Gordon Ferris is a Dublin writer living in Ballyshannon in Co Donegal for the past thirty-six years. He is a member of the Dublin Writers Forum and has had poetry and short stories published in A New Ulster, Hidden Channel and The Galway Review. Most in A New Ulster.

Storm view

Trees lean in the wind.
A piebald hides in the corner
Out of the tempest.
Clouds overhead speak,
Of neither night nor day.
Birds scavenge for food,
Some soar on the wind.
No man mad enough
To venture out.
None to be seen.

Thunder in the distance
The clouds anger venting,
Merry men arguing.
The rain enriches the green
And forms a pool in the field,
Where a solitary duck rests
Submerges its head,
Shakes off the water
Then departs gracefully.
Rising on the wind.


Watching in the light through
the small square window on the door
I could hear the faint din
of disembodied voices
tormenting me in the half-dream space I inhabited
before coming down from Hennessy mountain.
The vague recall of the evening before,
the chill recollection
of my drunken raving.
Who needs sleep
when seated by loves shrine
when you watch the moon and stars
move across the night sky
when you listen to beauty’s breath.