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The New Bar
Liam Ryan [Third Place, Strokestown International Poetry Awards 2012] Some years later when they were fitting a new bar in the lounge I was called in to consult with the Fire Officer about relocating...
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Eunoia Eye to Eye: A Sestina
Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé The wheelmen, when wet, wrest the wheel. ~ Christian Bök Eunoia, this is not a new aesthetic or epistemology about beauty, what ends undergird Wittgenstein’s wit,...
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On Introducing My Husband To My Ex
Shirley McClure I did not need to say to you, darling, this is X, the one who pumped my heart with helium and cast it, airborne to the whin, where it lay punctured, inhaling yellow, no longer certain...
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Dubai Creek, Ramadan by Isobel Dixon
Dubai Creek, Ramadan We haven’t fasted, but have eaten iftar fish, cooked Asian-style, “as you prefer”, marvelling at boori, barracuda, shark, dorade, laid out on ice, a sameways-facing glass-eyed...
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Tubbers And Me – A Poem
Sandra Harris Listen, will you, And I’ll tell you the dream I had last night,Exactly as I remember it. We attended the buffet together, Ryan Tubridy and me; It wasn’t a great buffet, There was a lot of...
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And Came Jacqueline
Chris Preddle [Second Place, Strokestown International Poetry Awards 2012] 1 And came Jacqueline inland to a seagreen porch in Holme, riverlass of the Greenock shipyards or holme, naiad of the Clyde...
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My Last Coyote
Liane Strauss That’s him, down there, my masterpiece, in tatters. That smouldering viscid blitz of broken yolks dappling the ruddy dust like early morning shadows on a country lane, that’s the last...
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Sin-Eater
Jessica Traynor He blows on his hands to warm them; it looks like some ritual, some totem. Between us, nothing but certainty – the death-sound in the old woman’s throat – and uncertainty – the priest’s...
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Duparc: A Programme Note
Jim Maguire [Winner of the Strokestown International Poetry Award 2012] Spare a thought for Henri Duparc, re-inventor of the French mélodie who left just seventeen songs. The world can only imagine...
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Seán Ó Dúrois
Dodekathlos Is fuath liom obair an tí a dhéanamh. Casann feadán fada an fholúsghlantóra Thart ar mo chosa mar a bheadh nathair ann. Tá téada gairide ar crochadh ón tsíleáil, Snáitheanna gearrtha na...
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