The bed looks blue, like cold lips and so still, clothes tucked ‘round; the kitchen, its tiny yellow kettle and fridge that grumbles all night long; and her mother’s chair, the dents for buttocks and head just resting… always in the coarse weave of floral chintz. Those roses on the upholstery stay alive, while vases … Continue reading April

In the Way of Progress

When the bulldozer came for our house we sewed signs into the windows that said “panegyric government perpetuating poverty” and the great machine purred there like a cat contemplating a lizard’s tail. Then a bloke yelled from the driver’s seat “What does it mean?” and we yelled back “Look it up in the dictionary!” He … Continue reading In the Way of Progress

Two Years After the Fires

(i) on the ridges trees in death black arms still flexed for holding up the sky but it falls strung between them whitely broken such soft caressing of their limbs now rain comes the marching of time slick silver arrows (ii) we walk in a valley torn flat trees prostrated by flood the tinny upper … Continue reading Two Years After the Fires


Fay Collins "Sunset and Squally Showers, Connemara" The falling shale of a thunderbolt’s bellow cracked wide sun’s yolk a glow like breath of dragons emanated permeating sky's shelfless larder cloud syrup skein on skein perspiring down toward pigmented sea and granite blade and the steaming gratification of rainfall Written for Sarah's dVerse Poetics - Fay … Continue reading Beginning