Gordon Ferris was born and raised in Finglas, a North West suburb of Dublin. In the early eighties, he moved to Donegal where he has lived ever since. He started writing in 2014 and has had many short stories and poems in publications including Hidden Channel, A New Ulster, The Galway Review, Impspired Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Live Encounters. He has also won prizes in the summer 2020 HITA Creative Writing Competition for his poem ‘Mother’ and won the winter competition for his poem ‘The Silence’. 

Poetry Ireland awarded Gordon a, Poetry Town Bursary. He had his first book published in January 2023 by Impspired, a short story collection called Echoes and his second book,  A Mirror Looking Out, a poetry collection, published by the same publisher, Impspired, under the brilliant stewardship of Steve Cawte.

 Granny Gordon’s farm

Her waving arms were visible
as we drove up the driveway 
towards Granny Gordon's farm 
after our long journey from Dublin 

We stopped in the town of Castledermot.  
Where from a distance ( with my bad eyesight ) 
the straw-covered water pump
took on the appearance of a beautiful blond-headed woman. 

Before even exiting the car 
she ordered my sister and I 
to go looking for our bone-idle grandad 
who was working out in the fields. 

The first field of the outside toilet, nearest the house 
and a friendly donkey 
who came to the door 
every time you were inside 

but no sign of Grandad 

the second field had goats, 
aggressive goats at that, 
we didn't wait long 
to find out how aggressive, 

but no sign of Granddad. 

in the third field 
there were five stacks of hay 
evenly spread throughout the field 
furthest away we could see a plume of smoke rise 
and hear a faint snoring noise 
From Grandad, with the cap down over his face 
with a burnt-out Woodbine stuck to his lip, 

Very busy at work.   

With Me.

I sense in the corner of my eye
A faint flash of something.
Something, that just can not be there.
I recognise the posture
That familiar way you used to sit
I get the scent of your distinct perfume
 the spectral aroma of your Craven A Cigarette
As if your spirit were here silently watching over me

Sometimes, I find myself sitting 
in the posture 
you used to sit 
Sometimes, you do inhabit my being

Our lost loves 
are never  far from us
They remain - with us.
And within us - always.  

Clarity

fighting pain
fighting chance
fighting the passing of time
moments of joy and
moments of connection
a fleeting glimpse of bliss
that moment 
that split second
when your whole world stops
when you get to view 
the entire universe 
and your place in it