*
Biography
Lorcan Cassidy is a recent graduate of the National College of Art and Design in Dublin. Although he studied Fine Art Sculpture in college, drawing and illustration have been lifelong passions for him. Most of the sculptures he has produced have an illustrative nature to them. As for his subject matter it is oftentimes macabre and strange. One of his tutors described it as, ‘Quirky with a touch of darkness.’
There’s nothing to fear but fear itself;
I don’t believe those words myself.
What about monsters, the devil himself?
I could be disembowelled by some evil elf!
Every night before I sleep,
I check beneath the bed and sheets.
For horrible beasts with razor sharp teeth.
They’ll rip me apart while I’m counting sheep!
With my bed side light I can sleep without fright.
My room is so bright, I’ll survive the night.
For the ghosts can’t hide away from my sight.
But tonight I’ll be brave and turn off the light…
A creak, a crack
I’m under attack!
My dreams are breaking, I find myself waking.
The devil is snaking; it’s me he’ll be taking!
Under the sheets in the dark, I’m quaking.
I need to find a way to stop shaking.
I look up and see teeth, shiny and sharp.
I’m their target, alone in the dark!
Take my torch in hand to steady my heart,
With a shine of the light, tear the evil apart!
I must be strong, and oh so brave.
I can’t let the monsters make me their slave.
If I don’t fight back, I won’t be saved.
I must send those beasts to their endless grave!
I devised a plan to take control;
To vanquish every ogre and troll!
I need a torch, and a sturdy bowl;
A sweeping brush to save my soul.
Now, each night before I rest in my nest:
I recheck the bed and do my best
To settle my nerves and calm my chest,
To find the pests; wherever they rest.
The bowl’s a helmet; in case of attack.
With torch in hand I lay down flat.
And poke with the brush where the monsters are at;
They scatter from light like a vampire bat.
I’ve waged my war, I move to the drawer.
I’ve never thought to check here before,
But shine my torch and lift clothing galore.
I see nothing there, but I had to be sure.
With my check nearly done, my panic abates.
I take my torch, bowl and brush to the drapes.
My torch goes dim, I hear claws scrape…
I must be ready when the ghosts take shape!
I bash with my brush,
Turn the fiends to mush,
Shine my light in a rush,
Till the monsters are crushed!
I don’t have a wardrobe, but you should check there,
You don’t want to wake to a terrible scare!
With the brush in your hand; demons beware!
With my check now done, I can rest without care.
There’s nothing to fear but fear, I see:
With torch and brush, the devil fears me!
I scare the elves, the monsters flee,
With my torch held close, I can finally sleep.
*
Biography
David Edwards is a Dublin based writer. His writing path started with stage plays and has slowly meandered towards children’s poetry and novels. For most of his life, he felt like he never would, and never wanted to grow up, and although life has forced some change to that, writing for children has been the his tie to youth. Over the years, he has tried to find any outlet for his creativity, from music to circus arts, from stand up comedy to theatre, but the focus has always been the same: make someone’s day that little bit brighter. Many of David’s plays have been put on to large and small crowds and one of his puppet shows is currently on display in the Wax Museum. He is always looking for new projects to work on, which led him to completing the NaNoWriMo challenge in 2015. Since then, he has become focused on completing his first novel, balancing his time between writing books and studying for his software development degree.
Mark Hill is an illustrator/photographer living in Dublin. He is self taught illustrator and went to IADT to study a degree in photography. He now splits his time between professional photography and illustrating. Mark lives with Kate and his two cats Nymeria and Pippin. “I enjoy the other worldly. Creating stories using beautiful, unnerving images. I get a lot out of collaborating with other artists and their works of any medium. I find that when two great art forms collide you always have the opportunity to create something special.”
Diana; Queen of the Den
Artemis, Luna, O Goddess Diana,
I beseech thee, immortal, grant thou servant thy manna,
I have completed thyn task and done as thou wished,
Now milk I will lap from your pale moonlit dish?
For you held up your bow and myself as arrow,
May you grant me a licking of delicious marrow?
Just a morsel of flesh or bone to chew on,
Then shall I recount what did happen.
