Emer Davis, poet and writer grew up on Achill Island , Co Mayo in the 1970s and 1980s. She has lived in Dublin, London, Abu Dhabi and New Delhi. She worked in Lesvos in 2016 as part of the European Relocation Programme. Before moving to India for work in 2018, she chaired the Drogheda Creative Writers Group and set up Drogheda Poetry in the Park. Several of her poems and stories have been published in Ireland, UK, USA and UAE.
Achill
Rhododendron petals gives way
to the meandering bog
pink blossoms whispering
a wild bloom in the wooded grove.
Drifting towards the sea
Curious coves slowly
reveal their secrets to me,
shrouded by cliffs and amethyst
I am surrounded by a trickling of waves
intruding on my seclusion
and releasing a mottled force within me.
Basking sharks lingering idly in the bay
with multi-coloured pebbles and fractured shells
dotted along the shore, children delight
in these hidden treasures as I once did.
Deserted lives invisible on Slievemore
with empty stone dwellings retracing
the dead secrets of a lost generation,
moulded in word and colour
brisk clouds and misty rain descends,
inspiring the muse,
this flame within me
can never be extinguished.
I don't do facebook,
It slows me right down
The endless cyber chats
Flickering on screen
Eating into my time.
A monotony of moments
Reeling in sepia tones
Dredging up the past.
A photo album of blurred faces,
Smudged in smashbox
Clogging up my space.
You have no more gigabytes,
Uploads and reloads,
Broken links slowing me down.
My emoji face wilting
From the lack of likes,
My empty timeline
Devoid of furrowed brows,
A whole day passes me by,
Sitting alone with live newsfeeds
Filling the emptiness around me,
What do I want with cookies
And shared memories?
It slows me down,
It slows me right down.
Keel
Under the moon we danced,
Danced to the rhythm
Of the waves fading in and out,
Moving in time to the shore's
Darkening horizon.
Tingling in the evening light
Our silhouette
Caressing the cool air,
We sink deeper into the shore,
Sand sifting under our feet.
We whisper
Embracing the moment
When the full moon
Captures our light.
Dandelion Picking
Children playing in a field,
Innocent smiles and floral prints,
Pulling faces in a yellow field,
On a late summer's evening.
Daisy chains lazily hanging
From their necks,
Yellow petals in sun bleached hair,
Barefooted they leap in the air,
Lying on their backs,
Watching the sun setting in the west,
Father picks dandelions
For a local farmer.
Summers of yesterday,
Frozen in the past,
Faded black and white prints,
Full of memories.
Tumbling down the hill,
The smell of peat
Smoking in the chimneys.
Dandelion picking in our summer frocks,
Our plastic buckets,
Dangling from our arms,
Lagging behind father,
We inhale the warm air,
Weary at sundown.
Bunnacurry Poet 