Poem by Leisha Houston of Larne Writer’s Group
Intrepid Antipodeans,
First fleet of Austin Healeys,
Pistons firing, engines roaring,
From Land’s End to John O’Groats,
Cobh and Kerry Mountains,
To McCools Northern home.
But no tragic loss or sea depths
Await this convoy.
Topdown, adjust a headscarf,
Wave a sun-kissed, slightly downed arm.
A quartet of polished chrome
Day after day, day after day,
Traversing Sorley Boy’s land,
The blood-succoured fields of buttercups and clover,
Bluebells, mistaken for heather,
Rippling in wind-waved fields.
Water, water everywhere,
This rainbow-pierced land.
Atlantic storm carved. Basalt stronghold.
What would you take
To ‘Terra Australis,’ the
Parched, sun-baked rock:
Tales of Arthur, Oisin and Niamh,
Roses white and red?
Or sought scenes of
Razor wire barriers,
Shuttered lined streets,
Painted curbs, flags unfurled?
By Leisha Houston