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Horror Clowns are dickheads
“You can really taste the hops,” said Taras. He held up his glass. “Our new IPA.” Misha sniffed the beer with a deep snort. “Ah, such a smell . These...
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- 268 reads
Clacton Beach Memoir: 1975
Clacton Beach Memoir: 1975 Was she red with anger? It was difficult to tell. What with the sunburn, heat haze and lipstick. From the water’s edge,...
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- 566 reads
Your child will remember this day forever
“Great! You’re here! You couldn’t have come at a better time,” says the daughter. She takes her father by the hand and leads him outside to the back...
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- 856 reads
Wild Welsh Poppies
Lemon poppies dancing in the breeze – shimmering crinkled silk chiffon.
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- 374 reads
Gargantua
A very hungry giant
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- 10 comments
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- 951 reads
The Patrolman - 21
Jake Lacey stood outside, smoking a Lucky down to the filter.
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- 189 reads
Clochán an Aifir (The Giant’s Causeway)
Not too far from where I once lived, this place has mesmerised me since I was six.
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- 1400 reads
Traces of Time
TRACES OF TIME THE SHAPE OF TIME UNWINDS ITS PATH THAT WAS FORETOLD: NOW MEMORIES ARE SHAPED AS A MOSAIC DISPLAY OF WHAT IRONY CALLS REALITY. LIKE...
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- 145 reads
Cherries
I love to get a cherry yes is it true I love cherries don't you they are very nice and red and taste so sweet you see oh wait its not for eating it...
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- 167 reads
That's Dream Pop
The style of music we Irish seem perfectly attuned to is not the sombre ballad, or those racing jigs of our traditions, nor is it the country croon...
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- 8 comments
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- 1320 reads
Roaming Giants!
Long ago there roamed the land dinosaurs so big and grand; now they are no longer found, but their bones are in the ground. Been there long to fossilize, but to many men’s surprise …
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- 4 comments
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- 385 reads
What the caterpillar calls the end (for those who are becoming…)
What the Caterpillar Calls the End (for those who are becoming) The light grew dim, the air grew still, The green world closed, the leaf went chill...
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- 8 comments
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- 917 reads
Introducing Turlough Ó Maoláin, Performance Poet
My April, the second of two parts, and restricted to 100 words per day because less is more, and I am the Ludwig Mies van der Rohe of village gossip.
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- 17 comments
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- 2165 reads
A Lasting Gift
'He's here, you know...' 'Grandma, who's here? What do you mean?' 'It's my sweet John, your granddad, he's always here when I need him. He's just...
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- 9 comments
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- 1181 reads
Thumper.
I remember when Jacob who I work with told me that he, “Took my three cats to a cat’s charity and told them that I can’t afford to look after them...
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- 243 reads
Market Square
I stood in the Market Square waiting for my wife to come out of the supermarket. Old enough to remember times before supermarkets, my left eyebrow...
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- 1 comment
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- 249 reads
Peace By Piece
PEACE BY PIECE Reconstructing a Nation After The Troubles By Paul McCann The conflict known as The Troubles may have officially ended in 1998, but...
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- 4 comments
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- 186 reads
The Fish on the Hill
My April, the first of two parts, and restricted to 100 words per day so that I can’t be accused of banging on about it.
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- 18 comments
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- 2815 reads
English.
As I arrived at my Mums yesterday, my brother William said to me, “The finals of the snooker is about to start at 7pm, Mum and I have been watching...
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- 5 comments
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- 551 reads
Yellow
“I wish you’d quit smoking so much. Seems like you’ve been needing it.” “I have.” “Wanna talk about it?” “No.” “Ok.” ⸻ The rain patters the roof. She...
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- 4 comments
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- 314 reads