The Irish Sea Poem by Sheena Blackhall

As I walked along the shore of the Irish Sea
Up he rose from the water, uninvited
My husband, young as a rowan sprig in flower
Having left his gun on the ground of Ulster's troubles

As I walked along the shore of the Irish sea
Out he walked from the waves, my kilted son
Turning his back on the war-drum beat of Derry
Its walls of orange and green, its mask-faced terror

The tides of the Irish sea today are gleaming
White as Antrim linen, cool as corpses
Slapping the lardy thighs of British tourists
The gulls are screaming the paeons of old battles

The ghosts from the Irish sea should be met by harpists
Not blaring bands of Blackpool, brash and brassy
Not candyfloss, the froth of a drunkard's spittle
Hissing into the sands where lugworms creep