Ophelia We wake to find her Fingerprints, Saharan dust On window sills, on Rooftops, Schoolyards, Graves, On driveways and motorways, On pylons and leaves, On our fingertips, Faint as ash. As if to say: See, there is a land Out … Continue reading
I teach English in an inner-city Manchester school. It’s been a tough week. Monday night’s terrorist attack created a backdrop of sirens, questions and uncertainty. Our school is as diverse as the wider city, we have a palette of pupils from … Continue reading
A poem about ancestry and the distances between us, inspired by Tony Walsh I never really thought about my own Irish ancestry, growing up in Manchester. You didn’t really have to. It was everywhere; from the surnames in the register … Continue reading
I’m a firm believer that books wait for you. Like fishing in reverse, they let you pick them, pull them down from the shelf, let you start them, let you in, sometimes let you devour them in a single sitting; … Continue reading
Poetry, as I explained to the class, was never a real thing for me, as a schoolkid. For us, poets didn’t exist. They lived only in dusty books on that shelf of the library that nobody could reach. So, to … Continue reading
Today is Manchester Day. This is a poem I wrote about the way the city stays with you, even (as in this case) as you leave it, it will draw you back.
Just listened to Mike Garry talking about the Smiths on Radio 4 (check out his blog godisamanc.wordpress.com.) Got me thinking about the first time I heard the Smiths. Just left this response on Mike’s page: I don’t know what I’m … Continue reading
