Philip Byrne, a Dubliner, lives in Westchester, New York. He has been the poetry editor for Inkwell Magazine out of Manhattanville University. Recent poems are in The Raven Review, the Beach Chair Press, The Soliloquist, The Westchester Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and Anthropocene. He captures snippets of memory and observation in poems that finds sustenance, rejuvenation, and joy in language.
Philip Byrne, a Dubliner, is a retired teacher living in Westchester, New York. He was a poetry editor for Inkwell Magazine during the aughts. He enjoys identifying birdsong on Merlin, marvels at spiders catching spotted lanternflies, and watches too much soccer. In poems about love, loss, and the quotidian, he often finds sustenance, humour and perspective.
A Taste
SUNSTROKE
Sun-worshippers, flipper-flabby, divine wisdom
from potboilers beneath pitched umbrellas.
A motley crew, potbellied, waddle in the wash.
Nothing teeters in their hairy-legged world.
Brazen gulls squawk & scoop scraps, Chips
Ahoy. A naked baby squeals on a hip.
I gawk at the flight of nipple-ballooned bikinis,
the chase, cacophony & kick-splashes
in the ebb & spray, slump to the clammy sand.
A breeze scales my teeny bony back,
kickstarts my heart. From my Adam’s apple,
a zest broils, & as I grip the inflatable,
clear-plastic ball between my hands,
I swear it said, “Kiss me, you fool!”
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