Postponing years of a life already diabolically infringed upon
By the imposition of a father’s lust on her defenceless young flesh,
She appeals over the family head: social justice is once more transgressed.

Austerity cuts keep the people lean, in line, and the prisons full;
Over-crowded, violent and drug-soaked, save for the sexual offenders,
Cossetted, apart, in clover, and for the fallen fat-cats in their first-class cells.

Restorative measures, worthwhile for inducing wrongdoers to understand and
Endure consequences of their crimes, are back-burnered; their cathartic truths
Faithfully practised only by conscientious objectors and by common criminals inside.

© Caroline Hurley

Man who raped daughter  for 10 years released on bail

Why our jails fail

Caroline's poems have previously appeared in Poetry24. Some were also published in the e-magazine, The Electric Acorn. Besides poetry, she's written a novel, short stories, and both a stage and screenplay. Clebran.org featured a chapter from her novel and some flash fiction. Her current project is young adult fiction.

Numbed,
as wooden as a puppet,
she yearns for something to make sense.

Teardrops gathering
on her lower eyelid,
waiting to fall.

The disappointment,
burns her eyes, her brain.
Hot blood rages through her veins,
she wants to thump her fists
against his chest,
his face.

Pained memories,
like rough charcoal- sketches
in her soul,

wrongly remembered.

© Amy Barry

Woman raped by father 'devastated' at sentencing

Fiona Doyle says she feels 'vindicated' after rapist father jailed

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

The scales of justice
Tipped in favour
Of depravity
Again.

Evil spat in the face of courage
And walked free.

If heaven holds a place
For those who pray
What does hell reserve
For those who don’t?

© Maeve Heneghan

Self-confessed rapist father walks free

Maeve Heneghan is a native of County Dublin.  She has been writing poetry and short stories for a number of years now and has had some of her work published with First Cut, Verse land,  Static Poetry and Every Day Poets.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

There are good days, fair days and
very bad days. Funny days, serious
days, and unexpected days. Problems,
not always of my own making. And others,
where it is clearly my own fault, I admit.

How shall I compare thee?

There are good rapes, okay rapes,
and very bad rapes. No funny rapes.
So I suppose that makes them all kind
of serious. At times unexpected.

Unforeseen.

I may give in, under pressure, as it is safer
that way. Less physical damage or injury.
This could be called ‘consent’ in court. So
not proper rape. Though it does not feel like
consent at the time. More defeat really, even
without a struggle. Or putting up a fight.

How shall I conjure your impact?

Like being overruled, overpowered.
Which of course is routine for women.
But violation in the guise of ‘seduction’
sounds sultry and ‘romantic’. More than
idle ‘banter’. And must be my fault
anyway. I obviously asked for it.


Take it as a compliment for heaven’s sake.

It means you are desirable.


You should be so lucky.

© Val Walsh

After Ken Clarke's rape comments we must defend the right to say no

Dominique Strauss-Kahn set for fiery trial

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Passionately involved in feminist and intercultural arts, Val Walsh organises Liverpool's annual poetry event for International Women’s Day. Alongside her poetry, journalism and academic writing, she has co-edited three collections of feminist essays.

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Editors' note: When I heard Val perform this poem at the Dead Good Poets, her distinctive voice - calm, clear, matter-of-fact - adding to the power of her words, I practically wrestled it off her there and then. Clare