Poems written by david atkinson

She made her soda by the handful, three handfuls of flour, a pinch of salt, a pinch of soda, a half pint of buttermilk, from an urn, not a carton. She made her soda by the handful, one hand that

for Shimah A nature poem should be about snow hushed woods late at night, a rainbow’s refracted light, counting rings on fallen trees, glades full of honey bees, autumn’s harvest, summer flowers, the sun, the earth, the moon, the stars,

Last night the harbourer tracked the stag to his resting place, and at sunrise made a close inspection of the perimeter of the wood, to ensure he had not escaped. When the Master heard this, and was satisfied, he ordered

It was where I learned to read, and write, and count; I counted the days. It was where I realised carrying a cello was harder than playing it. It was where I engraved my name on the playground wall, beneath

They were boys of Carson’s army, sons of Ulster, loyal and true, marching off to France for glory, fighting for the red, white and blue. Description of T Atkinson on enlistment height 5’7”, weight 122 lbs, chest when fully expanded

for John McBride Neill There was the Savoy and Lyceum, the Majestic and Colosseum, the Regal and the Roxy, the Tonic and the Troxy, the Princess and the Pallidrome, the Alhambra and Hippodrome. Great picture palaces, art deco and glass,

What will I dance to at your wedding? I didn’t learn to foxtrot or waltz, like my grandparents. I will ask the DJ if he has some oldies and I will embarrass you with the Birdie Song, or Las Macarena,

for Joan There was the smell, the smell of film, as I popped the lid, removed it from its plastic canister, and loaded it, all fingers and thumbs, threading the leader, winding it on, praying it had caught, but scared

Black Eyed Peace is about our search for peace. Whether it’s peace within ourselves, peace in our relationships, or peace on a national or international scale. Sometimes it might be hard to find and in our searching we will collect

A coronal mass ejection caused me to wake my son at a quarter past midnight, on a school night, and wrap up him carefully, to shut out the cold, to keep a cosmic appointment with electrons, plasma and protons that

The kids wanted a piñata, so we got them one; but I must stress that it had no religious significance. It did not have seven points representing the seven deadly sins, and it was not an allegory of man’s temptation

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

Our river wasn’t a clean river, a mountain stream, a babbling brook, or a silver girl. It was a filthy river, a city river, forsaken, neglected. Long gone, the glory days, when it was thick with trout and where, according

During the war, while the men were away killing Germans my grandmother played in goal for a ladies football team. They won the cup, she got a medal, had her picture in the paper, and, according to my father, she

A train that once shipped sugar, from field to port, rattled, slow as a slave ship, through Antiguan hills, with elderly Americans, old money, all pearl chokers and Pringle sweaters, filling the front seats of the open top carriage, and

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

You are supernova star dust, remnants of a sun turned inside out; born anew. Elemental matter from swirling nebulae, drawn together by gravity to form a rocky mass, at exactly the right distance from another star, itself formed in precise