Tag Archives: poem

Ophelia 

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

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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

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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

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The Witch

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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

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Dusk (O’Connell Street)

Last year, I was lucky enough to be published in THE SHOp Poetry Magazine, in Dublin. This is the poem:

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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

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Hands Under Water

Fireworks in the night sky Light up darkened cloud. There’s a boy on the coastline. Black waves will lift you down. Hands move under water; Let go of light and sound. Dust moves on forever. Answers that were never found. … Continue reading

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Mirrors

Mirrors                                          I see you from my place in the traffic jam,                                        following your shadow, away from the sun,                            Your back to the city,                            In a heavy leather coat too long And a plastic bag Bottle shaped, … Continue reading

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When Thatcher Died

Growing up in the 1980s, it was difficult not to be affected by Thatcher’s destructive policies, especially in the North. ‘Thatcher, Milk Snatcher’ was a rhyme we seemed to know before we could speak. Not that we were indoctrinated, we … Continue reading

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