Helen Harrison was raised on the Wirral, seven miles from Liverpool, by Irish parents,
and has lived most of her adult life in Co Monaghan, Ireland, where she is married with a
Her first collection of poetry ‘The Last Fire’ was published during 2015 by Lapwing publications. During 2016 Helen was invited to read at O’Bheal Poetry Readings in Cork, and the Whitehouse Readings in Limerick.
Has had poetry published in Algebra of Owls, The Poetry Shed, The Galway Review,
A New Ulster, North West Words, Poethead Blog, Mad Swirl, Bray Arts Journal and Stanzas.
After the yellow-brown leaves
Are washed with sunlight,
I’ll be the dipper that flies
And returns; when the water low
My poetry slowed to a trickle
The remaining ripples, like leaves
Disappeared; or ink from my pen,
Seeped into river-banks again….
Glossed over, unread
Being held together
By superficial thread.
Spiders weave fresh silk
Above the unprepared
The dimming eyes
Of youth, or the withered
Hands of the old – their stories
Too often untold.
Giving up the fight,
Among poverty and strife;
Trapped, by political agendas
And newspaper lies;
Weaving webs until they die….
Sun reflected one side of his face
The other in shade
I regretted not having a camera
To capture the sight
Half of him in light
The other in dark
Like his life.