The late Bryan McMahon in his short story, “The Crossing”, said, through one of his characters, that writing is “a compulsive venting of the fermenting cask of my passion”. I have always admired McMahon anyway but I have never found anything that so expertly defines ‘writing’. Many of my poems in this book were written at times in my life over the last twenty years when my head was literally exploding with feelings of one kind or another, from intense love through to dejection and near despair. If the person who casually takes up this book takes the time to read the poems within I think this will become very obvious. Starting with my Inis Meáin poems right through to poems about family and relationships at the end of the book I am only too well aware that I have probably exposed more of myself than many would care to do. I think I have a reputation for direct, no nonsense, plain talking and I believe I have done that in this, my first, collection. One thing that I hope does come through is my huge love and admiration for my parents, now sadly deceased, and for all of my children and, of course, my wife.
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