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Gerry McCullough Belfast Girls – out now in Kindle and paperback editions Danger Danger – out now in Kindle and paperback editions Johnny McClintock’s War: One man’s struggle against the hammer blows of life – out now on Kindle & paperback Angel in Flight: the first Angel Murphy thriller – out now in Kindle and paperback editions Angel in Belfast: the 2nd Angel Murphy thriller – out now in Kindle and paperback editions Angel in Paradise: the 3rd Angel Murphy thriller‚ – out now in Kindle and paperback editions” title= Not the End of the World: a futuristic comic fantasy novel – out now in Kindle & paperback editions “The
“Hel’s “Hel’s Lady Molly & The Snapper – NOW available in Kindle & paperback editions “Dreams, The Seanachie: Tales of Old Seamus – NOW available in Kindle & paperback editions “The “The order NOW!!
Gerry McCullough    award-winning Irish writer & poet – author of Belfast Girls Gerry's author page on Amazon Follow Gerry (@Gerry1098) on Twitter 'Gerry McCullough - Irish writer & poet' on Facebook  'Belfast Girls' podcast on iTunes 'The Seanachie: Tales of Old Seamus' podcast on iTunes 'Belfast Girls' podcast feed 'The Seanachie' podcast feed

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A booklet of poems about family members

James: Firstborn

Spread out at the side of the bed
Small and helpless, he belongs to me.
I change the little nappy, raise his head,
Lifting him up to cuddle on my knee,

Clean and sweet. My heart bursts with delight
And I sing to him unceasing, my arms full.
Quiet and peace cocoon the room in light,
Wrapping us up in buds of cotton-wool.

I’ve got you babe. They can’t take this away.
He is mine forever, to love and to enfold,
Through misery or pain, day after day,
I’ve got you, babe, to have and hold.

A moment in my memory, pure and calm.
But growing further each day from the cut cord,
Till the last deep cut: I own him a complete man,
Owned only by himself now, and by God.

David: Nike*

I heard you crying halfway up the street
And my heart stopped with fear.
There was blood rushing down, soaking your neat
T shirt. An accident. The silly kid
Didn’t mean the bar to hit you, dear.

Daddy took you to the hospital
For stitches: his face white
And wearing odd shoes. No time at all
&emdash; Caught in the middle of changing &emdash;
Daren’t stop to get them right.

Then, there were all the trees you climbed too high,
The window-sill, you hanging from the ledge,
The skate-board, and the bike that seemed to fly
Over the propped up stones and boards,
Your courage pushing mine right to the edge.

You don’t climb trees in trainers now; more dangerous yet
You play with notes that flame, that set on fire
The deep emotions: music like a threat.
None has the right to stop you. Risking all, you climb,
Wings on your heels, forever flying higher.

  1. The Greek Winged Victory
  2. A brand of trainers

Kelly: Dancing

I watched her from a gallery seat
As she turned cartwheels in the empty hall,
And my heart cartwheeled in a breathless beat.

Swinging fearlessly through the air
Unchecked as a pilot in free fall;
Nine years old and quite unaware

Of the watching eyes. So piercing sweet,
With such grace and beauty, and overall
Such joyful freedom from every care.

Connaire: Feeding

The long lashes flutter into rest
At peace on the softly rounded cheeks.
Eyes closed; the little drooping mouth
With breath like a breeze from the lush south
Falls from my breast.

Full of milk and contentment now
Her warmth against me solid and hot,
Relaxed so completely that she must
Be sure of me in utter trust.
Her unlined brow

Reflects the peace of newborn sleep
Still at home in Paradise;
And I rest, and watch her perfect face,
Escaping with her to that place
So pure and deep.

David Two: Summer Passing

Bright summer day;
And the touch of the sun’s wand
Turns the blue sea to silver;
And a child, a boy,
Paddles at the wide sea’s edge
And laughs with joy
At the touch of the soft sand
And the shock of silver
On his splashing hand.

Once, long ago Ė how many years?
A child, a girl,
Paddled at the wide edge of another sea
And laughed for joy
Feeling the soft sand
And the sweet shock of water as the waves
Leapt sharply at my knee.

A happy time, a magic time.
So why these tears? Why was it that I cried
Watching my little grandson
Paddle on the edge of the tide?

Looking at Lily

Beautiful Lily runs across the room,
Leaps on the sofa, laughing, waves her fists.
Last summer, a Lucy Atwell baby,
Chubby and sweet, with dimpled knees and wrists.
Already, so much further from the womb.

A ray of sunlight flosses up her hair,
And the large distinctively coloured eyes
Are green and hazel mixture,
Tinted with glee and sparkling with surprise
As she jumps for joy, bouncing into the air,

Hurling her fluffy duck hard as she dares
For me to catch, giggling with all her might.
Instead I catch her, hug her,
Set her down safe to stand at her full height,
Slim and straight as the flower whose name she bears.

Raymond: At Islandhill

Now the naked trees stand up.
The sky wears stripes of red and grey.
His silhouette is small against the wind.
His woolly hat, pulled down upon his ears,
Sodden with rain that drips like tears;
But he is not weeping.
His boots are strong against the clogging clay,
And triumph rides his lip and chin.
A butterfly unpinned,
Ready to fly.

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This page last modified: Wednesday, 18-Nov-2020 06:44:18 MST
Gerry McCullough | News | Biography | Books | Stories | Poems | Articles | Photos | Podcast | Shop

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