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Air gets in, fills lungs each corner sets all the viscera alight. Larger jobs will be done today, no pause the hands bouyant, independent ten Spring shanties

Not much line is needed to catch Youghal light it slows down doesn't want to leave sands like love eye daily returned to

If you're a writer worried AI companies used/stole your work (book/article/poem/study etc.) to train their models, here's a link to search. Also, Irish Writers' Union has useful guidance ... 1/2 theatlantic.com/technology/arc… LIAM MURPHY Waterford Libraries South East Technological University BUCHANAN: Dublin Time Machine

2/2 Take action, write to Meta and the other AI companies. There's no protection under EU/Irish copyright law for companies to use your work without your permission for business product development.

Grand stretch in the evenings palettes for every eye

Passing below the houses, shops in this small town (all the older ghosts at windows) the air is strange, still steeled-gold this Friday afternoon and I catch the ancient eyes, show them no-one is forgotten, ever out of place. One or two slow nods & I go on no room in these inns.

A probang is a tool that "removes foreign objects from, applies medicine to, the larynx and œsophagus." Me, my friends use one a lot - feelings, grand emotions, untoward replies, bold laughter, tears are stuck, unlevered, repositioned in coralled, admired nearly every day.

The gods live among us as great islands spine heights, hips the places we can build Some peoples have always known Venice, Halong, Aotearoa they let us visit we know somewhere in the bones each footfall, stop to watch birds regretful wake of a leaving boat we're forgiven

An old lady sits this edge her man in, between the trees. Something is unkempt grows on, its seasons its own time far beyond us. We walk through, our hands knowing these ancient bones. Eternity, her vast children, keep the eyes on every leaf.

We came back from the kayaks cold river melancholic; the late afternoon wind pushing a little, too much. Among people, the laughing girls in charge we had sun again immediately booked for tomorrow night the high tide of these banks too few know.

Very early mornings have a weight a hand at the ankle, old dog on the lap way of stilling you. The eyes manage one or two things the curls of steam off coffee sliding pages on a phone screen not much more. Silence buttons the head as dawn makes light tightens the way.

Noel is painting walls again the history man brush and palette, mural sealing the image cements we should know. A grey day, he lines the sett lays the dam the words to come how we say it matters.

The air is art these days we scarcely breathe for words swifts of paint, song, good dance wine-lit better than the sea. Close your eyes if you like better yet, feather-mouthed, inhale.

I like visiting the biggest cities marvelling at madnesses of ordinary crowds, the unfeasible designs of skyscrapers how all whips remote, glass bubble impermanent Back home in smaller places things are greenly breathable maybe happy slow levées grassed for life our boringness

"Cover Reveal"! Many thanks to Inka Design #Tallow & all at #Lismore Heritage Centre for the great new #Super7 book poster board. Best wishes to Blackwater Valley Opera Festival & Lismore Immrama for their great #WestWaterford events 🖐️😄 Tourism Ireland Waterford City & County Council Waterford Libraries Dungarvan Tourism

The past is on the street this morning Sunday's breath and we are all children again on the grandparent's lap sticky-mouthed with olden days fingertip yellow memory. Warm, snuggled, going nowhere we hold opening not one eye to later. Ever, ever again.

The evening is so very fine we cannot bear it A bottle in, dinner done, walking out to do whatever the doctor ordered about cholesterol everything is right, calm, gorgeous so pleasant we cannot bear it Summer laughs, lazes on indolent god too bored to strike us, idiot children

Quiet places should be better known celebrated where the older gods the better gods rest, charm themselves into the land. When there's rain, you know they're awake walking the river a shape between cloud and hill.

Waterford Arts Office is pleased to announce that entries are now being accepted for the Waterford Poetry Prize 2025. There is no age limit and no entry fee: closing date for receipt of entries is Friday 15th August 2025 at 12 noon. Apply online at submit.link/3Qv

One day we'll raise sheep in a city parade a horse in an office block front-staff two goats, the old pig at a café. Someone will build carparks out to sea escalators in a desert cheery needs of quick anarchy. Idle chatter, minor thoughts we're bored set Friday for anything.