Ireland

  • Agnieszka Filipek


    on your grave
    the lilies of the valley
    hang their heads

  • commuter

    Early morning in early spring. The streets feel emptier than ever. No sunlight, no leaves, no people. Occasional cars pass, but there’s no chance of encounter. Apparently, people have seen foxes in this area. Nothing yet. Not even a cat. In amongst the houses and offices are occasional shops. Mostly shuttered, but a few still dare to face the city with naked glass. Short on stimulus, I peer in.

    everything must go
    the urgent catalogue
    of a song thrush

    Slowly, ever so slowly, the light changes. Twilight teases. That’s consolation of a sort, but I’ll only see the sun today if I run an errand. There’s a brutality to my timetable at this time of year. Perhaps I should take vitamin D supplements and adjust my Serotonin Transporter Protein with a light box. Even on a Goldilocks planet, not everything is “just right”.

    back and forth
    between the equinoxes
    striving for balance

  • David J. Kelly

    coffee from the ground down

     

    post proof the whole truth takes too long

     

    remember when you thought you could crack cocaine

     

  • David J. Kelly

    dog violet
    looking at the world
    through different spectra

     

    the first time -
    and Iiiiiiii e i e i
    will always

     

  • David J. Kelly

    a rabbit
    in my headlights
    our shared helplessness

     

    house clearance
    her pet cat’s ghost
    in the dust bunnies

     

    my unhappy place
           it's so hard to leave
                  the floodgates open

     

  • David J. Kelly

    moorland stroll
    a harsh wind winnowing
    the calls of finches

     

  • Kelly, David J

  • Kelly, David J

    crossroads
    nothing left
    looking anyway

     

    . . . oh
    the emptiness
    as it filled your mouth

     

    side by side
    in a cheap hotel room
    phone chargers

  • Mike Gallagher

    lovers –
    the intimacy
    of shadows

    Stardust Haiku. Issue 30 - June 2019

     

  • Mike Gallagher


    an old photo
    seeing in his eyes
    what was lost

  • Remnants

    The narrow lane leads to the abandoned farmhouse, hidden behind blackberry bushes. The fence is still recognizable. The gateposts lean sideways; the gate is rusty and falls apart.

    The roof beams can be seen between broken slates and tufts of grass. Flaking white colour matures on the walls.

    A holy figure is faintly visible behind the dust and spider web covered window panes. Swallows announcing spring build their nests under the gutters. The wooden door, in faded red, opens for the midday sun.

    Inside there is a dresser with broken crockery; a table with a mass leaflet on top, dating from Christmas 2007; a crossword puzzle, which has not been finished; and a chair with three legs. The fireplace seems long unattended.

    stone wall
    a snail leaves traces
    on worn leather