The Missing Plane

The air around the room
hums and stutters
with staccato of one hundred voices.

Understanding comes in waves,
rumbles at their weary minds.
It first breaks their spirits
and breaks their hearts,
then it pokes at every organ
and every limb,
shaking their bodies.
And it all comes out
through their eyes;
Scream of tears
cascading
down each cheek.

A dire time!
A difficult time!
They miss their loved ones
more than words can say.
And all together
in silence
they pray-
at morning, at noon
and evening.

Unknowable fate,
a baffling riddle-
What…
Who…
Where to search
for the last shadow
cast by MH370.

©Amy Barry

Relatives of missing Malaysia Airlines passengers are hopeful 
   
 Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media, hotel and Oil & Gas industries. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Her poems have been read and shared over the radio in Australia, Canada and Ireland. She loves traveling. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin have all inspired her work.
    She is a regular contributor to Poetry 24. When not inspired to write, she plays Table Tennis. She loves sushi.

The Revisit

Today I had a chance to visit,

the place I had spent

most of my life,

where I had passed

the time calmly enough

where I had often asked myself,

‘What more-

am I suppose to do?’

Desperation pushed

me to take risks.

Sadness hit me

like an arrow,

entered my flesh.

Blessed be the part

of me that protects

from too much pain

and sorrow;

because when the torment

was too severe-

I felt nothing.

_________

Amy Barry

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has been a regular contributor to Poetry 24. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad such as Mad Swirl, EDP, The New Ulster, First Cut, Misty Mountain Review, The Plum tree kindle. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work.

Flickering in the Darkness

Acts of complete madness,
devouring their minds,
ready to die, not clinging to life.

Arguing the rights and wrongs,
facing death
with careless composure.

Spilling blood. Seeping blood.
Smearing blood, playing dead.

In clouds of smoke,
killings unleashed without mercy.

Words seething in rage,
flickering candles guide
the mourning city.

Unreal as a dream,
the messy process of dying,
of life cut short-too soon.

© Amy Barry

Kenya Survivor 'Smeared Herself In Blood'

Amy Barry is a regular conributor to Poetry 24. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Her poems have been read and shared over the radio in Australia, Canada and Ireland. She loves traveling. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin have all inspired her work. When not inspired she plays Table Tennis.

Young Butterflies

The fear
that had always been,
they lifted their skirts
for a few euros,
gazing at the faces
of strangers-
the rendering of lust,
an urgent urge.
Images that went
unsaid,
unasked,
in a few fevered seconds
of moaning
and slimy discharge,
one body into
the next,
their eyes rolled
in childish response,

the fear
they would suffocate
or drown,

their minds flew
on imagined wings.

© Amy Barry

23 children sold for sex and labour in Ireland last year

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has been a regular contributor to Poetry 24. Her poems have been published in Ireland and abroad such as Mad Swirl, EDP, The New Ulster, First Cut, Misty Mountain Review, The Plum tree kindle. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work.

Africa's Sahel

A boy stands alone,
under the stinging heat,
hungry and thirsty.
Everywhere
he sees animals
lying over each other,
teary eyes, stunned
by the scale of death
laid out before him.
Even the sky
seems to look on
with disbelief.
Countless flies
move over the carcasses,
raising great grey clouds
before settling again.
Visions of his mother
continue,
float.
He is nearly certain
she isn’t dead,
wished he didn’t have
to witness
death.

With only his mother
for company,
he waits.

© Amy Barry

Mali: a humanitarian snapshot of refugees, health and education

Niger offers hope of homegrown solutions to Sahel crises

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

A ten-year old Syrian Child

Dust clouds swirl
on pools of sticky blood.
Bullets fly inches above her head.

Muffled, strangled cries.
Maggots on decomposed bodies,
severed heads and limbs.

Her fingers rake
through bloodied bodies,
her gaze darts frantically around.

Her father’s boots-
Papa’s dying breath,
did he recite the Shahadah?

Sounds of shelling, shooting-
funnel in her ears,
replay in her head.

She doesn’t have time
to moan or whine
about her fate.

She has little choice.

©Amy Barry, 2013

Syria: no child safe from the bloody conflict

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work.

Her Life Sentence

Numbed,
as wooden as a puppet,
she yearns for something to make sense.

Teardrops gathering
on her lower eyelid,
waiting to fall.

The disappointment,
burns her eyes, her brain.
Hot blood rages through her veins,
she wants to thump her fists
against his chest,
his face.

Pained memories,
like rough charcoal- sketches
in her soul,

wrongly remembered.

© Amy Barry

Woman raped by father 'devastated' at sentencing

Fiona Doyle says she feels 'vindicated' after rapist father jailed

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

The Season Ends

The sound of crows
cawing on their lonely
flight home,
she stands beside the maple tree,
sodden dark bark from
the heavy rain,
moss creeps up its trunk,
fine play of colours,
autumn hues
of green, black, yellow
and rust,
bitter contrast to
her fine, white face,
a poignant image,
a youth blooming
in a season
of endings.

Her body
found hanging
from the maple tree,
in winter.

 © Amy Barry, 2013

Tormented: Felicia Garcia

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

A Boy’s Life in Gaza

My life is not supposed to be like this.
The air strike
lights up the night sky as bright as day.

Mother puts my head in her lap,
I feel her stroking my hair.
Pain rises in waves,
crashing into me.
My eyes, unable to focus,
my hearing capable only
of taking rhythm and cadence.
Slowly words begin to take
on discrete sounds,
then come meaning
and comprehension.
Mother tells me
I will be saved.

When a person dies, the people cry.
I can see mother crying.
Dream fragments
float past behind my eyes.
Life hasn’t been fair to me.

© Amy Barry

Israeli aircraft strike crowded Gaza areas, civilian death toll climbs 

Amy Barry has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in Ireland and abroad. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

Two poems about Savita

All for nothing           

Laid out
in a red wedding sari,
her life frittered away as easily
 as scattered dust.

Weeping like a child,
he whispers
her name over
     and over again.

How do we justify this?

© Amy Barry

Savita laid out in wedding sari

Amy Barry has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in Ireland and abroad. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.


The other side

A victim of our throwaway society
no voice to protest
no means to fight
a collection of cells
that is a part of you and me.

Who gives me the power to
terminate
exterminate
because the time is not right?

I cut it out as I would
a tumour
discard it like a used napkin
stained and besmirched

the only malignancy it
carries is a threat
to bring out the best,

or the worst

 in us.

© Niamh Hill

Savita death leads to call for clearer NI abortion law

Niamh Hill is a former accountant and primary school teacher on a career break, indulging in yoga, reading and writing. 

Shadows on the Irish Sea

Pain gathered in his chest,
a sense of being marooned,
so thick, it clotted,
choked his breathing.

His wife, lying
in some unmarked grave,
he wished he was invisible,
had evaporated into green-silk,
and misty air.

Sun set in sharp autumn chill,
black shadows, quavered,
her image
on a rippling sea.

© Amy Barry

Man charged over Jill Meagher case

Amy Barry has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in Ireland and abroad. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.