Rapture (2016) is published by Southword Editions and available at the price of €5 (€7 for international orders) from the Munster Literature Centre’s online bookstore


‘fresh, sensuous, and direct’ —The Irish Times 13249903_1776247032606003_1183624527_n

‘Unafraid of sentiment…a master of endings’ —Poetry Ireland Review

‘This brief collection shows remarkable emotional range. Kelly leaves the reader afloat on a tide of colour’ —The PN Review

‘fierce and mysterious, beautiful and compelling’ —Leanne O’Sullivan



Two poems from Rapture


Mars in Retrograde

June comes to the sky above Leitrim
and Mars is as red as a rose.

Our garden’s roses stare longingly upwards,
this heat is killing them.

Oh Plough, slip some water
from your tilting pan to my poor roses,

into the red mouth of Mars.
The swinging bench moans like a ship

all around me, and I am adrift
in a sea of stars.

Cut me loose from this rope of fairy lights
entwined like a glittering snake

around the chains and the boards.
Let me float to Orion,

let my fingers find his belt’s cold buckle.
Oh Mars, my love with red hair

is gone from me, and in your single,
maddened eye, I have glimpsed

the men I’ll sacrifice to find him.
I have seen the future slipping from me

like a lonely satellite. I
have heard the creaking of a thousand

ships released at once
like a breath across the face of Earth.



She greets passengers off the ferry
on an island in Donegal;
her figure is illuminated
by a west Cork road, cars’ tail lights receding
as a string of ruby beads.

Her statues and shrines
are everywhere, even in the city.
In a mossy lane between old terraced houses
the paint is scratched and worn
on her face, her blue robe.

As a child at Mass
when given a coin
to say a prayer, I never lit
a blood-red candle
at the nailed, stained feet of Jesus.

Instead I’d make a blue star
for the virgin, my small hands nervous
as they touched a wick
to someone else’s flame.
Since then my hands have set other

things on fire, and she does not judge.
She knows what we have done
in the dark, tumbling
over sofa and rug.
I will lay you down before her

at her wettest, wildest grotto
where only she and I
will hear your cries.
For you, she’ll raise blue candles in the sky.
She’ll whisper in your ear

that for your love she’ll cross
the whole aching universe—crush planets
in her fists to dust
and the seeds of new stars,
re-ignite dying suns.



Purchase Rapture here