That’s the coldest yet, the words on my father’s lips, each night from October to spring, as he stood at the back door shaking the East Belfast rain off his coat, and stamping the mud off his Shipyard boots, before coming in, setting his piece box on the counter and kissing my mother.
That’s the coldest yet, he set his wet gloves on the hearth to dry and stood by the fire to shift the cold that had been bound in his bones from a day on the gantries, where the east wind whipped up the Lough, sleet slashing the Island until blue knuckled fingers could barely feel billy-can tea through a tin cup. He stood, back to the fire, steam rising from his trousers, until I thought he might catch light.
My sixteenth summer was the coldest yet, no piece box on the counter, no gloves by the fire, his new bicycle lying in the garage since Christmas, and funeral tea, in china cups, would never warm my hands.
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.
His uniform starched and ironed parade style proudly, he stepped down from the squad van Nothing depicts him from the regular combatant except the fiber helmet, considering the hazard of his job; this looks pretty light, one would say He
No, not died yet, Destruction, doesn’t mean death. Now, shine is more intense than before, Broken things have more edges than a whole one. Now, light is entering through cracks, Now, no need to be whole again. It will lead
Death: the most natural And common event in the universe, Yet forsakes us all perplexed. To begin means to end, And to end means to begin— To whatever comes next. I know not, and will not Know of what is
You make your own assumptions of the way that I must be, You draw your own conclusions from the paperwork you see, I’m just a diagnosis, you’ve seen it all before, I see you are surprised when I walk in