while from clump & tuft
cranny & cleft, soft footed
curious, the animals gather around.
John Montague
attempt the dream,
cast off, as we have done,
requires true luck
who know ourselves
blessed to have found
between this harbour’s arms
a sheltering home
where the vast
tides of the Atlantic
lift to caress
rose coloured rocks.
John Montague ‘Edge’
attempt the dream,
cast off, as we have done,
requires true luck
who know ourselves
blessed to have found
between this harbour’s arms
a sheltering home
where the vast
tides of the Atlantic
lift to caress
rose coloured rocks.
John Montague ‘Edge’
before meals: farmed fish multiply
without His intercession.
Bread production rises through
disease-resistant grains devised
scientifically to mitigate His faults.
Dennis O’Driscoll ‘Missing God’
before meals: farmed fish multiply
without His intercession.
Bread production rises through
disease-resistant grains devised
scientifically to mitigate His faults.
Dennis O’Driscoll ‘Missing God’
I saw them in the morning going to school,
Tattering down the sallow sky of winter.
Now I know them well: I see them every mile
By flocks & companies in roadside fields
As I drive onwards through these snowcast days
To sit at your bed evoking them for you.
Bernard O’Donoghue
I saw them in the morning going to school,
Tattering down the sallow sky of winter.
Now I know them well: I see them every mile
By flocks & companies in roadside fields
As I drive onwards through these snowcast days
To sit at your bed evoking them for you.
Bernard O’Donoghue
that crazy old clock
in Winthrop Street
whose hands wind
ever backwards.
If Death took you now,
he would find
a six-year-old boy
in his arms.
Gerry Murphy ‘The Clock’
that crazy old clock
in Winthrop Street
whose hands wind
ever backwards.
If Death took you now,
he would find
a six-year-old boy
in his arms.
Gerry Murphy ‘The Clock’
A @nytimes piece on our recent Presidential election in which I am quoted.
www.nytimes.com/2025/11/02/w...
A @nytimes piece on our recent Presidential election in which I am quoted.
www.nytimes.com/2025/11/02/w...
A @nytimes.com piece on our recent Presidential election in which I am quoted.
www.nytimes.com/2025/11/02/w...
A @nytimes.com piece on our recent Presidential election in which I am quoted.
www.nytimes.com/2025/11/02/w...
No sedge whispers; only the numb rocks,
...
Around the shore, the breakers constantly rush
With snow-smash explosion & overhead
A slush of grey cloud is forever melting
And running to the edge of the sky.
Seamus Heaney ‘Aran’
No sedge whispers; only the numb rocks,
...
Around the shore, the breakers constantly rush
With snow-smash explosion & overhead
A slush of grey cloud is forever melting
And running to the edge of the sky.
Seamus Heaney ‘Aran’
shortly with Pat Kenny discussing the situation in Gaza & the OTB.
shortly with Pat Kenny discussing the situation in Gaza & the OTB.
No sedge whispers; only the numb rocks,
...
Around the shore, the breakers constantly rush
With snow-smash explosion & overhead
A slush of grey cloud is forever melting
And running to the edge of the sky.
Seamus Heaney ‘Aran’
No sedge whispers; only the numb rocks,
...
Around the shore, the breakers constantly rush
With snow-smash explosion & overhead
A slush of grey cloud is forever melting
And running to the edge of the sky.
Seamus Heaney ‘Aran’
No sedge whispers; only the numb rocks,
...
Around the shore, the breakers constantly rush
With snow-smash explosion & overhead
A slush of grey cloud is forever melting
And running to the edge of the sky.
Seamus Heaney ‘Aran’
www.rte.ie/news/preside...
www.rte.ie/news/preside...
…
Brown bread and tea in bright canfuls
Are served for lunch. Dead-beat, they flop
Down in the ditch & take their fill,
Thankfully breaking timeless fasts;
Then, stretched on the faithless ground, spill
Libations of cold tea, scatter crusts.
Seamus Heaney #IrishPoetry
…
Brown bread and tea in bright canfuls
Are served for lunch. Dead-beat, they flop
Down in the ditch & take their fill,
Thankfully breaking timeless fasts;
Then, stretched on the faithless ground, spill
Libations of cold tea, scatter crusts.
Seamus Heaney #IrishPoetry
www.irishpost.com/comment/form...
www.irishpost.com/comment/form...