Poetry

Poetry
Dan Riley
Billy the Bird with his butt-plug sits in the corner, doesn’t say a word. It’s enough for Billy, with his hand on his willy to be seen, but not to be heard. . Observes as the party shifts on through the gears flesh slaps loin fat groin smears. Peers out through hand-cut chicken-head holes to where the moans and the...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
I tell the bookshelf: . The heart’s a lot of things don’t mind the heart . If you had your way I’d be poking around in my ribs picking away at my own heart— I’d rather not . For all I know the thing could be reaching some sort of crisis swelling to splatter-point . Making...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
For Sandra Sineux . After spending the morning in bed with the world and its press, We passed onto the little chores with the child running happily amongst us. After lunch, sleep came upon us then in the house. It was brought on by a plaintive voice Accompanied...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
Ugly flowers wave us on you blast their arms aside manic profile gleaming teeth and gums I check for reassurance . There’s none my chest full of beating wings . You take a corner too hard we glide for ages I wish you had just tied me up and put me in the...

Poetry
Dan Riley
I walked with a man with a walking stick hand, a suitcase for eyeballs and a sock full of sand. Drank tea in a cave by a cherry stone laith, played chequers with adders, hammers and spanners. Crooned for the crows by a pile of old bones ate...

Poetry
Maire Carr
Holy Mary, Mother of God, how does your garden grow? An unholy tomb, A garden in Tuam. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus, Blessed is the fruit of thy womb. . You fight tooth and nail for the unborn child atop your pedestal, From foundations built on...

Poetry
Lar Kenny
For an Argentine harlot with silver teeth . Beneath the waning amber light a hand is offered from inside smoke; where silly plans of love are scattered, hoarse cries float from scarlet tongues; the Ginastera piano plays, her weightless ways’ embodiment. “Dance,” she puts down her Quentão, “Dance,” she says, “Dance!”...

Poetry
Avelynne Kang
You kissed me Slick with nicotine Lips pompous, pouting poppies Like we’re veterans Of the thousand little deaths In a cigarette In my thrusts— A delicious additive to the ego I stroked and stroked and stroked— Me, your mental Viagra My work left in the dust That trails your triumph....

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
Right now things may look black as crematorium smoke. You sit watching assignment deadlines pass, like buses one by one growling out of a Friday evening depot. . Trump’s elected and the girl with whom you spent last night sharing your hurt wouldn’t even give the traditional sympathy hand job. . Well,...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
You the paper Venus, Madonna of the celibates Who kneel before you To offer up their prayers. . In amongst the tin of beans, The sliced pans and the threadbare Carpets, some of your realm, Where you are our elixir. . On the stairs of the bedsits With their odour of dead males, Know...