We Will

For Brenda O Connell who completed a monumental task in a fierce manner.

I will come from your hinterlands to fling open your doors,

I will swim from your oceans to strike at your shores.

I will climb up your trees and let my voice soar.

And when you should stop, I will sing more.


I will cross your borders to pitch my flag,

I will scale your walls to stand and brag.

I will take down your drum and beat it to four,

And when you should stop, I will beat more.


I will walk through your lands to take up my place,

I will name each woman and state their case.

I will dance their pain and sing their mores.

And when you shout stop, I will let my voice soar.


I will take up a stick to shape their face on the land,

I will stamp the truth of their past in each grain of sand.

I will paint their joys and tear up their veils,

And when you shout exile, l will pull down the sails.


And then when we meet me on the road as we will

I will offer my name and expect to hear yours.

I will meet you half way and stand fast where I am

Emboldened by voices from a whisper to a roar!


Milk for adults .

Sudocreme for ouchies.

Almond milk/ unclogged arteries,

Fish to avoid meat ūüĎć

Chicken- not battery!

Meat for a treatūüėč

Spinach to get your greens

Onions – for everything.

Yoghurt – no added sugars!!

Pampers for dry nights.

Washing pods to fill the lines.

Kitchen wipes to kill bacterial signs.

Baby wipes for a gentle clean.

No more tantrum wipes- my next invention.

She sleeps,

Without tension.

12.5Kgs resting.

Toddler sighs in another declension.



Small moves.

Crushing Baby Babog underneath.


I list

And list

And list.

Unwritten articles

Fuzzy photos

Rejected stories

Failed interviews

Eye contact cringe

Unfolded washing

Wet washing

Unanswered mails

Forgotten friends

Lost thoughts

Unthought thoughts

The stranger in the dark

The tiger at the door

The lion in the wardrobe.

The ouchies

Future lone traveling


School bullies

Unknown dangers

Known danger

Unknown known dangers

Known unknown dangers…

A spiraling gyre of fear threatens all.

But lying here,

In the bed beside her cot,

I hear her gentle breaths.

She sleeps.

I should be elsewhere. Folding and packing, typing and thinking, cooking and critiquing.

Her even breathing quells an inadequacy that has been rising for days.

I listen

And listen

And listen.

And rest.

But pausing, I wonder what will halt this fear when she is grown up and gone away.


A leveret lifts from his home,

Sinews stretch, extend and disappear.

A hand descends into the warmth of his form

And rotated grasses return to stand.


A mammoth is lifted from the ice,

Skeletal striations melt and disappear.

A tenancy dissolves with a vanishing scape

And museum bones return to stand.


A medic lifts a sleeper from her cave

Sodden bedding peels back to disappear.

A form slots into polythene

A mortuary lozenge never to stand.

To have the freedom of the drowned sailor #repealthe8th

I am a big college pointer,

Travel sick without moving.


I am a 22 year old shop worker,

Unable to walk on water.


I am the belle of the Barn,

Hiding beneath Emmet’s bridge.


I am a dystopian virgin,

Crouched and cold and slick with dirt.


I am a fifties country girl,

Creased and crazed and fraught with fear.


I am the child crucifix,

Abused and broken with arms outstretched and feet mud frozen.


I am the isolated mother,

Business heels and taut gym skin.


I am your walking sin.


I am the watcher on the banks,

Trapped between the dank black stilliness and the drowned sailor.


And yet

I am the watcher on the bridge,

Caught behind the sailor’s pearl dead eyes,

Listening to a republic’s dying sighs.


I am your nurse, I am your teacher, I sold you shares, I am not your mare.


Bells ring and bibles beat,

Swallows swirl and dive and dip.

One by one they pick an oil skin to lift.


A long dead sailor is carried from this wasteland

While I remain

bathed in the glory of stained glass light.


A long dead sailor is carried from this wasteland

While I remain

choked  on rhetoric and  the poverty of sand.


A long dead sailor is carried from this wasteland

While I remain

gagged by the past and  weed clogged waters.


I am the woman threading time’s spinning wheel,

waiting for a chance to choose but forced to kneel.

I am your prisoner, trapped and dying.

Now is the time to repeal, repeal, repeal!

#repealthe8th #righttochoose #timetoact #ifonlywomencouldwalkonwater

Moon Dust in your Face


I lift you to my face

And you leave behind the faintest trace

Remnants of another time, another universe, another place.


I settle you on our bed

And in you see the faintest thread

Dust woven from stars and moons into a history of saids and un-saids.


I rest your head in my hand

And lay you chin against my lifeline,

My palm, your cheek and eye resting flush with its broken rejoin.


I lift you to the sky

And watch all those other moons fly by

Spinning galaxies of stars reflecting your helix, your eyes, your smile, your cry,

All bound in you with the touch of a never-ending tie.


-For baby Clara who has brought about the undoing of us all!