Jenny Byrne



the poet

Jenny lives in Dublin. A newcomer to the writing scene she had her first poem published in 2020 and is thoroughly enjoying the writing experience as well as the poetry community. Her biggest achievement to date is being a mother to two lovely people. Her poems have been published in The Galway Review, Impspired, Dust Poetry Magazine, Drawn to the Light Press and The Madrigal.

the poems


00:00 / 01:44

I do not want to lament the day you died,

each year, purging up the aisle of

expectation to kneel and prostrate

I am ready for the date to come and know

there is no must, no proper, no should

I may trace a fingertip across your scarf

of orchid silk, allow jewels to glisten in my palm,

scatter photos, hold linen to my face

and breathe you in — less of you with time;

but still, a tiger knows her cubs,

animal instinct reciprocates

This pace, once chaotic, stumbling,

shapeshifting to satisfy others

has slowed, is gentle;

with desire to gratify fading

I move, a rising relevé in satin slippers

to my tentative, delicate rhythm

I may look back from time to time as I lead

myself forward towards my skyline

I think you would raise a celestial hand,

urging me onward.

Love (Classified)

00:00 / 01:44

I don't write about love

it's ours, it's private.

Where we are

queen and king

passions force

bloody battles

some won

many lost

We grieve

poultice womb


with salt


the demented

Orchid roots

reach toward

light and air

epiphytes survive



I don't write about love,

it's ours, it's private.

Sapere aude

00:00 / 01:44

The wise child

omniscient, sensing, absorbing

full up, engorged, overflowing

No reprieve, corridors closed,

dam bulging, deluge certain

walks within the gilded mausoleum,

sham, chaos mire

Instinct knows what can and cannot be said

perception is reality they say

a ten year old cannot play with perception

Sensitivity has no place in dysfunction

systems are not made to be broken

wise children bearing all weights

eventually crumble.

Publishing credits

S h a r e