Poem by Leisha Houston of Larne Writer’s Group

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Journey

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