Friday, July 1, 2022





Straightforward curves belie the conventional

ace of clubs no longer suffices this journal

criminal being indoors, sapping the cool breeze

recognisable figurines stand to ceremony

the abrasive sentinel halts the candle.


Fighting for the gist of another brilliant mistake

acres of literature pass on by, ejecting histories

to find out naturally the death of an associate

counting the tears to be classed as genuine

rejecting socializing for an unknown cause.


Defunct extensions, a current remains different

rummaging through  boredom a bright misdeed

down the lower rung on purpose, loving one’s own

walking under sweat, classes in the open air

a paltry tan qualifies the burdened laughter.


Controlled on one page, hardy credentials,

walking under umbrage, exercise a close second

the polluted paradise looks through the shop window

ascertaining a singular beauty, gone postal

palming off case to a deserving cause, for once.


Very productive, now sit down and be quiet.

Some advice over one’s head, sagging for the penury

loving the work assigned, breathing the portrait

not knowing who to back, a dog worth chasing

godliness surfacing, lilies festering, staid.





Very little to do with jewellery, cutlery will do.

Weighed down by misspent seniority,

returning to the world of promise, abortive streak

watching the waitresses ply their trade guiltily.


Gone with the wind, and to the moon, unrepentant,

the respectable going for a fix before work

whiskey clerics composed the insurmountable

burning an aperture through expensive dates.


So much for the circular saw, taken clean away

composing this infatuation with a bleeding situation,

calling for tea for sake of propriety

freshened flowers disgrace the otherwise.


Pictures on a latter feat, burning over literature

fearing the best, beaming through this dross,

the incorrigible notice confuses us all

the blood group heartily dispenses its wares.


These obsolete candles, boiling outside

waiting their turn to pay fairly and squarely

overpowered by a tight sweater, a prize declined

chatroom failure nestles in its stares.


Class downed, pawing someone else’s stewardship,

Walking tall, falling short, singing through hardship

opening windows to get past the pleasantries

passible penny-dreadful brushes past the ceremony.


This Median Age


Probably dead by then, the bleeding orange

sifting through the savage breast, beholding

picking apart the jewellery rendered obsolete

dancing on the street under cover of profession.


At last, under cover of a comedian’s gaze,

hand-tooled jokes come fast and thin.

Appropriate radio stations on the correct track,

the sleeping anatomy of a dog gone berserk.


Interrogated at notice, harbinger of food,

a private guest steals home, overweight, as you like

the cast-off papers yellowed by the weather,

wild weeds on inheritance promised on hand.


Classed as fresh meat, flavour of the week

this luxury unwanted till it’s too late,

swinging through the trees, laughing at the curse

No indentured fashion can save you now.


Feminism has its limits, not yet tried,

Colour-coded literature hits at the silverware,

prizes given for availability, misspent friendship

transactions declared for advantaged assets.


Condemned by the scales to a life of inadequacy

looking up to the hapless, the derelict song,

same rhyme and metre cross the unfortunate task

posthumous growth shaming the primary class.



Burned Fort


A goodly sickness pervades the night sky

productive hangover sidesteps into trouble.

Displaying effects for these eyes only,

scoring highly on the relative, ball rolling

dogged photos a cause to betray many.


Bespoke number plates go past swearing

raising funds for the vague, kept busy,

not beating the feeling a confused order

poisoned repression doing its bit happily

squirrelled past relatives, fearing the inevitable.


Eating teeth, being around for a long time,

remembering foibles in place of employment

applications in writing to the god-blessed

indefatigable pain, pervading the beloved

apportioning blame to a lesser notice.


Dancing though luxury, sexualised applications

wiping the floor clean with other sensibilities

famous where once bereft, hunted like a demon

devastated in translation, to a higher calling

losing money in trouble a precious study.



Psyche Asylum


Shattered to a fault.  A consummate job well done,

timetabled to perfection, hugging corners,

compensating for sleep, a notable aberration

sampling turgid wares from a smorgasbord of shame

in no company to declare a faultless pitch.


Ashamed of past achievement, scintillated recognition

growing up in the same environment goes off-kilter,

deserting your post for sake of a record,

washed clean of affray when occasion demands

the basic seat for preferment runs through type.


Almost a betrayal, slipping tongues casually

a bigoted bile starts at a hackneyed tattoo

the intelligent mastering of a distant forever

the well-worn satchel does a proper job

heavier the better, perdition remains key.


Comfortable through statistics, shredding incrimination

the butter’s innocence too much to declare,

vitamin drinks on the quiet, telling no one,

reaching behind the counter for your prize

laughed at, a vantage point in the pub next door.


A perfect diary, peppered with concatenations

scarcely believable through the mundane life,

hung out to dry, a punishment going amiss

bastardised editing comforts seal the deal

sleeping on gifts a choice made complicated.




PATRICIA WALSH was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland.  To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals.  These include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press; Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet's Wing, Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo.  She has also published anovel, In The Days of Ford Cortina, in August 2021

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