by Orna Ross | Jul 6, 2017 | Poetry |
Can anyone say how we came to be here in this human hotel? • Each day greeting new guests who come in with their bags, expecting their welcome and to be served (even as others remain). • Whether they're wanted or we'd rather they moved along, we must bow, smile if we...
by Orna Ross | Jun 22, 2017 | Poetry |
I come down to the sea to sit on a rock, and meditate, all thought undone, in the waves' whoosh and turn. A young man comes, sits down on another one, takes out a guitar starts to strum. Above, on the promenade the runners have begun to run. On the road, the traffic...
by Orna Ross | Jun 8, 2017 | Poetry |
I have a body but I am not my body. I am the one who makes it move. What can be moved is not the mover. I have a body but my body is not me. I have thoughts but I am not my thoughts. I am the one who sees them swirl. What can be seen is not the seer. I have thoughts...
by Orna Ross | Apr 26, 2017 | Fiction |
Below are three of my favorite readings of Yeats's poetry. The first is from Bob Geldof's flawed but fabulous program for RTE TV, Fanatic Heart. Liam Neeson Reads “Easter 1916” The second reading is from the film adaptation of every book lover's must-read...
by Orna Ross | Aug 20, 2016 | Poetry |
On my back in the dark. given up to night, I lie, a fool aground. A suckling. yearning, turning in want and will, smothering in the urges of the underneath. Up there the spangled stars. The moon: one-quarter lit and on the wane. Hiding its hollows in its divide. And...