Bones knit, and stretched, and grew, and tendons tightened to the point of breaking, but, for all the pain, I never seemed to grow, much.
My father whet his hands with olive oil, from an old bottle, corked with cotton wool, and rubbed my legs until his hands became hot.
It was a trick learnt from Geordie Devlin, who trained boxers in his spare time, and cured minor ailments in his meal hour in the Shipyard, on a joiner’s bench, between the bible class and the card school.
Perhaps if it hadn’t been for Geordie Devlin I could have been taller.
Irish poet, who spent his early years in Belfast and now lives in Coleraine with his wife and 2 children. His first collection "Thomas" was published by Lapwing in 2005, and his second collection "Black Eyed Peace" has just been published. It is available as either a free eBook or in traditional printed format. His work has been widely published in magazines, anthologies, and on-line. His work has also been broadcast and published by the BBC and a number of his poems have achieved competition success. He has been involved with the Ballymoney Writers for over 15 years and has edited and published 3 collections of their work.
When Dorothy was a child she started building a castle with bricks of yellow and blue; But how could she have known that someday soon Each one will be broken in two. The bricks consisted of ideas and thoughts, colorful
It’s crazy how when we are young we have no care in the world. We live freely and just for today. We don’t think about tomorrow unless it’s a sleepover. friends party. concert. vacation, or school break. When we are