Seduction of Safety

Wire cutters in hand, she approached the electric fence, timorously. As a child she could grasp the fence with both hands, and hold ’til the shock waves abated.

That was then…Too many shock waves disrupted her energy field. It was now or never.

The lightening rod of ‘What if’s’ had stymied her intent:

“What if the power that flowed through the fence was live still?”

“What if it was dead and the fears that kept her imprisoned within its boundaries were all in her mind?”

What if?

What if?

What if?

The power of her intent was different this time: no more “what ifs”. It was do or die.

Either way, she would win.

Between safety and freedom is the electrifying energy that RISK engenders: powerful enough to explode a small dark world into a starstudded universe.

Wire cutters in hand, she severed her fear.

I bought it in a charity shop

Liked it for what I saw

A painting of a grand old dame suspended in the air

Her feet strapped in by Mary Janes

Her arm stretched towards the sky

Tight barrel curls with a Marcel Wave

Portly girth squeezed into tweed

I found out who the artist was and really was surprised

My bargain find worth so much more than five euro given to the blind

by Maeve O’Hair

by Sheila A. McHugh

Maddening wind buffers feathers rudely nude branches wave in harmony like crowds at a concert high up here, limbs are rarely still. The tenacity of last years haws hanging on like little children defying mother nature. A mosaic of vegetable beds scuffed and bare robbed of employment waiting for this end of season of groundhog days, damp and desolate. Wish away dirty skies remember aching arms and nails clogged with dirty satisfaction. See now! Drab tones of brown and musty greens are broken by eager hot pink rhubarb stems like lipstick, slashed across winter’s cold cheek.

by Dianne McPhelim

The paper flaps its sheets of white through air as cold and l i g h t as winter snow that bubbles purple on the w a v e s and shaves itself into the land etching froth and foam and frost Knowing nothing is ever l o s t b u t s h a p e d .

As seasons cast a Glance at what has passed a n d m a r v e l at the silver lace that has been spun w i t h g r a c e

And threads its tale across the strand L i k e w h i s p e r s s t i r r i n g i n t h e s a n d .

by Sorcha O’Malley

Martina O’Connor

Immersive Landscape

240cm x 160cm

Acrylics and emulsion

Roots buried in earth Gripping soil as if it were dying, But it’s the tree’s lifeline With its nitrates that let bud shoot –Shoot into stem, defying gravity.

Trunk widening: Bark is the skin, Branches the limbs, Buds the foetus, Flowers the womb, Seeds the children, Phloem, xylem the veins Pumping root to leaves, Who lay bare in sunlight, Suckling on sunrays and carbon dioxide That I expel. With its blood create energy, Energy that keeps its heart beating Under the soil, and oxygen it expels Keeps my own heart beating above the soil.