jpoet7/Joseph Black Photography

Won’t you lay me down on Achill sound
Where beauty,hills and sea surround
Let nature be my resting place
Green grasses, reeds surround my face
Let strangers pass by unaware
Of the life I’ve lived or who lies there
Maybe they’ll bow in whispered prayer
Or just ramble on without a care.


View original post

Tim Cunningham – Three Poems

The Galway Review

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATim Cunningham is Limerick-born, and has worked in education in Dublin, Delaware, London and Essex.

His sixth collection, The Lyrics to the Nightingale’s Song,  is due out with Revival Press in April.


(‘Lord, You are hard on mothers’, Padraic Pearse)

There is blood at the birth of a child
And blood at the birth of a nation.

The blood in a country cottage was discreet
As a young woman’s waters broke
And my father slipped from bow
To stern down the deck of her body.

Beside the Liffey, a nation’s waters broke
And the river ran red as if
Blood was the currency of freedom.

Outside the whitewashed cottage, a mother
Proudly pegged white napkins to the line
Where the plover’s splash was golden,
Bog myrtle perfumed the air
And slanes sliced softly into turf.

Outside Dublin’s G.P.O.,
The tricolor fluttered its pride,
Startled starlings scattered,
The stench…

View original post 325 more words

Unraveling the Ovillejo (a new poetic form rolls up to the Bar)




Cheers! Happy 2016, and welcome to The Bar. De Jackson (WhimsyGizmo) here. Pull up a stool, and let’s untangle a fun poetic form you won’t find much info about here in the Western world (at least not in English): the Ovillejo.

As with my introduction to most forms, I first learned about the Ovillejo from Robert Lee Brewer over at Poetic Asides.

The explanation below is offered from several online sources, which seem to be attributed most often to Rhina P. Espaillat:

…the “ovillejo,” an old Spanish verse form that means “tight little bundle.” “-ejo” is one of our blessed diminutives, and “ovillo” means “tangled ball of yarn.” The last line is a “redondilla,” a “little round” that collects all three of the short lines. The rhyme scheme is established, but the meter is at the poet’s discretion, although in Spanish the longer lines tend to be octosyllabic (8…

View original post 568 more words

David Bowie.

“Starman” David Bowie. R.I.P.

One of my “Heroes” has just passed over

A “Rebel Rebel” in the best sense of the word

The very opposite to a “Space Oddity”

“Ashes to Ashes” the “Jean Genie” is now at home

With those other “Absolute Beginners”

“All The Madmen” of our youth are now

“With The Man Who Sold The World”

Farewell “Ziggy Stardust” Farewell “The Prettiest Star”

  1. C. J. Black©β

Interesting how some people can get away with murder …

365 And Counting

In June of 2013 the then 16-year old Ethan Couch was driving, illegally on a restricted license, while scalesdrunk. He lost control of the car and killed four people.

As his defense, his lawyers said he suffered from “affluenza.”  In other words he was a spoiled rich kid who was given money, but little else.  He had no idea what it was to be accountable for his actions.  Unbelievable as it may sound, it worked.  He was sentenced to 10 years of probation (which he violated when he attended parties where there was alcohol) and therapy at an in-patient facility.

Last month he disappeared.  His probation officer couldn’t

View original post 513 more words

Una Meers – The Recital

The Galway Review

Una MeersUna Meers was born in Dublin. She has always enjoyed writing and many years ago won an award for her short story, The World Around Us. Family and work then took centre stage, but on retiring from Trinity College she has returned to writing short stories.
She now enjoys her life living part of the year in Dublin and the rest in a small village in the South of France.

The Recital

By Una Meers

In the Main Theatre of the Royal Irish Academy of Music, gifted students are privileged to play in concert for the hierarchy of the Academy. Parents are also invited to watch their children perform. I wait. My hands are clammy. Fear grips my stomach and I feel it’s going to go horribly wrong.
It is 1960. I am ten years old.
From the wings, my turn approaches. The smell of old pianos mixed with wood…

View original post 327 more words

Happiness – Joe Black

Raja's Insight


I wake up in the country
The silence it surrounds me
No noise of traffic in the distance
Throngs of people and impatience

My heart beats at a slower pace
A step away from the great rat race
My mind full of serenity and peace
All my troubles they have ceased

Thoughts of happiness and of joy
No mind intrusions to annoy
No more obscenities to obscure
Just nature innocent and pure

© Joe Black


Bio – Joe Black
In my mind I’m now an improving experimental poet. I learn every day, I see the world in a different way. I now read more, maybe not enough but that is also improving. I’m now confident enough to sign both my poetry and photographs.

View original post