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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Seán Og draped his jacket Around my shoulders To hug me From the chill, close Damp Of the Rahoon holy well. We were blessed, ourselves, Standing together In the weak Pale light bursting Young and eager From behind the cross - But I think Saint Grellan mig...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    i saw the beginnings of an infinite sun-shower just hidden today in the laugh lines of your eyes so let's walk a little farther and you can take me to that damp green forest where willows keep their tears quiet bent over in stifled pain i will put my hands on the bark and heal them caressing i wi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    it holds me captivated dusty and pink swirling looping over my eyes thank you thank you I clap noisy and satisfied my chalk-coated hands flung wide sudden as i fall frozen quiet and breathless my knee my wrist scrape hard and bloody on the gritty cold cement roll over roc...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    i tripped today, somewhere between the road and paddy's grave, alone in the thickets and dusky heather, and in the silken morning fog.   the blackbird listened as i sat and cried. she was kindly, wrinkled, whispering naughty child, alanna, as she wiped the berry stains from ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A fan of black, I lie peaceful, half-conscious, Ensconced In the damp Of the gritty, cold Sidewalk cement... Metamorphosing, It could be said, with my butterfly Wings of taped-on paper. Fragile and crinkly, My skin has become translucent, Reminiscent of peeled grapes. I hover, ghostly, In the brig...
  • Fiction > Fan Fiction
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    His smell lingers with me always, even in my sleep... as if the dark folds of his cloak were draped about my shoulders, heavy and made of a cloying velvet. I wait for him every night, Cathy having shooed me away from the common room and the loud nightly customers, ever the conscientious innkeeper. W...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    flaccid white skin and silence over breakfast. the broken, the beaten over-the-hill sorry baby but you're gonna die the words pour out and never stop. pound pound pound, the pounding of your heart it beats in rhythm blood in your ears your veins. the color of your eyes is red. silence stre...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Sitting here, now, I Remember the way he winked At me, the rogue, and Slid his ring onto the tip of my Pale, shaking finger. I should have trimmed my nails. He would run a Mile through the frosted fall grass, Feet bare, toes numb; Rosy cheeks and clouded breath, coming Urgent, short... ...
  • Nonfiction > Academic
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    This man, these paintings, this blatant show of raw brutality. You can't categorize them. You can say he was inspired, you can say he was influenced; you can say he was possessed by the artistic demons of depression and candor... and he was. The colors of his mind, the way he saw life, felt it ...

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