Joyride
That could be anyone in the black and white picture
of Barry’s Amusements in the 1970s
driving the bumping car like Bodie and Doyle
in the ITV show, The Professionals, the same
unkempt haircuts and cool modish jackets
in leather, denim, suede, fur-collared
for extra appeal to the unseen young ladies
who surely wait at the edge of frame
their valiant knights’ return from the fray
of electrified jousting, the sparking poles lit
with the hopes and fears, love and excitement
an era experienced on a trip to Portrush,
the sun always shining, a balmy sea breeze
transforming the dour north to the Costa
del Sol or Cannes for a fortnight each summer
and letting us think we could all be happy
as long as places like this still existed
in the midst of a nightmare (We Love The 70s)
and kids could imagine that they could be heroes
without killing each other, behind the wheel
of gleamingly futuristic, wee wagons
charting their course through the mad chaos
of afternoon showdowns, bumping all comers
and climbing out, dazed, to the still-reeling world.
Something Like Love
I wish I was Paul Brady
and grew up in the town of Strabane
where the Mourne River flows under shady
trees to the west of Tyrone.
I wish that I’d joined a folk group
and learnt all the jigs and reels
in pubs late at night, drinking up
the music like whiskey, my boot-heels
itching for Dublin and London
and New York, the whole wide world,
and arriving and finding the same sun
shines down on it all, the same old
story wherever you go,
the poor being treated like dirt,
branded as cattle and sold
down the waste-poisoned river, that hurt
coming out at the end of the night
in traditional airs and come-all-ye’s,
broken hearts, crazy dreams, a fist fight,
and the sickness for home aching always
in your soul like a seagull above
California, Caledonia, Strabane,
looking for something like love
in the troubled streets, houses, ochone.
The Look
for Ciaran Carson
I remember years and years ago
(it could be I’m imaging things)
I’d stand outside at night and look
up at the stars, the countless frosty
town lands of the sky, its lights
the lights of homes far away
in other worlds and wonder if
some kid in an unknown galaxy
was looking up at the same huge dark
and asking him or herself why
things were as they are. I hope
I always want to know the answer
and find myself again just gazing
into the universe’s eyes
some night and see it looking back.