By Ruairí de Barry


The words were sent out of the window and into the world,
Spiralling nouns danced on the breeze and prose rose on light airs,
Gusting gales could not the verbs shake loose from bonds of rhyme,
The poets thoughts set loose upon the wind and free.

Far away they flew, soaring through the sky despite their worthy weight,
Poems full of time telling of many stories and of many lives.
Of days stood in sand with rifle in hand,
Of life observed through younger eyes in days gone by.

That window through which the words rushed was lit bright,
A becon as the gathering dark draws in and the winds rise,
That window and those wonderful words will be a light driving back the dark,
Words tell their stories arc, from cradle to grave, the writers epitaph they mark.

The words travels swift and fast through glass fibre electronic blast,
But they often slow and sink, hold fast, on paper smooth and minds rough,
To hold against the buffeting these words must be tough,
The words have finally come to rest, in this here book upon my resting chest.


You say I never write for you.
You say it with sad eyes.
So I have tried to write for you, to help you stop awhile and smile.

I have sat about the rocky ledge and marvelled at the sight.
Of winged lovers far below, journeying, ore ocean roar and rocky might.
I reached the top and summited and my first thought was this.

That just like the Puffins far below, you might find this bliss.
Nestled in rare shelter spot, I saw a bright brave bloom.
And felt I should help it home, to help you ease your gloom.

images-3You are my heart.
My thoughts.
My love.
And I will not leave you behind.


Seek the high and lonely places, let the roar of wind push electronic chatter from your ears and drag a tear from an eye that was dry to long.

Breathe deep.

Feel the bite and sting of cold wind rush into the forgotten basements of your lung and revel in it. Anywhere flushed skin is exposed, the wind will lick and nip.

Seek the high and lonely places, let the wind push and buffet you and feel small. Look out, across and down and feel small.

Breathe deep.

Feel the bite and sting of cold wind rush into the forgotten basements of your mind and revel in it. The wind will rise and bare aloft memories that have been lost.

Ruairí de Barra hails from the wilds of Co.Mayo, Ireland and now resides in Cobh, Co.Cork. A sailor with two decades of service, he is a regular contributor to An Cosantóir, the Irish Defence Forces magazine, with articles on maritime, military, historical and international subjects. These poems are the first of his to be published. He also writes under the  nom de plume Karol Barry – see: https://karolbarry.wordpress.com

Tour of Duty by Michael Whelan

There is this memory of violence,
this sand on Tel Aviv Beach,
like warm powder between my toes,
what I imagine the moon is like
when warmed by the sun, and I stand there,
white waves rolling in like silent dreams
I haven’t had yet, the sea distorting the curve.
I wake suddenly to a blue sky,
welcome myself again to the great
encapsulating dome of reality,
the peace torn by a low flying jet
dropping strings of chaff, bursting
through the valley to hide safely behind the hills,
mission complete, ordinance delivered over Beirut.
mjw-lebI welcome myself back again,
collect my bearings,
remember where it is I am.
The pilot will be home soon.
I count the days.

(c)Michael J. Whelan
Michael is a regular contributor to the Tinteán poetry page.
He is an Irish award winning Poet, Historian and  Author.
2nd Place Winner of the Patrick Kavanagh International Poetry Award 2011.
3rd Place Winner of Jonathan Swift Creative Writing Awards (poetry) 2012
author of ‘The Battle of Jadotville: Irish Soldiers in Combat in the Congo, 1961.’ and ‘Allegiances Compromised: Ex British Soldiers in the Irish Army 1913-24.’
Served as United Nations Peacekeeper in Lebanon & Kosovo with Irish Defence Forces.