I don't want to see photos of that man, or of the women who do his bidding, or of the men who design his administration's cruelty I would look at photos of the beloved disappeared. Of flowers. Snow. Art objects. Clothing. Beautiful handmade or well-cared-for things. Books. Notes.

walking through fallen leaves a memory of mother a girl boils potatoes for her father three a.m. vanishing into the dark mill mother long ago deep winter light seeps from mother as she leaves candles around mother’s body rainy night song of a hidden blackbird mother’s face

red glow from an open doorway snow in Soho

August wind under a pram’s hood a baby cries August wind on a man’s face first drops of rain weeping willow sways in August wind a crow caws a woman reads the names of the dead August wind so bright in the August sun an old woman’s white hair August wind a man recalls lost streets in Belfast

sunlight on Ballycastle beach hidden rip tides beach’s end where the old mine shaft enters darkness Ballycastle by the ruined abbey a crow caws falling into the Margy’s deep waters an old bridge Ballycastle the silence in the hotel as night falls

drizzling rain a man gazes at unsold books in a closed shop Dún Laoghaire in the drizzling rain dreams of lost empire Dún Laoghaire Drizzling rain falls in the empty harbour drizzling rain the smell of damp and tobacco on my father’s coat Photo: Arrival of Queen Victoria in Dún Laoghaire, 1900

grey Saturday thinking of Santōka walking on and on Santōka stares at the countless stars so cold the night walking through the middle of nowhere Santōka writes haiku drunk in a field he sleeps with the crickets Santōka

blaze of heather on the hill at sunset Bloody Foreland winter’s day mother slipping away twenty years ago summer afternoon from a just bought comic the smell of ink deep winter in a sunlit church a boy reads psalms winter’s day on a man’s hands his mother’s liver spots

painter’s ladder in an empty room winter sun deep north Basho writes of a rice-picker’s song today in faraway Tokyo snow is falling winter sun man saying the rosary at a priest’s grave boys playing chess at twilight rain runs down the the window forty shades of green a starling’s feathers

A pile of CDs.

damp deep in the very air gulls cry little beggar a starling with a broken wing twilight the laughter of lovers a blackbird’s song wee boy sleeps in his father’s arms a blackbird’s song darting through a breaking wave’s spray a wagtail boulders thrown onto land dark sea’s power

boys stare into an old mine shaft the pull of darkness no lights on a man and his daughter cycle into darkness man stops his car in a mountain blizzard snow swirls in darkness

Tá Seán Mac Mathúna imithe ar shlí na fírinne. Fear uasal, greannmhear, diabhlaíocht ina chuid cainte agus ina chuid scéalta. Duine de na scríbhneoirí is fearr a bhí againn sa tír seo riamh. Cailliúint ollmhór. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis. Grianghraf: Máire Uí Mhaicín.

The prayers of all combined Take down the flags of ownership The walls are falling down

Christmas day present soundtrack from His Bobness.

USA, 2025.

Haiku by Chuck Brickley, from his magical collection downhill home.

Haiku by Peggy Willis Lyles.

Haiku by Peggy Willis Lyles.

Tanka by Debbie Strange.

Current state of bedside books.

One takeaway from the Epstein files photos. How bored and boring all of the rich and powerful look, how joyless their world looks. And I just imagine them all having the most hollow, tedious and sycophantic of conversations. Honestly, you'd have better crack down the local pub on a Saturday night.

pier at night in the darkness the lapping of waves grit in an oyster a memory of mother as a pearl in a pearl light flickers memory of mother pier at night a black dog pulls a man into darkness stones washed into land the sea’s dark power

pier at night in the darkness a rat scuttles pier at night a madman muttering in the darkness pier at night a woman’s shadow stretches before her from a harbour bar the rattle of beer bottles in the darkness blood red neon light pours on a church steeple in the darkness

pier at night teenage boys drink in the darkness pier at night a man’s cigarette burns in the darkness pier at night two lovers walk into darkness pier at night salt smell of seaweed in the darkness pier at night from the darkness a church bell’s toll

Latest haiku book booty.

Two great women met in Áras na Uachtaráin today. More power to them both.

Latest poetry book booty.

Some haiku books.

Talking about haiku, poetry, Belfast, Dublin and literature in Irish.

Our daughter Eithne's letter to Santa ten years ago. She included a Chinese heavenly money note for Santa to give her grandad in heaven.

Very pleased to be in Double Horizon, a bilingual anthology of haiku in English and French. Here's my selection, as translated into French by editor Gilles Fabre.

Poem by Thomas A Clark.

Poem by Stewart Sanderson.

Just went to buy a haiku collection from a US publisher. Cost of book is $20. Postage is $35. That is insane. I didn't buy the book.

entering a haze of pink clouds jazz guitar at twilight a woman settles by the silent fountain still waters caws echo back and forth crows in the twilight raven lustre of a woman’s black hair twilight in the park

under a willow the spoken nothings of new lovers again and again it’s a wonderful world jazz guitar at twilight writing haiku at twilight the pen’s fading ink crows gather over the bare trees twilight in the park

after the rain blackbird's sudden trill from a willow crow's croak in the pier's darkness fairy lights gleam after the rain a stream bubbles up from a graveyard path in the wetlands by an old graveyard bullrushes sway twilight a robin's song claims its territory

punk boy chases the tail of the dragon small back room three weeks his body laid there small back room the very air filled with damp small back room jigs and reels from the kitchen below small back room bald from chemo a man writes poems in a small back room

woman lights candles around her mother’s photo small back room as night falls a boy prays to angels small back room small back room dying Shiki writes a haiku about cherry blossom Lucozade bottle by a sick boy’s bed small back room

smell lingers in a small back room father’s ashtray behind the door mother mutters a rosary small back room fearing for his life an informer spills it all small back room so many bibles in father’s old bookcase small back room wee small hours in a small back room two men sharpen knives

small back room tied to a chair a man groans in pain last orders planning how to get home without being shot small back room after hitting his son a man sobs boy warms his feet on a hot water bottle small back room sword in hand a boy slays dragons small back room

I'll be rooting for Somalia to win the World Cup in the USA.

sunbeam pours through a stained glass window black mountain church black mountain on the television the siege of Sarajevo snaking up the black mountain hedgy path from the old church winter’s night on the black mountain a man’s throat is slit

hunting robin’s eggs deep in a glen black mountain a last rosary by grandmother’s coffin black mountain funeral teenage joyrider gunned down by soldiers black mountain night unvisited on the black mountain parents’ grave a tsunami rises to drown the city black mountain dream

black mountain in a woody glen travellers’ caravans wind blows on the black mountain ruined refugee huts black mountain in the streets below dark satanic mills sunbeam pours through a stained glass window black mountain church

black mountain stone age flint arrows bones in bogs black mountain in the streets below men erect barricades from high on the black mountain a rattle of gunfire black mountain barbed wire dusty yards rusting cars

Babel by R F Kuang - a remarkable fusion of historical and fantasy novel, which takes in British imperialism, racism, revolution, academia, books, libraries, the Opium Wars, and the art of translation. Great characters, fabulous story-telling. Can't recommend it enough.

Dublin train hurtles past pine forests their darkness deepens blood red marks on the backs of sheep a field in Athenry beam of sunlight amidst the dark pines dragonflies glitter just beyond a bright green field a bog’s deep darkness crow’s shadow on a sunlit water-tower the train races on

Overflow pile of books.