Copy of Picture 051Faye Boland has had poems published in Literature Today, Headstuff, The Shop, Revival, Crannóg, Orbis, Wordlegs, Ropes, The Blue Max Review, Speaking for Sceine Chapbooks I and II and ‘Visions: An Anthology of Emerging Kerry Writers’. She was shortlisted for the Poetry on the Lake Competition 2013.

Fruit and Veg

Tiles shone, chrome twinkled
As I stacked shelves, faced tins.
Job done, I’d sidle towards
fruit and veg, make domes
of waxy lemons, oranges
pyramids of Granny Smiths.
Intoxicated by the aroma
of ripe melons, plump grapes
bursting with promise. Mag said
I’d be found dead there.

After school drop-off
shopping basket swinging
from my arm, Mag demonstrates
a pineapple’s succulence
by plucking a leaf from its crown.

Sunday Lie-in

Awareness bubbles
as consciousness slowly surfaces.
I roll into you, your heat
eyes stuck closed.
Your hand glides
over my hair
fingertips trace the ridge
of my cheekbone
the dip before my lips
puff up. I blissfully shut out
the clock’s soft tick
the honey’d haze
of early morning sunlight
drift away into ethereal sleep.


The aroma of freshly cut grass
fingers its way in, freshens
my room. A soft breeze flaps
the blind as I listen to
the lawnmower’s buzz.
Beidh aonach amárach pipes
up the stairs as your fingers rise
fall like typewriter keys.

Ten tomorrow, you are too old
for balloons, party games.
Cinema and pizza your diktat.
I listen to you breathe
a swirl of notes, hear you growing
into your roots.