Compound
The first in a series of Commentary based on our continuing attempts to navigate life on the planet that is rural Ireland. The new gate sweeps up to an…
Statue
Mrs. Porter glared down at the statue. Lately, it seemed to be mocking her, fixing its stony gaze upwards towards this bathroom as if it hated her. “Well,” she…
Child Of Storms
There is a warm slow breeze connected by a thread, a breath, a whispered voice; a faint kiss brushing the cheek and drawing itself up, a wobbly child’s careful…
Attitude Is Everything
Someone at the Midsummer Gathering muttered 'breeder' as they passed my stand. Another ambled by and said 'bratgetter'. I was sitting on a metal chair in front of my…
Empty Space To Fill
The blocked writer's notebook lays open before him. He has read, been told, been warned there is no such thing as a blocked writer. This is a myth. 'Your block…
Love, Like Stew
My shithead ex-boyfriend and that black hole he calls a stomach. They’re both outside again. Third time this week and it’s only Tuesday. Another…