Legacies live

within cheekbones,

sharp as darts,

freckled luminosity of skin

made alabaster in the womb; 

deep inside the crink of slice, hazelised,

laughing brightly under ginger ice frosting

of the hair gently falling from a head old

as the wild western shore.


I can see my roar reflected

in the crash of the Atlantic,

in the dashing rage of wave on wave

upon the rocks at Spanish Point:

clint and gryke crib for passion’s damage.

I’m in the monochrome echo of my Nan

behind glass upon the table.


We have giants in this family.

A DNA atlas mapping famine, we are menace

made of scar tissue memories of sacking.

Now I lie in the arms of the mother who abandoned me

to Cromwell and his charmers in the New Model Army,

wrapped in ribbons coloured militant

and standing up repeatedly for liberty.




Atlas:  late 16th century (originally denoting a person who supported a great burden): via Latin from Greek Atlas, the Titan of Greek mythology who supported the heavens and whose picture appeared at the front of early atlases.

NaPoMoWri 2019

◄ Cycle Haiku

Scopaesthesia ►


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Laura Taylor

Thu 11th Apr 2019 13:45

Aye. I'd love to go to Donegal but it's only Stena that can get us there in the car, and they want an absolute fortune!! The Burren's like an alien landscape! Or a deathtrap haha 😀 Try walking on THAT drunk 😀

Yeh, can't tell you how much in love with the west I am. Actually tugs at me inside.

Cheers Trev. I'm taking a break over the weekend as I'm gigging at a festie down Gloucester way, and won't be spending all my time scribbling 😉 Have fun - see ya when I'm back 😃

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Trevor Alexander

Thu 11th Apr 2019 13:25

Roots in County Clare? I'm from Belfast, but my spiritual home is Donegal - unfailingly drawn there when I visit 'the old country'. In many ways, the Burren reminds me of the lava fields of Iceland, other than the colour of course. It's a wild and beautiful place to claim for your origins, and it comes across so eloquently in your writing.

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Laura Taylor

Thu 11th Apr 2019 13:03

Day 11, Napowrimo 2019

Today's prompt: write a poem of origin. Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually? Maybe you are from Vikings and the sea and diet coke and angry gulls in parking lots. Maybe you are from gentle hills and angry mothers and dust disappearing down an unpaved road. And having come from there, where are you now?

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