Personal

Another Time, Another Place
Arkaig
Distant Thunder
Farewell to Six Loved Ones
Father
For Anke
Instantaneous
Metamorphosis
Naked Autumn
Oceanus 
Rebirth
Requiem for an Ulsterman
Solitude in A
West Church, Bangor

Northern Ireland

A Child of the Troubles
Discovery of St Anne's
Donegal Pass
For Love in a Lost Place
Lamb's Conduit
Red
These are the Days
Troubled Times
Coming to Terms

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As we sit, discussing the world and his wife,
Attention turns again to home, "It's got to stop."
A phrase worthy as an epitaph for a cherished home
Drawn wearily across the coals of the world's gaze.
What Americans don't see the world chooses not to know.

A stack puffing steam out into the lip-cracking cold of this country,
Where people have lifted their eyes to look at the road ahead;
We stumble along, sometimes looking back at what was - the way we want to see it.
This place's evil so many "rivers of blood" worse than home.
The difference?
Poeple have overcome this.
Their conflict not that between brothers and sons divided by their own folly.
A glass wall erected by some fools misguided by 'their' history.

A folly of their own. You called for workers,
But those who came were people.

 

(C) Philip Ralph Johnston
18 February 1992