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Tag Archives: poem
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
The ghost of William Shakespeare to a pupil who accidentally conjures him whilst frantically writing an essay at 3 o’clock in the morning: “Don’t wrap me up in the chains of your poxy writing frames or pick at my remains … Continue reading
Posted in Words
Tagged books, childhood, curriculum, Education, english, exam factory, Ian O'Brien, literature, love, midasinreverse, poem, poetry, reading, shakespeare, teaching
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Removals
12 months ago today I lost my best friend, Suzy, to breast cancer. Recently, I drove past her old house and was sad to see her car gone from the space where it used to be, the empty house unlit. … Continue reading
The Witch
Posted in Words
Tagged holocaust, Ian O'Brien, midasinreverse, neighbours, poem, prejudice
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Where You Are (In Memoriam: Robert Stuart 1924-2012)
When my granddad died, I wanted to write something for him, but couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. When we took the train to Newcastle to scatter his ashes in the Tyne, I wanted to say something, but couldn’t. This … Continue reading
Posted in Thoughts, Words
Tagged family, gorton, granddad, grief, Ian O'Brien, ian o'brien poet, loss, manchester, memories, midasinreverse, newcastle, poem, poet, poetry, robert stuart, where you are
5 Comments
Dusk (O’Connell Street)
Last year, I was lucky enough to be published in THE SHOp Poetry Magazine, in Dublin. This is the poem:
Posted in Words
Tagged 1916, Big Jim Larkin, Dublin, Dublin Lockout, Irish history, poem, poetry, The SHOp Poetry Magazine
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Butcher Son
A thick sea curdles as, from within the steel, a bladed sea of calls cranes and lifts, out across mud, up walls, to the curtained ear. His white coat spattered with blood dawn tears. A flinching twist, the waking kiss … Continue reading
Posted in Words
Tagged Butcher Son, conscience, farming, guilt, Ian O'Brien, industry, midasinreverse, poem, poetry, vegetarianism
1 Comment
Sons
Sons A man made of skin and smoke on the bus beneath the viaduct, pointed out the odd black brick in the giant red bones and said each was placed for a man lost to the building of its … Continue reading
Posted in Words
Tagged age, black bricks, elderly, history, industrialisation, industry, midas in reverse, myths, poem, poetry, sons, story, urban myths, veterans, viaduct, war
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