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Bob Shakeshaft – First Flush

Profile Bob Shakeshaft LE Poetry & Writing September 2017

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Dollop, poems by Bob Shakeshaft

Bob Shakeshaft has been a long time participant on the Dublin open mic scene. Bob has read at the Inchicore village festival in 2005, at Seven Towers open mic sessions, at the Glor sessions where he recorded his poem Why. ? He has also appeared in Seven Towers anthology 2012/2013.Bob is also published in the Curlew collection by writers from Dublin, and the Ardgillan writer’s anthology, where he has been a long time member of this group. Bob has poems published in the broadsheet Riposte, edited by Michael O Flanagan, sadly this broadsheet came to its demise in 2015. And 2014 had his poem” Butterfly” published in the Brown critique magazine, UK. He also appeared in an anthology,” And Agamemnon Dead “, published in conjunction with the Skerries poetry festival Donkey shots. Poems appearing in this Anthology, include, “A plague of uncertainty”, Auld Rope “, and “Gur Cake”. Bob has just recently appeared in the latest issue of the New Ulster Anu, the 40th. Issue. In this Anthology the following Poems appear.” Auld tripe”, “Ashen Sun “, Toddles”, A thin white line”, and “After Philomena. “Also awarded 2nd.place in the New York Literary Magazine, in the category of Life/Death. Recently received 3 commendations from the Jonathan Swift Writers Awards. Bob has recorded his poems on KFM radio, as well as Liffey sounds with host poet Eamon Lynskey, also on Dublin south radio. Recently having read at the over the edge Galway, from the Anthology, “And Agamemnon Dead”. Bob is currently striving to complete a first collection, in the distant hope of been published.

Dollop

Across fields of autumn joy
We skipped in excited chatter.
Heavy laden branches of promise
Soon picked by hungry hands
Turning purple black
Soaked in berry dye
Matching lips to tell.
No handled pots
Splintered enamel bowls
Our tools of harvest
Brimming in overflow
Like our swollen tummies
Before days end.
Trekking slowly home
We boasted
How each one had picked
Or seen the biggest berries
And how tricky it was
Leaning flat on branches
Reaching to our fingertips
Almost sinking in deep fright.
On reaching home tired out
Ready for a wash
Just like our blackberries
Stemmed and tossed
In that big old pot.
Eager eyes watched
The fruit broth bubble
Its sweet coloured smell
Telling mother to add the sugar.
Leaving us to day- dream
Of the many ways we could spread our jam
Turnover bread cut thick for breakfast
Rice pudding sweetener…or
On sore throat days
A generous dollop to comfort
Like sneaky visits by fingers unwatched
Adding to the pleasure.

Borromean Islands

Carissima Isola Bella
Your beauty
pulls me
to look
upon you
and the Islands
Isola Madre – Isola Superior.
Centuries could not change
your charm
a titled aristocrat
prompts me
to delve the lore
among the tiered gardens
virgin white peacocks
fanned soft air
leaves me musing
to be of that age
rousing dreams
of milky-thighs
to kiss.
No woman bears this likeness
set upon my mind
the image
mirrored in the gallery
so true
 Carissima Isola Bella

First Flush

Tunisian sunrise
amber peach sky
no alarm to wake you
from sun-down  slumber

instead

sparrows gush to life
a bursting melody
only
my ears hear

now I watch you
breathe bare breast
urging a hunger
from earlier

performance
complete
silence
rouses you

its quiet
you mumble
I smile
amused

Birth

An idea at first
becomes a word

it nests
my mind

growing slowly
it alters

expands to a thought
and gains

breathing space
more liberties

before it bursts
its pupa

 

© Bob Shakeshaft