Neil Slevin is a 26 year-old writer from Co. Leitrim, Ireland. A former English teacher in the U.K., having graduated with a B.Sc. in Physical Education with English from the University of Limerick in 2011, he has returned to university to complete an M.A. in Writing at N.U.I. Galway and to pursue a writing-based career. His work has been published by The Galway Review and various American journals. SEWING THE SEA by Neil Slevin Fishing for water, sewing the sea, you sit on your wood by water swept and beaten quay, passing no heed to ticking time nor tide, nor in the distance, me. And shimmering on the water is your joy; the sunlight’s speckle bobbing your face, settling like stardust in your golden hair’s embrace. All happening in this moment – not that you seem to notice, and not that you seem to care; for you are at labour, lost within your working world, just another day’s laissez-faire: your legs swaying to the freedom of the water’s flow and flair, its splashes freckling the day’s outlook, your life (at least right now) all moderate to fair. Because for now you are free to stitch your own ties, ones that will exert their own force, but – not now – later, in due course. And so, not having moved, you return to your post, sewing the sea, fishing for water almost. FOOD FOR THOUGHT by Neil Slevin “What’s eating you?” they ask when I push the food around my plate. “Nothing,” I say rawly, not pausing, nor stealing a moment to hesitate. I lie to them, but not myself (no, not to me, I see my fate), knowing what’s eating me: eating is, all-too-figuratively. And so, eschewing truth, I respond with nothing, quite literally… I eat myself bite by bite, bone-by-bone – body, brain, and soul. Why? Because I can. And I can’t stop me. And why should I want to stop, when this is a game that only I can win and lose – and see me, raise me, or fold? I will have to stop, in the end, but not for me: I live a life divided into selves, and each and every one of us is no longer whole. I hate my body; know that he hates me. Like a loveless marriage, we are stuck together, indefinitely. Not because we want to, need to, must, but because we have to be: I’ll eat away at him while he eats away at me. MY CURTAIN by Neil Slevin “Ich bin ein Berliner.” John F. Kennedy A sweltering summer’s day. A wall rises as if by itself, partitioning our rented flat from east to west. A stranger greets my arrival home, plays the role of builder, waves the trowel in his hand – like a flag – plastering out the light. I escape to my confinement. His grunts and sweat and sighs are the seasons changing, but I still sense the sun’s shine somewhere outside. Beyond the walls. Beyond my feeling, walls that cry out for my release, but keep me locked inside my cell – myself. Later, my communist landlord greets me. He shakes my hand, startled I shake back. He cuffs the wrist I still have, my wrist still free of state, leaves me to my divided city; I laugh, jeer in the wake of what I see as his mistake. “Tear down this wall!” Reagan declared. His command I roar each time I tread my own. Under cover of darkness, always, I make it to the other side. Years late.
14 Comments
1/16/2016 06:13:08 am
Congratulations Neil - really enjoyed reading your poetry especially My Curtain. Chris.
Reply
Aine
1/18/2016 04:46:59 pm
Love, love, love these poems. Hard to pick a favourite....
Reply
Sinead
1/18/2016 05:01:02 pm
Great work Neil, fantastic poems! The days in Drumcong served you well! Keep up the good work!
Reply
Eamon
1/18/2016 05:28:12 pm
Brilliant poems, especially enjoyed My Curtain.
Reply
Ken Y
1/19/2016 12:48:17 am
Proud of you - love Sewing The Sea.
Reply
1/19/2016 06:51:40 am
Thanks, Ken. Food for Thought and My Curtain you've seen before, Sewing the Sea is a newbie.
Reply
Dave
1/19/2016 02:06:46 am
Great work Neil; I love My Curtain in particular.
Reply
Iris M Mora
1/19/2016 02:36:28 pm
Beautiful work Neil. Congratulations!
Reply
Neil
1/19/2016 03:02:29 pm
Thanks, Iris. That means a lot.
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Categories
All
|