From up on Garraun you can see out along Renvyle peninsula. Glasilaun, Lettergesh, Mullaghloss, and Tullycross somewhere hidden. Names known since I’ve known names.
Distilled summers of wave on wave, collapsing in rushes, scrambling down grassy slopes. The sea so …
I’m hunched down under a little umbrella, my back against a rock face on the mountainside, and through drumming hail sunlight beams from under a turreted and tendrilled bank of Atlantic cloud.
Cold. Fresh. Soft. The loft-frozen pellets hop and …
Winter still on duty:
Drops dusk early
Provokes depressions to jostle over the Atlantic
And this one brings fierce hail,
Stinging along the coast
For poor shelter under wavebashed rock
Scattering sea birds
Into jolted gale-hung grace
It’s early January, and 2018 is still shiny and new and cold, and I pull in 5 miles from Clifden to get a photo of some mounds of gravel that have been piled up by the N59.
I’m hoping to …
Suddenly Sam found himself sitting at the next table to Sam.
To be more clear, Sam McKenna suddenly realised that he was sitting at a table next to a table where Sam McKenna sat.
To be clearer still, here we …
701-9 Test 3028. 2017-12-15. 16:22.
Click. swing. Light up. Foodbody? Grabbody. Grabbody smell.
Grab grab. Grab grab go. Up up. Smell loud. Body loud. Away away. Over. Grab grab. Down. Ear loud. Down.
Splash splash. Grab go. Grabbody smell. Swim …
The last ‘proper’ snow here was back in 2010/2011, when things got real cold, as low as -15, and pipes were splitting up and down the country. In Ireland we basically call society off when it goes below -5. Most …
Gusto was only back for the weekend. I met him on Friday afternoon and then again in a pub on Saturday.
It was December and there was a cold snap, with snow on the hills and along the edges of …
Born willing, fire inside,
Voice wailing “I’m alive”
Torn silence, punctured peace
Time feeling ill at ease
Bruised knuckles, bloody knees
Some learning never heals
Pied pipers peddle lies
Plastic halos, hiding eyes
Born willing, every morn
More able, more …
I compiled a small gallery of stills from the 1953 Yasujirō Ozu film, Tokyo Story.
I simply took screenshots when the camera stayed put on some detail or setting, free from dialogue.
These shots are simply but beautifully framed and …
In the winter of the will where we have parked,
There are new words dealing in the dark,
Out you go – all you know.
In the time spun off the clock where we are sinking,
There are distant pretty …
Interview room 341 is very small and dark, like a segment cut from a corridor. Harry notices the odd ratio of wall to door to window as he automatically moves towards the one empty chair. An inspector sits …
The Dark Half. If you were to cut a year down the middle, right through the belly, it would make sense (in the northern hemisphere at least), to choose the time of Halloween.
This is when Daylight Savings Time is …
BadReview: Crime and Punishment, play, Druid Theatre Galway, October 2017.
It’s one of those books that you might happen to namedrop the odd time.
“It’s a bit Dostoyevskian, isn’t it?”
“A bit Crime and Punishment perhaps?”
Phshsh! It’s …
Dull, damp, October. A pheasant in the middle of the road. I always have the wrong lens, and he flies off before I can find another. The road ends, a track begins. Fading signposts point out the Western Way. A …
Is it here yet? We are plugged into radio, tv, boards.ie, facebook, twitter. RED warning. refresh, refresh, refresh. Cork’s getting a hammering. 169 km/h way down at Fastnet Rock. Waterford. Tipperary. The eye is tracking up the west …
September. Wave stripping wind. A drive back to Cleggan. Missed the early ferry. Was stuck behind buses thought about overtaking, but nope, pulled the plug on aiming for the early ferry and had coffee in Clifden. Made ferry 2. Bang, …
Us & Then (Exabyte)
Billows of dust
Thickened and dry
Colour of rust
Blotting the sky
Comments flicker in the fallen night
(A trillion stars in a trillion galaxies)
Flickering, bickering, faraway old light of
Go on, get …
Windmills on the hills slowly rotate in the August breeze. John Sullivan, eighty-plus, with a healthy shock of hair, hops onto the stuttering old Massey Ferguson, his back injured and twisted from years of hard work on the land. But …
A Day in the Failures of John R. Clancy
John Rufus Clancy tried to become so still that he could feel time pass, but he failed. He could see the clock counting up, but he couldn’t feel its passing. …