Creative Writing Ink December Winner

I am, Skellig

Róisín Browne

She lands with swift aplomb and sockets

her plumage, into my spongy dense hide;

burrowing into her remembered space.

Puffed white breasts,

cloaked in jet, her settled flock

are honeycombed in my side.

Their tangerine sea-shelled beaks,

elicit cantankerous grumblings,

that buffet my sandstone,



From Blindman’s Cove,

the droned

moans, and

pulsed sea,


Uileann caw,


as Kittiwakes eek,


echo and reverb.


The boundless ruckus,

cracks off corbelled slabs,

slapping the clochans into shape.

A rolling rabble, rides along

Christ’s Saddle,

and whistles through the Needles eye.

As the Rí rá and Ruaile buaile,

dances in my salt hewn coves,

which have been clapping


since before the



Atop my peak,

a man sits,

fastened like a ballast,

to the greeny grey.

Out of air,

he strains to catch

an intermittent puff.


His bare, wet soles,

that scaled my buttressed face,

and tip toed Cross Cove,

are printed on my rocky stairs.

Now wearily splayed atop my



I hold him.




I kiss him.


My songstress takes flight.

Atlantic batters,

Rocks fall,

Norse turn,

Currachs skim,

Oars plunge;

She returns from Biscayne heat.


He breaths me,

In –

Like a blessed place.