Best Belfast Poems
Come hold my hand and tell me lies
Infuse the hate and woe betide
Tooth for a tooth, pluck out their eyes
A soldiers duties exercised
Let's kill the child, from the inside
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
Not for the strong, to sit upon the fence
Let's take the hate and killing to their door
Self righteousness screams out in our defence
Christ knows it's hard to take this anymore
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
The streets of the Irish north
Separated by faith
Different religions
In our human race
During the troubles
Through the bullets and bombs
Sectarian violence
Engulfed in their wrongs
Soldiers and factions
In wanton maim
Left this proud country
In blood red stain
Years have passed
As the peace accord lives
No more slaughter
Where life was once sieved
Tomorrow, there after
No more feuding campaigns
For the
Belfast Child, sings again
Inspired by the Simple Minds track " Belfast Child " by an excellent Scottish Rock Group
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFIMJxV2tjI
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/ireland.php
Where the gallows once stood
and souls met their demise.
Where the gatherings scowled
and dead eyes met the ground.
Where the guilty paid homage
as corruptness prevailed.
Where divinity withered
and turmoil was praised.
Where the merriment beamed
as they killed in his name.
A preacher now rants pon'
these cold bricks of shame.
Milltown, Shawsbridge in the 1980's...
When the sun had possession of the season
and tarmac was treacled by the temperature.
When we went to war with the wasps
and ventured wide eyed in 'the planties'
to the roped thrall of commandoland.
Back when 'mr freeze pops' and 'cherry coke'
was our sustenance against the beating sun.
When real music blared from ghettoblasters
and parents red raw slurped ice cold harp via can.
When shawsbridge was appealing
and patchworked in vibrant beach towels,
folks clustered in defeat of the sun.
Back when the Barclay had an arcade machines
and we cross pollenated each's bedrooms
to play Nes, Atari and Amstrad CPC 464.
Back when our longsuffering knees
were raw to the pavement
and rollerboots were means of transport.
When kirby was played and water pistols our means of defence.
Back when reality glimmered....
And summer shone with meaning.
S.J.C
BELFAST BAP
I once had full a Belfast bap
Then I had to go for a nap
It's a pretty big munch
If you have one for lunch
It certainly gives hunger a zap!
Back to Belfast
I have been to the Ghetto thrice
To Auschwitz twice
And to Belfast once
And to tell the truth
Belfast is the winner of the weirdest places
Where I’ve ever been
But to be fair
That was just before Good Friday-
The peak of the peace process
Deserted streets
Walls dividing roads
Flags aggressively hanging from windows
Emblems that define their owners’ sympathy
Plain buildings bedecked by racist graffiti
It made me think of a European inter-war capital
Berlin or Rome in the era of dictators
Sectarian genocide was lurking there
But no blackshirts visible to give it an edge
My country, my people
What have you done?
How could you do this?
Answer me!
I’ve had my share of tight corners
But I can safely say
No place ever made me feel so uneasy
As Belfast on that day
Until now
Now when I’ve returned
Back there
Back to Belfast
Deserted streets
Fences blocking movement
Face masks preventing and protecting against infection
Emblems that define the struggle for survival
Health signs that warn us how to avoid death
Death at the hands of the virus
Homicide, infanticide, genocide-
This time there’s no special target
The enemy is everybody
With the infection
Now the blackshirts are on the road
Patrolling a deserted dyke
On the outskirts of Warsaw
Soldiers, policemen, imposing regulations
All doing their duty, all plainly seen
But the enemy is invisible
The victims in isolation
Their families in quarantine
The rest of us waiting
For the lurking virus to strike again
If we stay at home-
With shops and cafes
Parks and cinemas closed-
Are we safe?
If I daub the door of my house
With the blood of Lombards
Will I escape this Shoah?
For how long will this go on?
How many more deaths
Before the required quota?
My God, my God
What have we done?
How have we offended you?
Answer me!
OLD BELFAST
No hooters belch and screech in the mornings anymore
Industry has disappeared from the City’s working core
The Factories have all closed their gates a long, long time ago
Now silent shadows fill the space where workers used to go
Steam cranes bow across the lough, an entry on a page
Decayed tired buildings line the Docks, relics of an age
Rows of broken windows where he silence trickles out
As nature now takes over where grass and nettles sprout
The workshops have been stripped and only carcasses remain
Moss grows on the floor where the roof lets in the rain
Miles of red brick walls which somehow now look grey
Blackened muddy puddles where singed old timbers lay
Grand imposing structures, much too big for modern use
Now crumpling and eroded from dereliction and abuse
Spectres from a Victorian age now roam these soulless lanes
You can hear their whistles on the wind. Their presence still remains
He was a Catholic, my man
not me, I'm C of E
but they shot him,
my man
He did not help the IRA
no way
Quietly working at his job
his way
We were a family, 2 girls, 2 boys
us 4
No cash to spare when they demanded more
They beat him up
when coming home
and by the churchyard shot him
all alone
It may be peace now
but I fear
they'll take my son now for revenge
near here
Oh they say there is peace now
and shame
but there is still the massacres and the shootings
in God's name
SHOPPING IN BELFAST (70s Style)
Hundreds of shuffling feet, herded like Cattle, through the big iron gates to the city Centre
Through to the freezing sheltered holding area with its grey block walls and long protruding metal posts which hold up the roof
The wind drives the rain, cold, cold rain, which drums a rhythm on the moss tainted plastic corrugated roof
Handbags and shopping bags are surrendered onto a long line of big wooden tables
Strangers in a dark Blue Uniform with peaked caps and mute expressions search through peoples personal belongings
Then more strangers, seek out men at random, to further search their pockets, collars and hoods
Policemen with Machine guns stand talking in small groups, one nods at me with a reassuring smile
Nervous Young Soldiers grip their Rifles tightly and stare at people with a look of distain
They spot a pretty girl, their glances fixed, their attention momentarily distracted
Eventually we are there. We’re in the city Centre, now mum can trail me round the shops
But wait! All the shops have more strangers in blue uniforms searching people and bags
So much time being checked, even as a six year old, it makes you wonder if there's enough time left to shop
Thoroughly searched and everything bought, out of the shops,feet tired and ready to go home
Now on to the exit gates of the city, a city ringed with a green metal spiked fence, “the ring of steel”
Nobody really wanted to hang around once darkness approached; the Centre wasn't very safe place at night
No point waiting on a bus, the nightly riots where starting so services were suspended again
It's a bit of a trek back home through the dusky, wet rain swept streets, sore feet or not
Then soon, yeahhh, it's our house, some dinner and a bath in front of the fire. Bliss
They left Southampton with a coal fire down below,
Olympic class of the White Star Line, little did they know.
Irish-built in Belfast, one iceberg was all it took as,
with insufficient lifeboats, the whole wide world it shook.
Departing Queenstown, compartments not all watertight,
unsinkable or so they said, until that tragic night...
(almost a six-day cruise).
She was poorly equipped and, as all good Captains do
(tho' that is not his due), Edward Smith
(and fifteen hundred souls or more)
went down with the ship.
And the band played on as the ship was going down,
were they blind (drunk?), out of their minds,
they were all about to drown.
Some thought 'Bravery,' others, 'Stupidity,'
(altho' cold as ice), I can say, quite categorically,
I would have jumped ship if it were me.
Tho' it's a deep subject, rock-bottom at very best,
the play on Broadway (take a bow) you won't see,
of lost lives and broken hearts
is... 'The Titanic, In Two Parts'.