“That expression of the glorious part of the self you capture
so daring and fearlessly, marks you out.
Don’t, for god’s sake, ever, ever betray or abandon
that beautiful femininity of yours and it’s expressions in words.
You will then become the window that allows an insight
into how love should be expressed in
and by its poetic charge on your pen.”
Kevin Finnerty
History and Affection
On the high wall,
that looks to the sea,
there is traditional bathing,
Irish at Forty Foot,
gent’s only, often nude.
I spy two men, beach clad.
I am careful to listen
as you explain,
I try not to miss a thing.
My beloved and I,
here steeped in history,
I gaze at Martello Tower,
¬
with Ulysses on Bloomsday.
Your arms
around my shoulders, my face,
happiness coloured,
whilst sea voices mimic U2
‘Breathe,’ in my ears.
Redolence of the Orator
He inhabits the air
with energy and sensuality.
Words vibrate,
a great storyteller.
His voice ignites
like the scent of a storm.
Some listen, their mouths
gape wide, indelicately open.
I wonder what it is like
to sleep in the same bed,
to hear each other’s breathing,
to inhale the scents of each other,
to press my face beside his,
and keep it there forever.
To ravish his intelligence,
to violate his vulnerability.
To tremble with
unrestrained love,
the fullness of a woman’s pleasure-
as I’ve never had before.
Watching him,
I have no idea
if this is madness.
Fate can be magical,
abstract, mysterious,
left to chance.
His presence, a recorded
impression of words,
pounding
on my poetic memory.
I don’t know
if he has a sweetheart,
to ask would be pointless.
Cognitive Dysfunction
We’re an island amid
a sea of people at the theatre,
you take my hands,
tell me of your battle.
A ripple of pain
washes over your face,
my eyes and ears,
fix on your every word.
Your pain crawls
up my skin.
I first set eyes on you,
a boy of three,
in a photograph with
your mother and sister,
biting your bottom lip,
eyes smiling,
a happy child,
clueless to the future.
You’re over thirty now,
a flirty banter, with contagious
odd sense of humour,
and I pick it up soon enough.
We breathe in the passion
for adventure,
without a thought
of carnal pleasure.
Our chemistry,
exquisite,
a friendship blossoms,
unexpected.
Amy Barry Bio:
Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She is inspired by simply everything. She takes her experiences and colourfully expresses universal themes that seamlessly cross the boundaries of borders and peoples. She explores current issues, love, family, nature, death, famous people and places of interest. She also writes poems on table tennis (being the first poet to have her work published on the Table Tennis Ireland web site which can be found at www.tabletennisireland.ie).
She is the founder of Global Writers. She is a member of the World Foundation for Peace.
When not writing or gathering inspiration, Amy loves to travel. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Japan, Bali, Paris, Berlin, Budapest and Falkenberg have all infused her work.
She is published in anthologies, journals, and press and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad including: Southword Journal, Misty Mountain Review, First Cut, Galway Review, Live Encounters, Poetry 24, Mad Swirl, Artebo (Bologna), Poehemian Press, A New Ulster, Knot Magazine, Message in the Bottle.
Amy and her work have featured on radio and television in Australia, Canada, Italy and Ireland. Her poems have been translated into Italian, Turkish, German and Greek.
Amy was awarded a recognition certificate for her contribution to Poetry, from the University Aldo Moro in Bari (Italy) by its Rector, Antonio Felice Unrcchio.
Amy regularly organises poetry events in her hometown of Athlone in Ireland. These include an eclectic gathering of local and international poets. She is often invited to read at festivals and literary events both in Ireland and abroad.
Amy loves sushi and trampoline jumping.
