The Numberless


Image may contain: one or more people and outdoor

The Numberless


At some unknown time

take me

to the Mundurukú,


for I, like them,

know nothing

of this world of numbers;


know nothing of

the calculated things

my son counts up.


If I could tally up

the ways I mis-count;

over-estimate, under-value;


let a wrong clock tell

me its time.

Your A.D. and Auld Lang Syne.


Here, in a bonded world

of nothingness

and endless rhyme.


By Amy Louise Wyatt (2020)



(Photograph by Paul Daniel Rafferty)



The ancients placed moonstones

in their mouths to see their futures;

under full moon, energy pulled

inwards, born from their mother’s rays.


To see my future, I placed a full moon

on my tongue; yearned to be lunar;

to see what ancients saw.  Worship

Artemis; marbleised, translucent;


let adularescence make me believe

that life is moonlight on calm water;

that I am only a spectre dreamt

by Luna in her long pale sleep.


Art Workshops for Young People

*****Amy’s Art Workshops*****

Each Saturday 10am-11am
Ages 3- 14 years

The Blackberry Path Art Studios, 26 Gray’s Hill, Bangor, BT20 3BB

£6.50 per child or two children are £10 per week
All materials, snack and refreshments included

PM me to book or text me on 07855013459.

Sat 13th Jan 2018
Maps and Stamps
In this workshop we shall be looking at how to use vintage maps and stamps to create a really interesting background to our drawings.

Sat 20th Jan 2018
Acrylic painting techniques and Colour Wheels
We shall be learning how to mix acrylic paints, apply them using a variety of different brushes, palette knives and sponges- creating a colour wheel to take home and an experimental piece.

Sat 27th Jan 2018
Bottle top abstracts
We shall be creating bas relief pieces using bottle tops, while having a look at some well know abstract artists.

My Great Aunt’s Belongings

Amongst the things that were left to me by my great aunt Delia, were her sewing scissors, her Bible, her father’s pocket watch, and a tobacco tin which was filled to overflowing with things to tangle you up and things to prick you.  Delia lived in East Belfast, in the house that she was born in, never married, made wedding dresses all her life and lived until 103 years old.

I visited her every Sunday and have vivid memories of sitting on green carpet which I’m sure was worn in patches by the footsteps of her father, mother and siblings.  One brother and one sister died when she was young, with only Delia and one sister remaining.  Delia fell in love with a man and my Granda often told me stories of how she loved a man she could not be with for most of her life.

For several years now I have been working on a series of sonnets to my aunt Delia- about the irony of her solitary life, her passion for her craft and the loneliness of her existence in a house filled with ghosts and lost love.