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An older poem I've dusted off; having reflected on what Jack commented on my last poem. It is the age old question - what constitutes us? This poem comes as close to the Buddhist view as I can manage; and of course there may be another truth. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Mr Pinkertons Garden Of Visions By Paul McCann Buttermilk and honey dewdrops glistened in the morning sun on the leaves of spearmint trees . The...

Chapter Two "Wake up...wake up fool!" Tom awoke to find Big Roy hollering at him from a seat across an aisleway. He felt a bump of turbulence, pops...

A follow on from my previous poem 'Slipping into the Water', an attempt to put the condition into words. (Image is courtersy of Pixabay)

A time before, when slings and arrows and rockets and missiles made fortunes for a few. Even, tribal wars were unheard of. Silence, save for the...

Stand aside Tristram Shandy, this is The Life and Opinions of Turlough Ó Maoláin, Gentleman. Compiled during the late part of December 2023, at a rate of one hundred words per day.

(2015) I never knew about this castle until 1992, though I had seen it on telly many times without realising. In 1992 I took three weeks or so...

He wasn’t really a Reverend; he was a god- botherer who could out-bible any trained-up taker of the cloth. We just called him that. I found him...

Rain sews stitches in your vision, obstructed views. Steam flows in ribbons twisting upward from the lip of the scummy kettle, thick, white, hardened...