Buying my books

So I have taken to Lulu - who originally assisted with the publication of  The Woodcarver's Son .

Anyone wanting to buy a copy of either the Woodcarver's Son

or The Tree Singer I have linked their pages here.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/danny-fahey/the-woodcarvers-son/paperback/product-23537078.html


 





http://www.lulu.com/shop/danny-fahey/the-tree-singer/paperback/product-23536906.html  (originally published by Dragonfall Press)

http://www.lulu.com/shop/danny-fahey/the-tree-singer/ebook/product-23543175.html


New books will also be avaialable.

Dada's Seed

My Cousin Jack and the the stars on the soles of his feet

Catalina and the ship of dreams - which includes the original Catalina (published by Dragonfall Press) and the follow-up Catalina's Choice.

rip

mouth spitting out 

salty water

feet already beneath

the sand

lost dreams swept back and forth

never to settle never

to reform

unless mangroves bind them

bring them back to life

if deposited

still at the mercy of the wind

the waves

already clawing them back

waves push hard against the chest

if the undercurrent secret lover

of the moon finds the wind

and the time of day favourable

it has the power to haul the feet

out of the sand

drag the body away

ignores the hand that struggles to wave

quickly fills the throat to steal

the voice no

cries for help

another whole

broken down

 grit

and memory for those on the shore

stranded

their voices to record

the horror

though water and wind 

heed not

Language, our mangroves:

  

Open water lures, a web

not driven by hunger

nor the desire to breed,

it just is, a phenomenon —

but would it be if we

with our eyes did not to see,

with our ears did not to hear?

If we did not enter

by feet or ship,

by head or board,

and cross its distances

or ride its waves

because we can,

what then its appreciation?

What if our tales were not told,

no Moby, no Long John?

If the world had no consciousness,

no language to tell

what is seen or heard,

what then of water and sand?

Languages are the mangroves

that form new lands out of old.

12 apostles (latest edit):

Twelve in silence stand

eight under the sun

four in shadow.

Resolute, they look to the sea

no matter the time of day

the season at hand

the lunar or solar cycle

the stars that spin above.

Twelves sentinels to guard

eight under the sun

four in shadow.

Sand, stone, ragged grass and steadfast

silence within the relentless boom

defend the indefensible

against salt, wind and ocean.

They meet the sea,

whose waves crash like wild Picts

against Hadrian’s wall, foam tossed high

to sparkle before the fall, soundless

even as they grow incomplete.

Twelve apostles silent all day,

eight under the sun

four in shadow.

when I was a boy I stood upon one,

the arch to cross still existed then

and, in the wild wind and sea spray battle,

grasped that the world would always be

greater than reality.

Now sixty and only eight remain,

four have surrendered grain by grain

into the great journey of sea and sand

to find themselves never whole again

but particles of a new land

in a distant horizon

unnamed until mangroves seal the fragments into soil.

In memory twelve remain, silent, frozen

in a time before language and dance

when the world, lately formed,

hung itself out to dry

like the wings of a newly birthed dragonfly.

They guard still, the twelve;

eight under the sun

four in shadow.