Hello and welcome!
époque press is an independent publisher based between Brighton and Dublin established to promote and represent the very best in new literary talent.
Through a combination of our main publishing imprint and our online ezine we aim to bring inspirational and thought provoking work to a wider audience.
Our main imprint is seeking out new voices, authors who are producing high-quality literary fiction and who are looking for a partner to help realise their ambitions. Our commitment is to fully consider all submissions on literary merit alone and to provide a personal response.
Our ezine will showcase a combination of the written word, visual and aural art forms, bringing together artists working in different mediums to encourage and inspire new perspectives on specific themes.
For details of how to submit your work to us for consideration please follow the submissions guidelines and for all other enquiries please email info@epoquepress.com
Hello and welcome!
époque press is an independent publisher based between Brighton and Dublin established to promote and represent the very best in new literary talent.
Through a combination of our main publishing imprint and our online ezine we aim to bring inspirational and thought provoking work to a wider audience.
Our main imprint is seeking out new voices, authors who are producing high-quality literary fiction and who are looking for a partner to help realise their ambitions. Our commitment is to fully consider all submissions on literary merit alone and to provide a personal response.
Our ezine will showcase a combination of the written word, visual and aural art forms, bringing together artists working in different mediums to encourage and inspire new perspectives on specific themes.
For details of how to submit your work to us for consideration please follow the submissions guidelines and for all other enquiries please email info@epoquepress.com
époque press
pronounced: /epƏk/
definition: /time/era/period
époque press
pronounced: /epƏk/
definition: /time/era/period
époque press ezine
Lorraine Carey
Between Light
The gorse bordered
garden and stream.
Florets of buttercup yellow
sat with thorny spikes.
The cut grass and coconut aroma
weaved and wafted,
waltzed with summer’s breeze
in through open windows
tempting us out to play.
We pulled luxurious petals,
velvet and almost heart shaped,
sprinkled them over
the mown lawn like confetti.
Somersaulted on spiky grass,
brown in patchy tufts,
shadowed by the huge rhododendron
a menacing growth
that flourished each year,
overawed all in the patch.
The gorse always bloomed,
provided the comforting smell
of happiness, before loss sneaked up
and fractured us all.
Scattered now, by silent borders,
like broken delph.
The cracks always primed
to present themselves with
an eyeball roll, a heavy sigh,
accusations, undisclosed remorse.
I hold my memories close
as they fade ever so slightly,
with the sweet coconut scent
from petals of gorse.
Checkpoint, Culmore, 1980
We tumbled into Gran’s Fiesta
on Fridays after school,
until we got the Renault 5.
A straight run through, Moville, Redcastle,
Quigley's Point, Muff, then border territory
and much better roads
beyond Customs on the bend.
Mother eased her foot off the floor
approaching Culmore.
As the ramps came into view,
her heartbeats mirrored
the checkpoint's flashing.
Told us to sit still, as we giggled
and stared at shiny rifles with triggers of steel.
Wound down her window to a baby faced soldier
his soft contoured chin, yet to meet a razor.
He peered in and winked, smiled at us in the back,
she hoped to bypass the search bay and torchlight beams.
Green berets sat, looked silly on their teenage heads,
guns slung over slender shoulders.
Prayed they wouldn't peer too closely
at the photo, or at her and Gran.
The dark night cast welcome shadows.
They shared dyed black curls
and frantic fidgets, almond eyes and nervous smiles.
She wound the window up, shut out the frosty night
with a sigh, waved goodbye to other mothers' sons.
Placed Gran’s licence in the sun visor’s flap,
thankful for the resemblance.
Relaxed she drove on, indicated right
down Greenhaw Road, into Superfares car park.
Picked up bargains and exchanged grumbles
about the pound, sterling shopping, border hopping,
evenings of memories
with her late mother.
The Letter
It landed on its front
on the mat. Dog hairs sneaked
under the Sellotaped lip,
ensuring privacy of content.
It didn't matter this time.
News of my dog's death came,
on the envelopes rear,
her tiny letters, hemming stitches,
barely visible to an unfamiliar eye.
Both words lodged in my throat,
made me cry, her too I imagined.
The awkwardness shards,
pierce all our lives,
unspoken borders
there since my birth.
Those two stark words
prised open memories of miles
walked together,
when I happily told you
all of my secrets.
Lorraine Carey, Irish poet and artist has had work published in the following: Atrium, Prole, The Blue Nib, Ariel Chart, Poethead, The Honest Ulsterman, Sixteen, Vine Leaves, Quail Bell, Live Encounters, Picaroon, Laldy and The Runt Zine among others. A runner up in both the Trocaire/ Poetry Ireland and The Blue Nib Chapbook Competition 2017, her artwork has featured in Three Drops From A Cauldron, Dodging The Rain and Riggwelter Press. She has contributed poetry to several anthologies. Her debut collection From Doll House Windows - Revival Press is available from www.limerickwriterscentre.com She now lives in Co. Kerry.