Category: Writing
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Chimera
It’s morning, mere hours after sunrise. The light washes, with the tide, over Balbriggan beach. And I’m there, one eye on the time, the other ‘I’ on something transcending it. The ‘I’ wishes I could stay. Instead, it boards a train and silently glides south as both the sight, and the possibility, disappear from view.…
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Pens at Dawn
You don’t sharpen your sword on the day of the battle. I have been thinking about these words ever since they were said to me a short time ago, and their combination with an event I attended this week has lead to something of an epiphany. I’ve looked for an attribution to no avail, but the message…
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Oh, to look upon the Ha’penny Bridge!
Oh, to look upon the Ha’penny Bridge! As I course through Dublin’s heart. From the Quays as passing forms flicker. Its floating umbrellas And snowdrift winter shadows. From O’Connell Bridge at sunset As its blazing backdrop sinks. At night, A shooting star. Contemplate the Liffey’s mirror image Of its arc On a still day. At one with itself Reflecting…
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Dublin Poetry Map
I am delighted to learn that two of my poems have been selected to form part of the Dublin Poetry Map. Supported by Poetry Ireland and created by Poetry4U, the map was designed to mark Poetry Day Ireland and allows readers to take an amble around the city accompanied by tweet length poetry which is pinned to various…
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Time Waits
Striking, green and crimson, My row of slender tulips; The petals formed, But not as fully As I would like. Lapping, gentle and hushed, My white flecked sea; The waters tepid, But not as warm As I would like. Standing, broad and full, My fruit laden plum tree; The yield ripe, But not…
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The Art of St. Stephen’s Green
On the wrought iron railings of St. Stephen’s Green, beneath a rustling canopy of June foliage, a transient gallery of paintings waits patiently for a fond eye that has for too long gazed upon a wall that is missing something. One by one, these original artworks will cease making the return journey from studio to street as…
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You
You are in every flower. You float languidly through my mind like small clouds sailing across the ocean of a July afternoon. The back of my hand lies gently in the soft grass, as I recall the memory of yours resting in my palm; not so long ago, yet akin to forever. Even the hot white wall dappled…
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Star of Wonder
It sat quietly in the darkness of a green velvet box, unable to tell of the Christmases it had seen as it looked outwards from the branches of countless trees, or the fairy lights whose twinkle saw it shimmer, incandescent and glorious. It could say nothing of the hands which year upon year had gently…
Emma Hynes 