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CRADLING NIGHT
Last night the moon hid daring the stars to give chase across the void but they preferred their slow procession. I looked long, hard for her but she was master of this game. I looked for her behind the neon signs blazing from countless buildings electric grave stones marking the resting place of peace on…
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CLIFDEN MORNING
They were meanderers, gypsies of sorts, but never Tinkers, never an lucht siúil. They never travelled far, preferring the comforts of where they called home. They knew they wheren’t liked, weren’t really welcome here. They would be tolerated here perhaps, never fully accepted in good company. But they’d grown too numerous to ignore. They walked slowly across…
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an old writer and his words 