Miki Byrne

I see the lights a-glitter.
I hear the choir in song.
Children gaze, sparkly-eyed
For Christmas won't be long.
...

By Magic.


I often look to the sky and wonder how
...

Deep inside the hillsides gut,
I see its entrails. Not soft like mine,
nor red with pulsing blood
but made of its own devising.
...

In the church, sunlight slants through coloured saints.
Paints the floor in rainbows. A flower sentry
made by earnest ladies, stands tall by the door, Scents the air
...

Another blue day.
Heat shimmering,
Rising to meet the sky.
Not many days like this.
...

I pass grey buildings where decisions are made.
Notice how the industrial revolution smeared
dark blusher on their ageing cheeks.
My stride carries me down the alleyway.
...

This poet speaks and
Her words slice into me.
Slow and tender like
A silken thread, pulled
...

I left the preparations. The last minute pinning's,
smearing of ghoulish make up. Settling of wigs
and food made grotesque by strange colourings.
I walked down from East Hill House.
...

The ants formed a line.
Tiny bodies so tightly packed
That it looked like a solid entity.
Yet it moved. Wriggled and shimmied.
...

Trees rose. Majestic,
stately in their maturity.
Reached for the cerulean sky,
leaves lifted toward sunlight.
...

We sat on the beach.
Backs tucked into hollows.
Scooped out of the peaked dunes.
The fire we had built flickered
...

In the ditch the leaves were crisp and deep.
A layered accumulation.
Protected by the deep overhang of the hedge,
that curled like a matted wave over me.
...

Circus Girls in the Street.

One girl stands reed- tall on spindly stilts,
bends her slender waist. Her face
...

Clear Night.


Pinpricks in a velvet sky,
...

Clouds.


Air-brushed wisps to mackerel bellied speckles.
...

Club Ariel.1982.


In a darkened room
...

Coastal Path.

A winding coastal cicatrice.
Grim grey asphalt, that scars
...

Coincidence Spoiled Our Holiday.

It’s funny how the world is sometimes,
the little surprises it holds.
...

Cold Snap.


A spell has been cast.
...

Coming Out.

At the end of my long comfort;
wet suspending warmth, soft light pinking
...