A street of meagre terraces,
Clinging to the lough mouth
By destitute resolve.
Surviving cot and bothy
And the industry of brick clay.
Straddling the river,
Without bridge.
Without water.
One day they scattered the people
And their ways,
A hinterland in every wind.
‘They’re ferry people you know?’
A porous row monument left
To crumble through my childhood
And sink beneath the bungalows,
Peppering soggy points and quarters
From the Largy to Far Ballyscullion.
5intheface – 02/03/2013
It's a Poetical World 
I like the way you’ve used words and picture to share the memory of this town.
Lovely exposition of history and childhood memory. Well done.
I’ve read that 20 times now. What a wonderful idea to pause, look around, take stock of what came before and what the future holds. All cushioned with a local knowledge, which where ever and who ever we are, all share. A beautiful piece of writing.
Reblogged this on an cruiskeen lawnmower blog and commented:
Reblogged from It’s a Poetical World
they’re ferry people you know.
nicely put 5. thanks for sharing