#maurice devitt

[nutshellsandnuggets]

Maurice Devitt - Three Poems

A Habit Worth Forming Have you ever found yourself queuing in your local café, thinking of nothing in particular besides snaring your favourite seat, when the woman behind taps you on the shoulder, leans in to whisper something in your ear? No, I haven’t either, though I’d hate to miss a day, in case it ever happened. * Lost for Words One day I dropped my dictionary and the words fell out. I was in a hurry so I swept them into a pile and left the house. When I returned the words were nowhere to be seen and now my life is a catalogue of surprises – a strange dog on the couch, unwanted salt in my soup and the unlucky spectre of a fresh crack in the mirror – though, to be fair, I’ve also noticed the reappearance of bliss every time you call. * Nascent Romance This morning the barista fashioned a heart on the top of my latte. I thought nothing of it until you sat beside me and the heart started to quiver, gently at first, but, when you asked me to pass the sugar, I detected a definite skip, hoped you hadn’t noticed, gulped down my coffee and left. It was only later I wondered, whether by chance you had caught me in one of your selfies. * Maurice Devitt is the curator of the Irish Centre for Poetry Studies site, a founder member of the Hibernian Writers’ Group and published debut collection with Doire Press in 2018. I love short poems because when you plant them they can turn into epics.

[poetrybreakfast]

An Algorithm for Happiness - A Poem by Maurice Devitt

An Algorithm for Happiness – A Poem by Maurice Devitt

An Algorithm for Happiness

He recognised the driver as someone he had never seen before and, as each moment is an answer to the last, realised the similarity to his mother, who had run away before he was born and, for years, had captured the joy of her guilt in rushed postcards written from the last outpost of a normal life. He knew that in an place like this, he couldn’t throw a stone without…

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[nutshellsandnuggets]

Maurice Devitt - One Poem

Out of Touch

When she left his hands betrayed him - fingers drummed on table-tops wanting to dial her number; he woke to the cupped memory of her breasts, the smooth friction as her skin became his.

Then he found a letter written in a different hand and saw, for the first time, how a misread palm could conceal a splintered life.

*

I like short poems because when you look after them they grow into bigger poems.

After a career in business, I was elected poet laureate of my own house.

[nutshellsandnuggets]

Maurice Devitt - Two Poems

Beermat Angst Though you might undress me in the stale light of the music lounge, tattoo my skin with your doodles and vagrant words, I know that, when the shutters close, you will scribble your number, tempting someone else to take me home. * This Morning As she opens the blinds slats of light ribbon her face and she turns towards you. No sweetened breath. No blue magnetic smile. Just your whispered name already slipping from her mind. * After a career in business, Maurice walked through the wardrobe and found poetry. He has just been long-listed for Over the Edge New Writer. I love short poems because they are just the right size for the reader to fit into the handbag of the mind, carry around all day and maybe come across again when they are rooting at the bottom of their bag.