Dennis Moriarty is fifty-six years old and originates from London. He has lived in South Wales for over thirty years. Married with five grown-up children and grandchildren, Dennis enjoys reading, writing and walking the Welsh countryside. He has been published in The Rye Whiskey Review, Setu Bilingual, Spillwords, The Blue Nib, Our Poetry Archive, and numerous anthologies In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and has read his work at festivals and gatherings around the UK and Ireland.
We are siblings of a past detonation The fall out From a split atom of memory. Decades of unspoken words, half truths And denial have conspired To lengthen the distance between us. After all, to acknowledge the truth, Would be, for you, The ultimate act of betrayal. So even now, in this our nuclear winter, We choose to remember, To interpret the past in our different ways. I with a lighter tone of darkness in my voice, Humour with acceptance, Laughter, acceptance without excuses. For you even the act of remembering Has grown arthritic, Stiff with the formality of misguided loyalty. I think it’s time for you to acknowledge The truth And perpetrate that ultimate act of betrayal.
Rippling Pools of seclusion.
In a dimly lit corner of a Soho bar We are discovering The musicality of water the harmony Of a mountain stream. A trickle at source it soon becomes the very Definition of movement. Elegantly flowing down the hillside until With a quickening of the pulse It rushes over rocks brushes past an overhang Of branches Coming to terms at last with its own identity In secluded pools Where a soft breeze ripples the flesh Of discovery. A tiny corner of rural Wales has come with us To the big city tonight. Organic and clean it settles like cool soothing fingers On the feverish brow of Soho. We sit listening strung out somewhere between Green rolling hills And the casual insanity of this city bar. Without preamble The gaping wound of a trumpet bleeds, A saxophone soars Like wings over urban desolation and the pianist Drifts away in rippling pools of seclusion.