Justice? (250-word fiction)

Goldilocks was our favourite bedtime story when we were kids. In that age of schoolyard bullies, I guess we liked the idea that thieves would ultimately get their comeuppance – that you couldn’t just walk into someone’s home and break their favourite chair and eat all of their porridge without consequences. No: you would be caught out. You would have to answer for your actions. Papa Bear would be stern and enraged, Mama Bear would shout, “for shame!”, Baby Bear would cry his eyes out, and you would be struck by the deepest remorse.

You certainly wouldn’t smirk and whisper some disparaging remark to your lawyer when the victim impact statement was read out, that’s for sure.

The Ballroom Project, Chapter Two (3,600-word fiction)

Alilah must reach her brother. She must. She can’t quite see him – it seems to her that he is standing at the other side of a vast, unfamiliar hallway, his silhouette barely visible – and she is running to reach him, yet the faster she moves, the further he slips from her view. She…

See Yourself / Your Solace 🌼 (spoken word poetry)

Soul healing for those who feel misunderstood, out of place … holding a vision that is yet unsteady on its feet. ❤️ See Yourself Drop your burdens and let dawning light caress your face.You hold a vision that is yet unsteady on its feetamidst rushing lines of traffic,the clicks and taps of impassioned argument. You…

She’ll be out of here as soon as possible (fiction)

Ellen knew that today’s biology class would be a nightmare. She skimmed through the textbook at the end of summer – just to familiarise herself with the syllabus before the term started – and as soon as she saw the chapter about the human reproductive system, her heart sank, because she knew what to expect. There would be audible snorts and giggles and furtively whispered remarks around the room, especially at the back of the class.

Grace (a short story)

Grace remembers it well. It’s one of the few things she remembers. Her mother used to put a drop of brandy in her sister’s bottle to help her sleep. She no doubt did the same thing for Grace, and why wouldn’t she? In that dusty room, in that falling-down old house, the walls covered in grime and soot from the Franklins’ fire downstairs. Her mother had tried to give them both the best life she could, Grace can see that now.

The Ballroom Project, Chapter One (1,900-word fiction)

It is no bad thing, Guenneth believes, that she is now regarded as too dowdy and dull for most men of high standing or wealth to acknowledge. In her younger days, she was sometimes pursued by the wealthy sons of those who visited or worked with her employers, but she found herself becoming more and…

Your mother saved me (540-word fiction)

The poor child is only sixteen years old. Guenneth can well remember what it was to be that age: how a romance can light up your every waking moment and make you believe, somehow, that even as a downtrodden peroi girl, your life might be blessed with some measure of joy.

It is no bad thing to be dowdy and dull (370-word fiction)

It is no bad thing, Guenneth believes, that she is now regarded as too dowdy and dull for most men of high standing or wealth to acknowledge. In her younger days, she was sometimes pursued by the wealthy sons of those who visited or worked with her employers, but she found herself becoming more and…

A Lower Station (430-word fiction)

A story about a woman who expected to lead a luxurious life and has now fallen on hard times, as her husband’s company has foundered.

Tribute to Brendan Kennelly: A Man of Warmth and Lyricism

Irish poet and author Brendan Kennelly – described by fellow writer Gabriel Fitzmaurice as a ‘poet of the people’ – passed away today. My fondest memory of Brendan was meeting him on the day of my graduation from Trinity College back in 2014. Less than an hour after the ceremony, my family and I encountered…