Writings

Here is a selection of short pieces by Pen&Ink members:

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    Holy Island

On Saint Patrick’s Purgatory

On Lough Derg in County Donegal

All seems so serene and peaceful

I made this pilgrimage

Many many times myself

Over the years with many other pilgrims

The fast lasts three days

 Black tea and toast

 The penitential beds

 With the other spiritual exercises

I found challenging

So unique and so historical

Friendships were always

Formed here with precious memories

Up the first night

Praying in the Basilica

Was hardly a delight

More stations the next day

A good nights sleep

On the second day

Then home the next day

With thoughts of coming back

James Corcoran

A Quantum Wall

                                         In a drab Munich courtyard dressed in Red Cotton
                                         I see seven bodies now utterly forgotten
                                         My vision of your lost future is everywhere

                                         Against a damp grey wall
                                         You stood seven standing tall
                                         My eyes now fixed on you unaware

                                         Six men one woman your tales of Magic and Titles
                                         Could not save you from the Soviet Rifles
                                         And a future you could not prepare

                                         And so my Europe died on that cold April day
                                         As your blue blood trickled away
                                         For Europa's children now despair.

                                         John Parr

 Estranged

                                             They exist

                                             side by side

                                             in separate worlds

                                             converse with eyebrows

                                             and shoulders

                                             the word-starved air between them

                                                 brittle

                                                 as wind-stung leaves

                                             split only occasionally

                                             by barbs

                                             fired and returned

                                             through their silent mediums

                                             the dog by the hearth

                                             tied

                                             by time, tasks and tenure

                                             their daily drill ordered

                                             by rote and convention

                                             they share everything

                                             and nothing

                                             lives as sterile

                                             as the furrow they plough

                                             Anni Wilton-Jones 

Members, please, send fresh works to update the "Writings" page!

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designed by Graham Mace and with illustrations of Sally McKenna.

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