A lost pig? What luck! Your miracles exceed,
Forever I starved and you granted reprieve.
Now a bard thou hast shaped, I shall tell you the tale,
How a fox, you did make, of this timorous female.
For once I was bashful and sheepish, it’s true,
A maid and a cook, a wife was I too!
For years I did slave, for a cheat and a slob,
My lazy, fetid, unendowed husband, Bob.
One night I did make for him a delectable ham,
Though all he deserved was a plate of cold spam.
“Wife, this looks fine” he spluttered to say,
Over the folds of fat which were caught in his way.
And like the swine at a feast, he devoured it all;
With his chewing and smacking and “Wife, pass the salt.”
It took less than an hour; he cleared his whole plate,
My plate, the fridge, three cupboards, but wait!
The pantry, the larder, 10 jam jars, all gone!
And all I could do was stand and look on.
But the night opened up and your face I did see,
In my head, I broke down, and prayed I to thee.
“Save me O Goddess, so bright and so wise,
I am sick of this world with its husbands and wives!
Where the husband is king and pain is his leisure,
While the wife, on her back, tries to fake all that pleasure.”
I want freedom, and joy, and a great bushy tail,
Sharp teeth, a keen nose. No more adult female!
I’m an animal inside; my skin is my guise,
Tear my face from my head and look in my eyes.
These eyes are of nature, they’ve seen the real world,
I’m a fox inside, I was never a girl.
For a girl is a princess, a Queen amongst men,
But I am from nature, I’m Queen of the Den.
So a hatchet I took from way up on high,
And with one swoop from the blade Bob’s head doth fly,
From the neck, it detached, and reached a great height,
But ‘twas doomed from the start as was Icarus’s flight.
It came down with a bang, a splat and a thud,
The kitchen was covered in 10 pints of his blood.
Blood upon blood, his neck made a geyser,
His brain I consumed for my appetizer.
His ears were so tough and his eyes I did chew,
I thought about making some delicious torso stew.
From his legs a roulade, from his arms a nice broth,
But so impatient I was, on all fours I did scoff.
I tore off his limbs and his fingers I ate,
In life you were cruel, in death, I salivate.
In bed, you made love like you hated my guts,
But your guts I now feast, we’re even I trust?
Now I stand here, a breast, in your divine moonlit gaze,
Baptized in his blood, a virgin and chaste,
Reborn as a fox, a Queen of the Den!
And from this day forth I’m finished with men!
*
Biography
Jamie John Patrick Flynn, 26, is from Waterford Ireland where he’s a writer, director, poet and Artistic Director of Gasworks Productions. Taking influences from the day-to-day activities all the way up to the surreal.
1.
He Rides The Sky
High in the sky
Two white doves fly
Freely in the air.
They see two lovers down below,
Lost in a sweet affair.
Two doves fly
Into darkening sky
Over rising cliffs and sea.
Beyond the gate of the curling clouds
To the Kingdom of the Sidhe.
They fly unto a palace that scales unto the moon.
They fly into a tower, into a shadowed room,
Where lonely King Midhir plays a mournful tune.
Two doves reveal all they’ve seen:
Ireland’s High King, and Ireland’s new queen.
A woman who’s eyes shine like emerald fire,
The love he lost
His sole desire,
And so the fates and fortunes conspire:
Etain is found again.
Not one second to waste
He rides in great haste
He’d ride to the stars above
Through wind, sleet, hail
His heart would not fail
To be with the woman he loves.
His love for her would never die
So he rides the sky
Over wind that blows.
He lost her as a dragonfly
So he rides the sky
To the North he goes.
2.
Be Near Me
Be near me when the stars are falling,
When the daylight is dying,
And worlds collide.
Hear me, when my heart is calling,
When my heart is crying,
To be by your side.
*
Biography
Peter Francis Fahy is a graphic artist and performance poet who illustrates scenes and composes poetry dedicated to old Celtic romances. His work on The Legend of Etain, an epic Celtic myth and the oldest love story in Ireland, has been featured in Feile An Phobhail, Stendhal Festival of Art, The John Hewitt Bar, and heritage sites across Northern Ireland.
Tales From The Forest 