Poems by Alice McLoughlin.

They say he left in a breeze

By Strawberry Fields

In his Dublin city.

From the North, South, East

And West they know his name.

Say it now, Glen!

Sing his songs out!

Let your feelings reach

His soul because

He’s not gone,

That voice, that rasp,

Those lyrics, that music is playing.

Listen!

The journey isn't over

Two colours that mean go

And peace, passion,

And power.

Two colours that identify your youth,

Your past; our heritage.

Two colours, found on any continent;

One moment closer to home.

Two colours, gracing those fifteen,

Like yews resuscitating

A worn out landscape.

Two colours, pouring over shoulders,

Sinking into biceps, triceps,

And more than one ab.

Two colours carrying them

Over, and over,

And then over, that bar.

Look at the two colours

Which wave, and cap

And necklace,

The proudest people.

Not because we won, but because,

We never gave up hoping.

It's quiet now but for

The wine emptying out

On the kitchen tiles,

And the neighbours dog.

Candle wax drips

On his hovering fingers.

I study his rapt eyes.

A mild face flinch.

It burns.

He likes to pick, peel, scrape,

At the hardened shells,

Leaving the white residue insitu 

For sad mornings when he broods

In bed counting the boarded ceiling,

And I lay holding his red marked hand.