For Mary Anne
by Michael Boyle
Beyond the blackthorn hedges
of ripening sloes
stood Murray’s zinc roof
over the decayed thatch.
Neighbors and callers
came for the craic and chat.
Smell of the warm turf fire.
Unlocked green front door
with the key always under the red flowerpot.
Nobody mentions anything about sounds
from the lower room.
With his farm rented and no fields to mow
Old Paddy left the home place to Cassie.
He retired up the shore to live in Portamore.
Cassie made the tay and everyone had their fill.
And she hid bottle of Guinness for Harry Joe Mc Gill.
That Saturday morning, I walked the Hollow Lane
across the moss path to Murrays
hoping to get used stamps to aid the African Missions.
Cassie poured me a glass of brown lemonade.
She lifted a shiny tin bucket
and went to the well to haul water.
Alone in the room
I rummaged, searched and perused
For Free State, English or Yankee stamps
on dusty envelopes in a Jacob’s biscuit tin.
Suddenly from that lower room –
Howls, screeches and roars-
and my body quivered
A creature nosed the door open wide
I jumped up to go.
And I saw your frail, feline body prone.
Flaxen hair and dressed in black
on all fours
you licked spilt milk
from the cold black floor.
With sad googly eyes you whispered out to me.
‘Hello……..Hello.’
Ghost -Witch – Devil –No, No. No.
Your room –
a prison cell –
for nearly all your life.
Oh Mary Anne. Oh Mary Anne.
Of all the people in the parish
Why did you pick me to say hello?
Six years later
Friday December One in Sixty-One.
On that freezing icy dawn
yon tinder thatch.
Now a red ball fireball glow across the sky.
You were saved
And walked briefly on the winter snow.
Michael Boyle is a native of Lavey, Derry, Ireland. His poems have appeared in the The Antigonish Review, Dalhousie Review, Tinteán and New Ulster Writing. He was awarded ‘The Arts and Letters’ prize for poetry in 2014 by the government of Newfoundland and Labrador. Currently living in St John’s NewFoundland, Michael conducts historical walking tours and is currently writing a memoir of his life in Ireland and NewFoundland.
Good Heavens
by David Harris
I find you can expect philosophy
to show the strange behaviours you will see
in batty postgrad tutors who will show
some strange thought patterns that you know
reflect and catch and amplify the powers
of influence within the academic towers.
My tutor, Brother Michael’s PhD –
‘Thought Processes of Angels’ – dearie me!
I have no doubt the insights he is able
to bring to discourse at the rectory table
would clarify angelic trains of thought
enriching conversation over port.
So who am I to sow those seeds of doubt
that lack of evidence may just point out.
David Harris is a retired engineer living in Adelaide whose ancestors came from Tipperary. He is an Irish language enthusiast and currently working on translating some of his poems into Irish. You can read more of his poetry at
http://friendlystreetpoets.org.au/poetry/sample-of-poets/david-harris/ and in his book In a Subjunctive Mood, Ginninderra Press, 2017
Three Poems by Colin Ryan
Leathdhéanta
Seo sceitse leathdhéanta mná
faoin aer neamhtheoranta:
féach a dreach is é beo
le focail nach ndúradh
is línte an phinn ar thóir
imlíne neamhchinnte
a beatha
Half-finished
Here’s a half-finished sketch of a woman under the endless sky: see her expression, alive with words unspoken, while the pen searches for the uncertain outline of her life.
Deoraí
Deoch eile, a dúirt
an Púca
is coirt crainn choimhthíoch
in aimhréidh ina adharca
é ina dheoraí i ndeisceart
na hintinne
dóite ag grian allúrach
ag léim idir scríobairí spéire
ag rince i dteach ósta
ag ól na dí seirbhe
An exile
Another drink, said the Pooka, with the bark of a foreign tree entangled in his horns, an exile in the southern region of the mind, burnt by a strange sun, leaping between skyscrapers, dancing in a pub, drinking bitterness.
Melbourne’s Colin Ryan is a short story writer and a poet who contributes regularly to Tinteán. The Museum of Literature Ireland says that ‘Colin Ryan is a unique writer based in Melbourne, who has chosen Irish as his literary language and gives it a unique Australian twist. He was raised in the south-east rural Australia, where his Irish ancestors first settle in the 1860s. settled but now lives in Melbourne.’ His published poetry collections are Corraí na Nathrach and Rogha. Ceo Bruithne and Teachtaireacht are his short story collections available from litriocht.com
Tinteán 