Literature

Generally speaking, the Irish novel is a shifting yet clearly distinct beast. It is often rich in prose, plastered with misery and dripping black comedy, creating a cocktail potent enough to have you laughing, recoiling and tearful by the…

Exploring the Cosmos Keep on Spinning is the debut chapbook from Scottish writer and poet Jen Hughes. Hughes studies at the University of Glasgow where a course entitled 'Exploring the Cosmos' provided inspiration. Hughes utilises…

Recipe By Steve Cullen Break 4 metaphors into a green enamelware bowl and mix vigorously with the tarnished fork that lies with the spoons in the cutlery drawer. Add symbolism, and the zest of a childhood memory. Drop a knob of…

Fool’s Paradise By Jorge Leiva Bring me back to the dry land,  the olea trees and the heat, white grapes under feet, men with skins getting tanned.  Bring me back to the dim light, bodegas where wine…

Can evil live in a place? If you’re brave enough you can find out; Just sit in the dark with us, and listen...' Last Halloween I was lucky enough to spend an evening at The Horror Writer by Emily Gillmor Murphy. It was an engaging,…

Some Morning when you wake  take time to be intentional.  In a leap of faith, you sow  seedlings or whisper wisdom,  you’ll never know its ending.  While you prepare a mug of coffee,  or plan a…

For the longest time, I had sworn off doing a PhD. The idea of a PhD, as a friend once said to me, will haunt us until we either get one or we die. I had believed that if I wound up doing one, something had gone wrong. Pursuing a PhD meant…

There’s something highly disconcerting I think (though I won’t go so far as to say disturbing) about entering the home of a close neighbour for the first time. One night, early on, just after teatime, circumstances required that I visit…

Cork City 1994 By Denis Mockler He gushed I love you I thought You don’t even know me,  but keep doing what you’re doing. Please don’t stop now. Afterwards we sat by the window of his bedroom, drinking…

A Tree's First Frost By David O'Sullivan I feel for you this cold morning your old die, all around, sadness. Then with both hands I hold, comfort your extremities. Painful to my hands…