Irene Cunningham



Things to grow in a pot
don’t include love and yet
it plants its own seeds.

Strange encounters build
on interiors, dressing rooms
choosing wotnots.

It’s the pulsing blood, plush
as it rushes to our heads
and navels in its eternal war.


One and one
a couple is still two
people…each life
is never just about the nights;
day-matters are riddled
with other people.

I couldn’t be anyone
else but me.

Perhaps marriage
should be as final
as an active furnace
where the meeting of parts
is not enough to hold
him and her
(re-arrange to suit).

A flame needs solid
wall to hate
to encompass it –
serve as a breast.


I choose a bra that lifts
and separates, refuse
squashed kumquats,
mashed squash
…I rant in Primark
about padding – Woman
is a separatist issue.

Copyright © Irene Cunningham 2017

Irene Cunningham has had many poems published in lit mags across the years. She enjoys a quiet life at Loch Lomond and website is here.

Writing blog

Personal blog


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s