1. |
Ghost Channels
01:18
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A small, inky and intense child, he loved to discover
unheard melodies and textures squirrelled in the shadows...
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2. |
Pest House
01:05
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3. |
Magic Bullet
02:46
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4. |
Returns
01:42
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5. |
I'm On Fire
01:03
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6. |
Delayed Pleasure
01:40
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7. |
Prodigal
02:03
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Remember when the races came your way.
They ruled out elliptic tracks and shipped in
a rig of lights, cameras and presenters
in corduroy blazers who cared not one fig
for a minor heat in a hidebound town.
Not even a barefoot Zola Budd piqued
their interest as they broadcast the relays,
sprints and hurdles. But the crowds came in droves,
filling out the park, spilling up steep, lush
banks on tartan picnic rugs, riding clouds
of daisies and dandelions, and guzzling
Tayto cheese and onion with torpedo
flasks of Campbell’s condensed tomato soup.
You bored, and toddled off into the thick
of an undulating throng of giants
dressed in nylon tanktops and Crimplene slacks.
The announcer’s voice boomed like canned thunder
while you spied on two lovers flattening
the grass beneath the quivering branches
of a horse chestnut tree, and then bothered
a curled up hedgehog. You grew bored again,
and returned to where you thought was the spot
where your family should be but could not
see past a tapestry of bellies, knees
and elbows sweeping side to side. A tide
of panic, growing frantic, surged inside
your ears as cheer after cheer swept over
the verge of where you stood, twenty years
and two thousand miles from where you set out.
It took all of your strength to fight your way
back to your family, who were too lost
in the races to notice you were gone.
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8. |
Domino Day
03:12
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9. |
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10. |
Cut
04:55
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When the power went out with a finger click,
the whole of North Down went black and quiet
as a lake at midnight. Syrupy dim
flooded out of shadowed nooks and crannies,
filling from the floorboards up with murky
tenebrosity, sending you scrabbling
for candles, oil lanterns and portable
halogen torches: a glowing timeline
of ingenuity to pacify
your yelping daughter, afraid of the dark
lest it contained snakes or men made from teeth...
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11. |
Cigarette Girl
01:24
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12. |
Olympia Splendid '66
01:28
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13. |
The Wild Hunt
01:57
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14. |
Threading The Light
01:12
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It took thirty-six hours to bring you home
though it may have been more, and it may have been less;
a day and a half in the eye of the storm
of laughing gas and sheets scented with lemon zest.
Something was wrong from the off: a lost wedding ring,
a snippety shift nurse, several botched
epidurals and an afternoon spent watching
your stuttering heartbeat playing hopscotch
on a fuzzy screen. I split my time between
fetching naff sandwiches from the hospital canteen
and telling your mum everything would be alright
when all I wanted to do was thread first light
into your eyes, and slap first breath into your chest,
but the timing was so tight, and the space in the cleft so slight
that I nearly forgot, and I nearly lost faith
but nothing is ever truly lost; it is only misplaced.
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15. |
Altiplano, 1958
01:39
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16. |
The Daily Crossword
01:43
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The letters are no longer placed inside
the boxes. They were once bang on target:
neat bullet holes all dead straight in a line;
each answer correct and proudly square set.
Her hand was once firm but her words now squirm.
A tremor has become her signature.
The crossword has changed. The spaces that yearn
to be filled now yield to a silent cure.
Somehow we muddle through. I read the clues,
and do my best job of trying to jog
her faltering memory. We both choose
to ignore the fact that she has been robbed
of her keenest skill. Between rounds of pills
and the next day’s meal order she replies –
oh, the surprise, when she knows d’Urberville,
Analogue or Shinto, as if her eyes
still hold the light like a lamp glimpsed through mist.
More often than not, the right words are lost,
her eyes start to drift, and my kindest gift
is to complete the rows down and across
and say, “That’s right,” as if this can make up
for the countless books bought when I was ill,
the countless answers taught when I got stuck,
and all the other gaps she helped to fill.
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17. |
The Switch
01:45
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When I lost you, something fell loose,
came unfixed:
the thread that sewed me together
unpicked and unstitched...
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18. |
Sorrow
02:21
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19. |
Ardens Sed Virens
01:56
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The magic hour between his weekly bath
and bedtime, bare feet poking from under
cherry apple Flash Gordon pyjamas
toasty fresh from the hot press, he tiptoes
across spongy shag pile, past half-open
doors of the hallowed “good room” and the snug...
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20. |
On Castlerock Beach
02:17
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Ross Thompson Bangor, UK
Northern Irish writer.
Debut collection Threading The Light available now from Dedalus Press.
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