Barney Rooney Poems

So, the first cut is the deepest?
but what of deeper cuts to come
for to change a creed seems deep indeed
as when a father's name no longer suits his son
...

In time he raised the finger
forty years coming
raised the finger to bless the child
though the child should be done with growing
...

Having strutted out like solemn wee cocks
from tiny country halls hung with damp and cold
to hold the gates
to end up bickering in the blocks and boxes
of rough cast grey estates
...

Don't forget, each day but Sunday
a throng thousands strong of shipyard men
funnelled in the gates
and at the end of the long days shift
...

find the road to Cranfield's holy well
where Antrim's fields give way
to dark edged hedge and jagged ends
of stunted trees and wetland sedge
...

cutting across through strange streets
you'd assess the chance
with an upward glance
take some comfort when the front wall lacked
...

I'm a day case for surgery
ready by the bed
arrived at 7 on the table by 11
out at 5 unless I'm dead
...

there is talk of boarding up the nation
now the river is on the rise
of sealing every border to hold back the human tide
for there is a fear abroad that this will not subside
...

there are days when enough seems enough
when the nervous ends let loose
softening the sinew and the skin
harsh heat ebbs out to leave the warmth within
...

Its an early quiet in the harbour bar
worn wood and weathered men
with shoulders hunched around a glass
thats slowly drunk with time to pass
...