"carlow" poems
The year I would turn nine
Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan
in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama
called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved.
Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire.
There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo
and Christy O’Connor Jnr
won the Ryder Cup for Europe.
(Years later playing Trivial Pursuit
one of the questions wanted to know:
what profession gets the Ryder Cup? —
a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.)
I was growing through 3rd class
St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea —
on the other side of Tiananmen Square
another student stood up
as the Guildford Four walked free
after 14 years innocently incarcerated.
While in Germany, a wall
that had been built to divide: separate, fell.
Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland
and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough.
The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa
Apartheid began to crumble. Pity
it was allowed to even begin.
Iran was ****** off about some book
and on Christmas Day in Romania
Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed.
In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests.
96 people died at Hillsborough.
Haughey was Taoiseach,
Mr. Heaney was conferred
as Professor of Poetry at Oxford
and we qualified for Italia 90.
I was 9 and the only thing I remember
about that year; I fell out of a tree
and broke my arm.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
It was Friday morn, and the sky was still as dark as charcoal.
The coach drove on through the peaceful County of Carlow, with sleeping passengers as quiet as door mice.
As the clearing of the morning darkness began, the bedraggled boy awoke from his slumber, perplexed and bewildered.
It was in this moment his journey took a delightful twist; as the skies from outside turned a pale blood-red.
It was a magical sight, he thought, as he rubbed his eyes just to be certain.
But what a shame for the passengers as they continued to sleep, missing the rising spectacle.
The boy, in awe and delight took witness to the beautiful gift, witnessing for the first time beautiful County Carlow, in all of its glory.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:58 AM UTC
The horse has bolted
Day is night
Memories flight to County Carlow
whilst he lives in London SE27
A hard rain is about to fall
when he calls me John
and forgets to feed his cats
Sep 29, 2022
Sep 29, 2022 at 4:50 AM UTC