A rare moment of near silence at Seabank, Dundalk yesterday. There were some Curlew chatting away before the sun went down. A nice little soundscape for headphones. 🎧 pic.twitter.com/ELoR6V0Z2b — Dean McSound (@dean_mcsound) June 23, 2022

Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery. Cormac McCarthy


When I looked down from the bridgeTrout were flipping the skyInto smithereens, the stonesOf the wall warmed me. Wading green stems, lugs of leafThat untangle and bruise(Their tiny gushers of juice)My toecaps sparkle now Over the soft fontanelOf Ireland. I should wearHide shoes, the hair next my skin,For walking this ground: Wasn’t there a spa-well,Its coping grassy, pendent?And then the spring issuingRight across the tarmac. I’m out to find that village,Its low… Read More


I thought of walking round and round a space Utterly empty, utterly a source Where the decked chestnut tree had lost its place In our front hedge above the wallflowers. The white chips jumped and jumped and skited high. I heard the hatchet’s differentiated Accurate cut, the crack, the sigh And collapse of what luxuriated Through the shocked tips and wreckage of it all. Deep-planted and long gone, my coeval Chestnut from… Read More

somethings are more important than others