Brendan Curran with a poem from his expansive body of work.


 The Families That Still Cry 

The darkest days of 72 are still ringing in my ear, 
bombs going off in many streets, we lost so many dear
Packed Into biscuit tins and paint tins, in the back of TV sets as well, 
the gelignite was weeping and began to smell like hell
♞♜♝
From Newry town to Short Strand, that curse spread wide and far, 
defective detonators exploding, many stored in cold damp jars,
Cheap Timex watches from catalogs, alarm clocks bought from market stalls, 
batteries from children’s train sets, screws once stuck in the walls
♞♜♝
The front line had no limits, no barbed wire to fall upon, 
no uniform to fight in, just a will to battle on
Ordinary men and women fightin', indeed many young girls, and many a young lad, 
took the war to their door step, with explosives that were bad
In prams hidden under children, in bags slung on to their back
the stinking smell of marzipan from sticks starting to crack
♞♜♝
They didn’t see it coming, prematurely, the bombs blew far and wide
so many volunteers and civilians, sadly were to die
Loose wires twisted to watch wrist strap holders, badly fixed to a screw on a cheap plastic face
The slightest knock completed the circuit, causing carnage every place
♞♜♝
the enemy sent the whisper ‘that they had spiked the bombs’, the rumours spread like mad, 
everyone was frightened, that the gelignite was bad
But the war rage on ferociously, with many more still to die
with explosives that were dangerous, killing people on all sides
♞♜♝
Now that the years have moved on, I still take time to think and sigh
to remember their names and faces, and families that still cry.

⏩ Brendan Curran, The Poet Without A Pen.

The Families That Still Cry

Brendan Curran with a poem from his expansive body of work.


 The Families That Still Cry 

The darkest days of 72 are still ringing in my ear, 
bombs going off in many streets, we lost so many dear
Packed Into biscuit tins and paint tins, in the back of TV sets as well, 
the gelignite was weeping and began to smell like hell
♞♜♝
From Newry town to Short Strand, that curse spread wide and far, 
defective detonators exploding, many stored in cold damp jars,
Cheap Timex watches from catalogs, alarm clocks bought from market stalls, 
batteries from children’s train sets, screws once stuck in the walls
♞♜♝
The front line had no limits, no barbed wire to fall upon, 
no uniform to fight in, just a will to battle on
Ordinary men and women fightin', indeed many young girls, and many a young lad, 
took the war to their door step, with explosives that were bad
In prams hidden under children, in bags slung on to their back
the stinking smell of marzipan from sticks starting to crack
♞♜♝
They didn’t see it coming, prematurely, the bombs blew far and wide
so many volunteers and civilians, sadly were to die
Loose wires twisted to watch wrist strap holders, badly fixed to a screw on a cheap plastic face
The slightest knock completed the circuit, causing carnage every place
♞♜♝
the enemy sent the whisper ‘that they had spiked the bombs’, the rumours spread like mad, 
everyone was frightened, that the gelignite was bad
But the war rage on ferociously, with many more still to die
with explosives that were dangerous, killing people on all sides
♞♜♝
Now that the years have moved on, I still take time to think and sigh
to remember their names and faces, and families that still cry.

⏩ Brendan Curran, The Poet Without A Pen.

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