room one oh four xiii
rain doesn't get a chance to settle but it's
steam again, july street-hotel afloat like
a mystery. what is it to be this edge society,
this edge to urban we sleep. having heard
new myth of danu, back on the streets, on it all
again, i'm broken. for all the words we shared,
out from under my welfare for her she's in a
stench of addiction again, that broken song.
old notes she plays in my head, hours of her
asking. to hear it vocalised, i'm sore of it. i
measure my doing here slowly. it takes me,
an oil tanker, a mile to turn. but when i do, i
have it. i'll see next july steam in another place,
and these last few months will have to be dry.
room one oh four xiv
is acceptance, in this silence, is it attainable.
as nerves live that unchangeable history
loud my ringing ears, can i accept it as gift to
myself. after all night's exhausting nightmares,
i slip into our warm bed. but it's changed. all my
lazy our time has me guilty beside visions
of judgement, our last days. i am to be this liminal
in hotel a while yet. as sun begins to make its
way, middle of sky for later and later dawns,
as trees are sure to lose their leaves, at least
the view next season will be beautiful. i'll make
it out alive, this day. not that fear on those spaced
out times that weed, afraid my company might kill me,
no, this is just a little trip into field, a step toward.
sunday news
i well up at the footage of the festival where
they use their platform for greater good. a
solitary tear drips into my coffee, mug spills
over with the weight. numbers of disappeared
shock, and yet, what can i believe. fast words
come from the women in burkas this little
part of our world. they move slow around
the crates of fruit and bread, some small
gift to us, and i morning smile their ways. are
they from there. how safe we must make their
ask of our shelter, of course their needs are
bigger than mine. and silence again these
thoughts this coffee, good to see part of a sky
blue, part of a sky cotton soft and drifting.
scratch diary lxv
six a.m. and foundry has crates of the
out of date. i'm lucky that my comfort
pack is part of last night's delivery,
new york deli pastrami on brown bread
enriched with vitamin d. it helps redirect
this stream of wounding thoughts,
intrusives in this morning's meeting my
condition. i pulled the plug on routine
yesterday. psychotic flash had me leap
out of seat and into a flood of deep guilt,
locking away a while the impulse to educate
anything into my corrupted mind. i'll take
this bitter treat, this pair of sandwiches down
with me, but for now it's fighting out, finding up.
Marty McKenna
Three Questions for Marty
What inspired your choice of medium(s), genre(s), and/or form(s) for your work?
I have been writing poetry as a means of bibliotherapy for quite a number of years now, and having a diagnosis of schizophrenia these last eight years, the work has helped me understand myself, my psyche, help develop my persona and track my moods, very well.
I’ve been writing exclusively in organic sonnet form for almost two and a half years because I feel the intimacy of the sonnet (initially designed to be read in your head) not only resolves conflict and drama the poems presents, but I find is a beautiful concrete shape on the page, the very picture of a sonnet.
As for organic form, I love the natural musicality of speech, the surprise which comes from the phrasing and vernacular in parts and the revelation of content as form.
What was your creative process?
Having lived in the depths of addiction for years, the first two years my time in the Hotel in particular, when I got sober, I would wake at four a.m. and write everything I could get on the page – sometimes a dozen poems a day. I tend to read a lot of contemporary poetry so that helps in steering and strengthening my voice. Having written 3,500 poems my time in the Hotel, and the six months that followed, these form a document I’m currently editing into a four different arcs for my debut collection ‘letters home’. I’m currently submitting work to inform the manuscript and to have these four poems published in Harpy is deeply moving for me.
What is the significance of this work to you?
This is more than just some poems being ordered for a book, this is years of my struggle with my identity after life felt it was appropriate to deal me very hard blows, and poetry has given me so much, so in return I was able to curate public readings and publish poems by and analysis upon emerging an established poets.
The community here in Belfast is very close, very supportive and the scene I would say rivals larger cities such as Paris and London. But I am just so grateful to still be alive to help a reader witness the other side, as the disturbed see it.
Marty is an independent Irish poet, born in Tyrone, now living and writing in Belfast. Marty has poems published widely in both online and print journals. He won the Matrix prize in 2017. Having published three chapbooks in 2021, 2022 and 2024, and a pamphlet 2025, he is publishing poems that will inform his first full collection 'letters home'. Marty curates the poetry community 'button press' which publishes, analyses and holds public readings for emerging and established poets. Marty is a neurodivergent poet.