This Wind. A poem by Féilim James

How fragile
These wings of wax

(This wind is blowing in our door)

How brittle
These iron lungs

(This wind is climbing up our stairs)

How delicate
This leaf upon this twig upon this tree

(This wind is in the hallway
Dancing with a monstrous glee)

How frail
These hands of ours

That cannot catch the wind

This wind that is in our bedroom now
Trying to smother the dawn


Féilim James is a writer from Dublin, Ireland. His poetry and prose, through both English and Irish, have earned a number of awards and publications. A short film Féilim wrote, titled The Big No, premiered recently, while his play At Summer’s End is being toured by Smashing Times. Journals in which Féilim has appeared include The Fiction Pool, The Galway Review, Icarus, and Comhar, among others. He has won seven Oireachtas na Gaeilge literary awards, and is currently completing the MA in Writing in NUI Galway. Visit his website here.

1 Comment

  1. What a great idea and a beautiful poem called The Wind. I look forward to this site growing over the next few weeks.

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