Purple Lady Poetry

In his own homeWhere his patterns of speechDid not fit with our clipped English vowelsAnd his cadence confused the ear,My father; the foreigner. In his own homeWhere his children despisedThe… Read more: My Father, The Foreigner

A Donegal tweed capTo place on your headOh brother mine. A wee bit of our father’s IrelandTo crown you. To connect youTo that which you never knew.

I was thankful I wore my walking bootsAs I counted my paces to match the length of a graveThat wasn’t there.Nine rows across and fourteen up.Those were the instructions. I… Read more: A Finding

Time Passed In The Workhouse Four hours I spentTurning page after page.One dusty book after anotherAs I sought by grandad’s name. Searching for one date22 February in 1912.I was forced… Read more: Heavy Tomes

He couldn’t contain himself.He tried.The urbane veneer of a tour guideWas beyond him. He ushered his motley crewAround the streets of BelfastFrom City Hall to Albert ClockThrough the lanes and… Read more: Rebel Tour Guide

I lit a candle in the place where it began.A simple wedding, I imagineWith little money to spend. At the time I entered there was a massAnd I chose to… Read more: A Wedding In St Malachy’s

Two women venture a word and a smile.A chance encounter that yieldsA wealth of knowledge.It was a generous gift between strangers. The landmarks at each stop explained.Here where a good… Read more: Gliding and Craic

I find myself in a place where paths cross.Invisible overlapping linesMade by suitcase wheels and feet. Aimless wanderings as we allPeruse duty free offeringsThat none of us need but find… Read more: Travelling