• Poetry
  • An Evening Stroll by the Itchen

    Despite a thousand disguises,
    As it grows dark she’s revealed,
    Humming in a mode only rivers know,

    While the trees turn to spilled ink,
    And the horses roll in the mead,
    Like a heart murmur.

    Night doesn’t fall,
    but rises from the water,
    Drowning the meadow in sound.

  • Poetry
  • Rock pools

    What the tide left behind;
    barnacles and whale songs,
    and a few of the best parts
    of my father.

    Dún Laoghaire is a stone
    lifeboat that rises and falls,
    but it’s a long town
    for little legs,

    so we made a giant
    (you only get lighter)
    and we made a slow-witted bear,
    and we ran in the spray
    as the shore gently sank.

    Dún Laoghaire is a sand
    castle, but the sea
    doesn’t scare you.
    As it washes away at your feet,
    lighter and lighter you become.