Live Encounters Poetry & Writing September 2026
Melanogenesis, poems by Colin Dardis.
Melanogenesis
It is easy to forget
that the skin is an organ,
a singularity that breathes without sound,
renews without fuss,
senses without sleep.
I walk through Botanic Gardens
and see wrought iron
twisted over cement arches
to resemble old trees,
how some folks treat themselves
to tanning, their pigments
oven-baked, their limbs
never oven ready,
eumelanin bags
weighing heavy in the sun.
In Ireland, there are industries
that hope the sun never comes out,
ready to give you a bath
in the artificial glory of their light.
I have been pale all my life.
The sun tanners call me
The Milky Bar Kid.
Burning is still possible.
Perhaps I am closer to the moon.
Moonku
dancing in moonlight,
winter –
a bare-legged travesty
spotlight moon –
the bare arse of winter
demands attention
dot of moon –
pointillism
in minimalism
Right Now
Somewhere, someone
you know and love is dead
and the news has not yet caught you.
You exist in the safe inertia
of not knowing: no call, no text,
the phone ignored while you sleep
or eat, or watch tv,
or have sex, the moment of climax
just as someone is trying to reach you,
or Death stays silent,
you finding out weeks later
in a passing reference you see
while online, having to decipher
the difference between your fears
and the truth, calling a friend to confirm.
There is no advance notice,
no planning application for our funeral.
Let us know that we love each other
before we die.
© Colin Dardis
Colin Dardis is a neurodivergent writer, editor and sound artist from Northern Ireland. His recent collections include My Life is a Film I Haven’t Yet Watched (Buttonhook Press, 2025), Microcosms (Rancid Idols Productions, 2025), and with the lakes (above/ground press, 2023). He co-hosts the long-running Purely Poetry open mic night in Belfast, and is editor of the poetry blog, Poem Alone.