Poetry
Currently studying Product Design as a mature student Conor holds love and appreciation for all forms of creativity, whether he is directly involved or admiring from afar.
Being a part of this project allowed Conor to challenge myself in a way that he has rarely done previously. Writing a short piece that pulls little memories of summers gone by and imagined memories of others was a lovely buzz and has encouraged him to perhaps write more.
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On the Linker green you’ll spot small flowers some of
which determine how fond you are of butter.
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You’ll find out off Claire before picking up the
Herald from Sweeney’s for himself.
Do you remember robbin’ a few cola bottles off the counter,
first thing I thought of when I got to the shop.
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Home again, guess who’s asleep in their chair?
»Aw God, that’s awful terrible Maria, and did you keep the receipt?«
an out of tune and slightly pained sounding Joe Duffy
a little too loud for liking in the background.
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Tea? Go on.
Rustling in cupboards wakes the dead.
Did you hear Mary’s Damien has your one pregnant?
No way.
Did you hear they're hiring in the post office?
Really!?
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Enough of that.
See who fancies a pint?
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Kavanagh’s.
The usual story, the bar is a trough, lined up with old cattle feeding.
Various feint grunts indicate displeasure or occasionally, approval.
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The lounge is completely barren.
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The boys are in the smoking area.
00.00 and that phone call has been made, you’re back to Baz’s back
gaf fighting over the auxiliary cable.
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There tearing new ones for people.
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Even if on the receiving end.
The deeper the cut the more you find yourself at home.