-  writing and illustration
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My poems are a kind of written snapshot inspired directly by the landscape here in Donegal and personal experiences.
Along the waterline bristle ribbon crusts of barnacles, studded like sapphires among clinging limpets.
Hanging beneath,swathed in black liquorice straps and ochre ringlet bulges of weed
nestle families of mussels - tiny blue teardrops, fat glistening laquered ridges of the older generations - hoping in a silent genetic code that proliferation will overcome demand for their soft juicy bodies.
The time came to spin the silken thread whcih would hold and protect me.
At first tensile then rigid shell - between me and the outside world - sensed and distinguishable through my tissue wrap.
The past summer's meals of chlorophyll and sunlight swell and metamorphose
An alchemic configuration of membrane and fluid - till I split with surprise at my own growth
and wonder at the wings pumping on my back.
Solar warmth brings a lightness of being and raises me aloft on the freedom of the wind.
Regal, you bear the battle scars on chain-saw ripped fragment of your cloak
In which you stood proud and strong.
You fell with your kin after years on the high mount and now your presence oozes -
like the sticky resin blisters on your hide which in deep time will form clear amber nuggets,
Glowing beauty, your lifeblood, transmitting healing energy,
Your noble gift.
Benign presence
Torn bark jacket brings you to me,  now lying ,waiting the logger's haul,
Journey to disintegration, to be re-born in letters travelling the globe, you'll see sights you never dreamed of, read thoughts the wind would sometimes bring you on its travels,
Sighing, roaring, whispering, battering howls.
Before you left your dense pine-needled bed, a section of your heart was taken -You found three stumps of legs where there were none - and now bear the weight of the logger's bum - your soul shines out with dignity -
touching me.
I hear the rush of air through your feathers,
Sailing above me - are you following my intrusion into your space ?
Black-purple gleaming wingtips feeling the sky,
gently cawing to your mate -
Then you both reel and dive, a double twist of irridescence,
flashing coal-green at the morning sun.
Life cycle
What vitality oozing still from the bulging pores of copper lustrous bark.
You are erect again in my mind's eye.
The fertile pulp of your core, sodden in dark pools of winter mire,
fuelling next spring's spurting brushes.
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