Beads of rain streak the window beyond which there is a violet tint in the sky as dusk begins to fall. Dim telegraph poles slip by. Then the chequerboard of yellow and black at the edge of a small town, and bubbled letters caught in the floodlights of an AstroTurf pitch. Continue reading
Always in a hurry, the fishmonger would stay in the middle of the street and shout out that he was there. Women rushed out of their houses with their aprons on. Clutching their purses, they queued for the fish wrapped in newspaper. Continue reading
During the night, my brother Brian’s dog never stopped yapping. Early next morning my mother called out and she always used the Irish language pronunciation of my name.
‘Meehawl, your fry is on the table, and you’ll need it. You have a long day ahead of you.’ Continue reading
I watched her through the process as her fingers moved so fast as to blur. Constantly she consulted the intricate pattern from a book by her side. Continue reading
Winter is coming by David M Reid Acrylics on canvas A Homeless Ghost by David M Reid 28 October 2025 In ’68 I left my troubled Belfast homeland.Friends, with only a hint of friendly malice,slyly suggested,‘You’re not emigrating.You’re deserting.’ In that divided city,one must pick a side.But I feltneither Irish nor British,neither Protestant … Continue reading
Her final words are to the homeless and to those who become so because home is not safe: ‘To anyone trapped in a place that does not feel like home, and anyone who has ever been asked the question ‘why don’t you just leave?’ This book is for you. Continue reading
Liath Feictear liath ar liathA chiallaíonn Gaza:Liath na luathaLiath an smionagarLiath na haibhleoigeLiath craicinn gan fuilLiath na gcléití réabthaLiath na cnámh lomLiath an fhásaigh, ina bhfuil coscAr áthasAr atruaAr bheathaAr dhóchasAr thrócaireAgus, fiú, ar dhaonnacht. Grey There is a particular shade of greyThat signifies Gaza:Grey of ashGrey of rubbleGrey of embersGrey of bloodless skinGrey of … Continue reading
I watched her through the process as her fingers moved so fast as to blur. Constantly she consulted the intricate pattern from a book by her side. Continue reading
‘Have you seen the exhibition yet?’ Continue reading
Like Heaney, I too was catapulted back to the powerful impact of reading Wilde’s De Profundis, also penned in Reading Gaol, on me aged 20. Continue reading
Tinteán 