Amy Barry (Irland)

Amy Barry (Irland)
Amy Barry writes poems and short stories.
She loves to travel. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Japan, Bali, Paris, Berlin, Budapest, Milan and Falkenberg have all infused her work. She is published in several anthologies, journals, and press and e-zines globally. Amy and her work have featured on radio and television in Australia, Canada, Italy and Ireland. Her poems have been translated into Italian, Turkish, German, Romanian, Greek, Malay, Azerbaijani, Irish and Persian.
Awards :
Mother won 1st prize in English Poetry (Versification & Recitation) at PAU World Poetry Day 2017.
Recipient of Neruda Award 2017 (Poetry) May 2017 Crispiano, Italy.
Between Captivity and Villa Maria was awarded ‘Highly Commended’ (Poetry) in SiarSceal International Literary Festival 2017, Roscommon, Ireland.
She has read at Literary Festivals and events in Ireland and abroad.
Amy is an Honorary Member of Pablo Neruda Cultural Association, Italy.
She is a recipient of the Westmeath County Council Bursary, 2017.
Amy loves sushi and trampoline jumping.
Divine parallelism
What I want is to hear
my heart beats like lusty fire
and see my fingers reach out
to touch your breath.
What I want is to embrace you,
and my feverish lips
to kiss you with urgency
like the desire of a storm —
beauty and passion erupt
like the rising sun.
Revisiting St. Loman’s hospital
Memory expands,
frame after frame,
unstoppable —
behind bolted doors of grey,
sitting on a cracked floor
with bended knees,
for understanding,
hell cursed like a vulgar visitor
with bad breath,
voices came, at times
so inspiring, lyrics
poured out like maple
igniting the room.
Ungraspable — sometimes
drunk with weakness,
I had wished to grow
even weaker,
I had wished to fall,
lower than down—
Do I belong here?
Mam had those strange ideas
that I should be here.
Buried anger storms silently —
then disappears.
no sense,
disbelief — shattered
burns her eyes,
her brain,
hot blood rages
through her veins,
she wants to thump
her fists against their faces,
pained memories
like rough charcoal- sketches,
numbed —
reaching out, no hands.

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