Cyphers Magazine


Publishing poetry, prose and art since 1975


Rough Magic

When naming the storms the meteorologists
choose from Shakespeare, the Bible, the Greek gods.
This one will come bringing monsoon rain
and leave us needing candlelight.
The worst of it will be the flood
pawing the back door to get in.


By Pól Breathnach Gearrchaille ’s stócach i dtús na ndéaga faoi éadach rocach ar shop in éindí. Caithriú na beirte: cíocha a’ péacadh, fionnadh ag eascairt in ascaillí ’s i mbléine. Fiosracht is fionnachtain, diurnú ’s freagairt, tráthnóntaí samhraidh ’s a muintir sa gcathair. B’ionadh liom do ghliondar is do ghníomha prasa. Ghlac tú liom […]

He Made It All Too Obvious

He made it all too phony about affection,
made it all too creepy about using women,
made it all too Don Juan about his alleged amours,
all too evident he was twisted and all
too dull when anyone interrupted him by
so little as a word,

Head Wounds

Each thin line of fresh blood on my forehead
is an insignia of age
I claim,

my genetic baldness, ambushed and bled
stanched by paper scrap or band aid
no shame.

The Geologist In Lockdown

By Nell Regan Shanganagh Cliffs The last great melt is scored through each layer of these cliffs – these shelly drifts below our home, cut clean by the knife of the sea. I scan for sun bleached stone, delivered from a desert long gone, find a speckled piece of the Firth of Clyde but my […]

REED BUNTING Emberiza schoeniclus

By Mary Montague REED BUNTING Emberiza schoeniclus: from a sequence after the species’ singing styles (2) I Sing Me To More Myself I begin in the dark / as I began in My / own dark unformedness / making a syllable / after a syllable / after a syllable / which is the kind of faith / […]

Red Camellias

By Seán Lysaght I saw you this morning when a shaft of light shone on the red camellias just after sunrise. I recognised the lipstick and a kind of shy emergence from the hedge-depths where they sheltered. The poplars were already applauding the main parts of the day to come, wind and sun, and a […]

Light is what days are made of

by Moya Cannon Light is what days are made of –it pulls the daffodil up out of dark earth,prompts the eagle and the stub-tailed wren to nestand draws the humpback whale north with its song. Stones, warm on the morning sea-shore, know it.Our sun is so much older than them –such tempests of grief it […]

Scroll to Top