Noel King


Noel King was born in Tralee, Ireland. His poems, short-stories, reviews, photographs, articles and journalistic work have appeared in newspapers, journals and anthologies in thirty-seven countries. His collections, Prophesying the Past (2010), The Stern Wave (2013) and Sons (2015) are published by Salman Poetry. He lives in Ireland.

  Minuet in d

Scraping our tormented violin,
my daughter is practicing to please
me and her absent mother
Her eyes clock the minutes,
score the scrape of her bowing,
taking to heart all her teacher has given
of The Coulin,
knowing itís she herself must find
her way with it, until an index finger
presses our doorbell
- her young beau is her.
His fatherís dropped him over
and soon my ears are drumming to the boy bowing his cello.
And there is our Living Room,
her motherís harp,
- her motherís harp lies
never to be played again.
I stare through its dusty strings to our daughterís possible future.

The Beginning of the Next Day

Words pour in the rain
as Miss Kenton tells Mr. Stevens-
she loves him
and he tells her he loves her too
They kiss


Light on my new horizon
Doesnít stay long enough
To breathe a second breath
To a dawn of freedom from
Under him
Iíd cut his suit-sleeves at the elbows,
(Trousers being too much a clichť).
It sent him.
Now the other woman can feel
The roughness of chapped
Hands of her breasts,
His punch on nights
After drink.
No shower power washing
Can drive his scent from me,
Each cell he touched
Has cancered those
That has been born
From it.
I cup my breasts
Imagine them as they were before him;
Will them to: the sun of God,
God of love,
God of the virgin

© Author
(Published in Kafla Intercontinental - Summer 2015)