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Author Archives: jasonoruairc
Where be the Blackbird?
I know where he be. Next door’s front garden, head cocked to one side, orange beak grasping an almost-ripe cherry from my tree. I look round at the tree: the slender branch, once perilously bowed under the weight of its … Continue reading
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Tagged Belfast, birds, Blackbird, cherries, fiction, fruit, Ireland, Jason O'Rourke, Literature, Ormeau Road, short story, Vernacularisms, writing
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Guest Post: ‘Judith’ by Eunice Yeats.
Judith, he goes to me, don’t be gettin’ up on that stepladder for you’ll fall and crack your skull. That’s Victor, my husband. Victor was married before. First wife died in 1986 and Victor never left their house for two … Continue reading
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Tagged Belfast, Eunice Yeats, flash fiction, monologue, short story, Vernacularisms
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Thought for the day
Sometimes you just want somebody to make you a cup of tea.
A Christmas Wish .
And lo! The people awoke. And verily they said unto one another: ‘This … is not my lord.’ ‘This prince has no dominion over me’. ‘Thou, puppet, art not queen of my heart’. And thenceforth the people made their own … Continue reading
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The Appointment
Who the fuck is Jerome? No idea. No matter how deep I scrabble around in the usually-fertile soil of my memory, there is nothing there. I don’t recall meeting anyone called Jerome. Ever. But there it is: a reminder on … Continue reading
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Tagged appointment, Autocorrect, Belfast, Bellini, faith, frape, Jason O'Rourke, Jerome, King's Head, Library, Literature, phone, Queen's University, relationships, Saint, short story, students, Vernacularisms, WPLongform, writing
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Waking
That moment between sleep and the coming day, when nothing else matters – just being; The unblemished intimacy of soft skin; blissful union of mind and body. Innocent as childer we are perfect.
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Tagged fleeting, innocence, intimacy, poetry, sleep, Vernacularisms, waking
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Guest post: ‘sometimes’, by Martin McKenna
sometimes when the traffic weakens you feel you could have the run of the city in memorium. when there were no capitalisations, only silent confetti and these light needles back through these shut blinds seam all the day mine. … Continue reading
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Tagged Belfast, fear, Literature, Martin McKenna, place, poetry, traffic, Vernacularisms, writing
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Guest Post: ‘from a kitchen on ravenhill’, by Martin McKenna.
as rain sloshed everything else, you in my gut, again. i try to think about outside, again. buck chopping board smile, the sag of my knives give away the other side. spear through to blot bottle of wine … Continue reading
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Tagged Beckett, Belfast, kitchen, Literature, poetry, rain, Ravenhill Road, relationships, Vernacularisms, writing
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No Laughing Matter
Nobody knew where it came from, or how it spread so far, so quickly. It appeared on three continents in the course of one day; a mark on the calendar that became portentously known as Day 1. It was soon … Continue reading
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Tagged Azerbaijan, Belfast, Benny Hill, border, Cobh, Cork, Ebola, epidemic, faith, Father Ted, Fawlty Towers, First Minister, Frank Carson, Hugh Grant, humour, Hyena, Ireland, Jason O'Rourke, Jim Davidson, Kitchener, LAD, laughter, Literature, Long Kesh, loyalists, Malone Road, measles, Mexico City, Mrs Brown's Boys, New York Times, Only Fools and Horses, Outbreak, pandemic, Pink Panther, politics, Porridge, Rathlin Island, Red Dwarf, republicans, Shoot-to-kill, short story, Steve Martin, Stormont, Sydney, UTV, Vernacularisms, violence, Virus, WPLongform, writing
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