Oughtmama and the mists of late February
fade Turlough Mountain and Moneen
to a landscape of silhouettes in sheer cascade,
only the immediate clear and nameable.

I live here now – a new house scaled above the old,
the ruined cart house with its floor of shore stones set in sand,
the remnant path that led to the orchard,
the rolled stones now encircling ash and sycamore.

I unpick middens of crockery and glass,
heaps of wrought iron, hobnailed boots,
mantle stones and the innards of time pieces,
the cast and hollow droppings of an age.

About me the ghost cries of children,
the tackle jangle of halter and bridle,
music from a neighbour’s house,
spots where men sat and defined time.

John and Maggie Halloran lived here.
There were three families on this lane
between Abbey Hill and the Witch’s Bite
on the pass above Corcomroe.

I build a picture from what they grew or cast aside,
medicinal bottles – laudanum perhaps,
thick ivy green glass, horse trap hinges and nails,
vases, a pocket watch, a plate of pale green roses.

In touching what was cherished and outworn
I link in chaney the living and the dead,
the midden-sanctuary of broken things,
the earth-conceded glimmerings of lives,

echoing again in the vivid house imagination stirs,
hale strength, frail tenure, as the world turns.

Frank Golden

Frank Golden is a Clare-based poet, novelist, and screenwriter. He has published five books of poems, the most recent of which was gotta get a message to you(Salmon Publications 2017) “This is a poet to get excited about. Risk-taking…rhapsodic…elevated.” Afric McGlinchy/Southword. His novel, The Two Women of Aganatz(Wolfhound Press), was described by Carol Coulter in The Irish Times as “uncomfortable, but compellingly and poetically described by a powerful imagination”. Golden’s novel The Night Game (Salmon Publications) was described by Declan Burke/The Irish Examiner as, “A challenging, transgressive, and gripping read.”

He has received bursaries and awards from the Irish Film Board, Clare County Council, and the Arts Council of Ireland. Frank Golden is Head of Creative Writing at the Burren College of Art.



This Time

Poetry by Frank Golden

My father would come this time of year the hawthorn needled into flower the sycamore and elder in full leaf to relish a call that ravelled him back in time....
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Declension in April

Poetry by Frank Golden

Lacking an ordained task, I sit in the blue chair facing south, rain on the circular field past Ballyhaine, rifts of blue opened by the wind, a taper of baling...
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ST Colmans Well – Oughtmama

Poetry by Frank Golden

Is there a code of seeing what is or is not present? This tree by Colman’s well melted into its heartspace. This coil of life in its own soil, making...
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Who was I?

Poetry by Bettina

Who was I before I forgot your face? Who was I before I forgot your name? Who was I before? My mother’s face, my father’s face, my brother’s face. Mother...
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Thought and its Futility

Poetry by Gaurav Mathur

Thought and its futility Are seen Desire and its pointlessness Are seen Fear and its subsidence Are seen The unwavering flame of attention Engulfs all that is Mind is still,...
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Poetry by ख़ामोशी

हर आवाज़ के पीछे एक ख़ामोशी छुप्पी खड़ी है तुम आवाज़ों को मत छोड़ना बस आवाज़ों की लहरों पर तैरना सीख लो यह आवाज़ें तुम्हे अपने आगोश मे लेकर फिर...
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