New Irish Writing: Poetry by Clare O’Reilly
New Irish Writing’s winning poetry entry for March 2025
Claire O'Reilly, the poetry selection for New Irish Writing in March 2025
Clare is a Kildare poet originally from Westmeath. She achieved first place in Poetry Ireland /Trócaire unpublished poet competition and the Jonathan Swift poetry awards. Clare has also featured on The Word Stage at Electric Picnic. Her short stories have been broadcast on Book on One on RTÉ radio and she has also featured on Sunday Miscellany. She has had stories shortlisted for the Over the Edge New Writer of the Year award, Fish Short Story Prize and the Colm Toíbín International Short Story Award.
Murmurations in Rafah
(*The starling is known as habeeb alshams in Arabic, which translates to ‘Beloved of the Sun’)
You urged me between blasts of news alerts to look out, look out, see what you see, listen. Swirling black masses, Lough Ennell shortly after 4pm. Outside thousands of starlings congregate, soar and swoop, roost in the reedbeds along the shore.
Aerial sculptures of dark clouds shadow us, their hue and cry, a multinational flock, pixelated shape shifting punctuations, painted on the sky. Hoping to return to far-off homelands once spring arrives, few are left to nest and breed at home — loss of habitat, their demise.
Carrying sky in our eyes and earth in our hair, we watch, listen to the murmuration of flapping iridescent wings, limbs, a million little things. ‘*Beloved of the Sun’, seeking protection and security in gathering as one.
Life Saver
My father bought me a book when I was six, a shiny hardback with vivid pictures, How to Swim in Eight Easy Lessons. The aerobatic red and yellow-coloured costumed swimmers spread centrefold, into butterfly, back and breaststroke, dolphin kick and front crawl, Splish, splash, sploo!
I did them all, tiptoed on our cold blue lino, learned to swim each stroke, coming up for air, then ducking, plunging, swinging plaited hair submerged in my imaginary sea, freestyling the straits from radiator harbour to armchair port, my island destination. I fasted before my daily swim, avoiding cramp, floating crippled on the kitchen floor.
It seems my father knew that one day I’d be swept off my feet. In my years at sea his fear fed my fear, a cornucopia of wisdom before each breaker. Between the rip current paradox of frontal drag and propulsion, I must remind myself to let go, take heed but be heedless, as if he isn’t here swimming in the swirling water to find me, anchoring my body, arms, heart. When I surface gasping, gulping air, sinuses rinsed with sea and sand, I see him diving into the surf, worried, willing me to find his life ring, remember the eight easy lessons that will bring me ashore.
Have you tried Focail and Conundrum?
Daily word puzzles designed to test your vocabulary and lateral thinking skills.
