2013 / 72 pages
ISBN: 978-1-907682-29-2
Cover art: Deborah Watkins

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2011 / 72 pages
ISBN: 978-1-907682-04-9
Cover art: Waxart


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SUSAN LINDSAY is originally from Dublin but now lives in Galway. She has read her work at Over the Edge literary events and at Clifden Arts Week, and was a member of the Faber Academy, Dublin poetry class in 2010. A social work graduate (TCD, 1975), she has been a psychotherapist, group leader, workshop facilitator and trainer for over thirty years. Whispering the Secrets is her first book of poetry. Her follow-up collection, Fear Knot, was published in 2013.


No Name

The tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named
is not the eternal Name — Lao-Tzu

Let us then name nothing
— even that is falsifying eternity
an endless no thing
must be something, I feel sure
Stevie Smith would say. But no.

No thing is nothing at all
not a moment in time,
an eternity of timelessness,
though there are many
and I would have it so

turn, then, to darkness
for, as Eliot said,

the darkness shall be light,
and the stillness the dancing

In the Darkness

                               of the asylum
she made pâpier machée beads
from crushed paper
the stickiness satisfying,
her fingers immersed in glue
smoothing torn squares
in layers on the surface.

When the occupational therapist
spent the last of her budget
on metallic paint and a volunteer
donated gold she found light
could create something



Not a Question of Belief

I put my faith in mystery. Listen
at the altar to the unknown god.

Work out by living
the unfolding question of life
although it is hard
to celebrate mean thoughts
and fear of scarcity and loss and death.

I create graven images for shelter
edifices of belief–boxes–
and cling to sides blown open.

In fear I hope, embrace darkness
light a candle to love, lower ramparts
surrender to Mystery.

Beaches I have Danced Upon:
IV. Dog’s Bay, Roundstone

Ocean, be mine.

White sand stretches
to the curve of the dunes
and the headland beyond.
But I wait until my return
to the shelter of the first rocks
that make a cove
and then, out of sight of houses
perched on the hillside,
I sing.

Ocean be mine.

My sound and that of the sea
are one.
I dance on the sand
with the waves.
leave only dampness behind.

As I dance
I remember
you were to take me to dinner
when you visited friends
in Roundstone.
I have heard not one word.

And I ride the waves with white stallions
leave a taste of salt in the air.