Michael Casey’s poems have won:  The Atlanta Review Prize, Georgia Poetry Award, Single Poem Award Listowel, Siarsceal Award, Oxfam Calendar Award, Words by Water, Kinsale Festival, 2018, and been placed in the following competitions:  Gregory O’Donoghue , Boyle Arts Festival (twice), Hungry Hill, Clogh (twice), Goldsmith, Reclaim 1916 International Poetry Competition, 2016.

The have been shortlisted / commended in the following competitions: Strokestown, Listowel, Tonbridge Wells, Golden Pen (twice), Lucidity International, Siarscéal, Francis Ledwidge, Yeovil, May Swenson (Collections), Patrick Kavanagh (Collections), Listowel (Collections).

Publishers / Journals

Poetry Ireland, Atlanta Review, Georgia Anthology, Atlanta Anthology, Envoi, Staple, Jazzclaw, Bardsong, Worple Press, The Stinging Fly, Convergence, Cyphers, Southward Journal, Revival, R*k*v*ry, Galway Ropes, Lucidity Poetry Journal, The Stony Thursday Book, Iota Magazine, St. Edmund’s Edition Cambridge, Aesthetica, The SHOp, The Yeovil Anthology, Orbis, Limerick Writers’ 1916 Anthology, Humanagerie Anthology, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Crossways Magazine, Jewish Literary Journal.


“…. very powerful, intelligent poems made their presence immediately known….they display the same awareness…of the language that is found, for example, in Brien Friel’s ‘Translations’….(The poet) employs a casuistry and persuasiveness to rival that of Robert Browning’s dramatic monologues….”
Various Editors and Critics

“Like Blake’s world in a grain of sand, Michael G. Casey’s poem, ‘Fluke’, re-creates the wonder of the oyster’s transformation from grit to pearl using words and lines as layered as nacre.”
—Sarah James

“…and the beautiful work of Mike Casey of Dublin, a Grand Prize Winner of Atlanta Review’s International Poetry Competition…this is some of Ireland’s amazing contemporary verse…reading these poems will create a thirst for more—more Casey and Carson, Morrissey and Deane—more trips to the source…”
—Brian Turner for Atlanta Review, 2013


A Poem

It was the custom in the Middle Kingdom
That when a man or Mandarin was dishonoured
By the State and had no right of appeal,
He would quietly leave his home
And sit on a riverbank, shore of sea
Or lake, with unbaited fishing line.
He would gaze into the water and watch
The contour of the unavailing line
Trailing idly in the waves,
His back turned to the world.
Passers-by would see the rounded back,
Know he had been wronged, and that
A man’s protest in those times
Could be no more than the helpless
Gesture of a slighted child.
They would hurry past, eyes downcast,
And he would not turn in case he might
Embarrass or include them in his plight.
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