George Best Belfast City Airport
"Elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me... most of my heroes ain`t appeared on no stamp." – Chuck D
Call it Sydenham Airport,
HMS Gadwall, Belfast Harbour Airport,
BHD or EGAC.
The Jocelyn Bell Burnell Belfast City Airport,
The John Stewart Bell Belfast City Airport,
The Bell-Moore Belfast City Airport,
The Corrigan-Williams Belfast City Airport,
The Paul Henry Belfast City Airport,
The Hume-Trimble Belfast City Airport,
The Charles Lanyon Belfast City Airport,
The C.S. Lewis Belfast City Airport,
The Mary Ann McCracken Belfast City Airport,
The William Thomson, 1st Baron Kelvin of Largs in the
County of Ayr Belfast City Airport,
The Roy Walker Belfast City Airport.
Close the rivers and call it
The True Mouth of the Sandbar.
"Belfast is like an ugly child - you love it the most."
- Stephen Rea
It is dark and grey and obvious,
Drum of April rain,
heavier with each fall.
The middle of afternoon
and I cannot see to read,
only free to stare at lead slates,
gazing at the church roof’s waterfall
This hemisphere rarely shines
on dull inhabitants,
who score up the roads
or mould onto houses.
If only throughout the week
the sun would fix its course
and lift up the existence
of a shadowed land.
"It's not the bullet with my name on it that worries me. It's the one that says 'To whom it may concern.' "
- anonymous Belfast resident
doses of hatred
measured out in bullets
delivered by injection
slipped in easy
with a car
and a balaclava
the exit wound
was a sight
the heart’s removal
leaves a vacuum
for us to fill
the room is the same
passing dust cells
breezing the carpet floor
corridors of pain
stairwells of ghosts
this house is not a home
but we have nowhere else to go
"Oh the bricks they will bleed and the rain it will weep,
And the damp Lagan fog lull the city to sleep;
It's to hell with the future and live on the past:
May the Lord in his Mercy be kind to Belfast."
- Maurice Craig, 'Ballad to a Traditional Refrain'
Can you hear the ever-wail?
Crashing out onto the streets,
thrown from city windows
in a mass, unified
orchestra of sorrow.
Chaos comes easily
when the night is around.
We use each other’s tales for kindling,
all our blood combusted
on the coals we light
under passing bodies;
the light distracting us from the fact
that this whole palace is burning.
We do not look at the fire,
only the phenomenon revealed.