Friday, 26 July 2013


this glimpsed november fire,
she speaks with darker eyes,

each flushed whisper
maps her silver light

© Eabha Rose 

Wednesday, 24 July 2013


Midnight mother,
a weary armour
this door
to a chamber
once forgotten
and almost dreamed.

This singing breeze
drums gently,
its broken bough
slipping, dipping
under feathered arches

© Eabha Rose (from cut-up)

image : Hill of Tara

Monday, 22 July 2013

today with you


Death was creeping up slowly. It was pushing its way up through springtime buds, dancing with the cherry blossoms, resting amongst the lavender and sage. I watched it kneel over autumn’s coverlet, heard it hum as we ran in circles through the wide open fields of childhood, of hours of reverie as we searched for freedom. I heard it sing as I gasped beneath your touch.

(published - Decanto Poetry Journal 12/12)

© Eabha Rose

this morning

Eabha Rose ©

Tuesday, 16 July 2013

Galway Review

Galway Review shares Sharon Frye's poetry

American poet, Sharon Frye is a guest of this year's Fermoy Poetry Festival. I have had the pleasure of collaborating with Sharon on spoken word productions. The above is a sharing of Sharon's poetry by the Galway Review

Monday, 15 July 2013

escape to Provence

We grabbed our suitcases at Mountpellier International Airport. Ed's guitar case, with valium and sleeping tablets had to go through a second inspection. He’d looked concerned though he’d had the necessary prescriptions. ‘O hon, don’t worry about the valium, you know what the French are like. They love tablets. It’s part of the culture. Bet they’re sorry they couldn’t get at yours.’
‘No, I just really fucking need one, Elsa..’

It was late afternoon. We walked towards Hertz Rent a Car. They handed us the keys to an old Renault Scenic

We set out towards Sainte Marie de La Mer. ‘Ah, isn’t it lovely, babe..’, I said rolling down the window. Wagons and motor homes chugged past.‘Just watch the road’, he said rolling a cigarette. My sister would be waiting with her new boyfriend, Ido, A model. He’d defected to France to escape military service. Ido was helping with the camera work for the documentary.  Ed started to relax. He stuck on his shades and began singing along to Jacques Brel.  

We reached Sainte Marie de la Mer at nightfall. ‘Hey you guys!..’ I could hear Susie yelling from the beach. She was waving a bottle of wine. ‘Ido is lighting a fire. Tell Ed to bring his guitar!’ She was wearing a scarf around her waist, her red hair freshly braided. I could see Ido in a bandana gathering sticks.
‘For Fuck’s sake’, I heard Ed mutter under his breath.
‘Relax, you’, I said pinching his arse. ‘Get your guitar out and join the party…’

© Eabha Rose

words undone

Words Undone on Facebook

Imen Benyoub's "Escape"