Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost

On a trip to my family home in rural Ireland, several years ago, I found a 1981 diary—the sort with a page-a-day in A5 format. I’m not sure how it survived for three decades. It was filled with the mechanical entries of my eight-year-old self; ‘Went to Mass in Enniscorthy. Helped Nana with the dishes.’ After the entry for Sunday 12th April there was a heavy black line ruled across the page and the words The End. I’d had enough of keeping a journal it would seem.

Curiously, the entry for Monday 13th April read: My Poems A-Z, and there they were. A poem for each letter. And while some were complete poems, others were simply a title on an otherwise blank page. I cannot remember writing most of them.

Although I was a fan of poetry throughout school and ever since, I didn’t write another poem until 2013, thirty-two years later. I woke up one day with a poem formed in my head and scratched it down on a couple of post-it notes. Since then the poetry has continued to trickle (or pour) and has been published in Australia, Ireland, the UK, the US and Mexico.

Video readings


 Recently published poems



The Blue Nib, with Denise O’Hagan.