January Train Fields of trees encased in frozen dew. The sun a sullen distant heatless disc. Tractors in a line retired between cold foreground and an almost lost horizon. A smattering of slick and sharded ponds. Sheep, a flock of huffing moving heat. Buckled fence all bent like broken teeth. A swollen river eating up a field. Through the Norman shock of Ballinasloe the train rolls over sleepers eight years old. Ivy covered chimney plays mute host to a starving winter crow. Beauty in a row of frozen trees. Copse of colour muted by new fog. Each drop a fractal gem escaping frost. Colm Keegan Louis MacNeice on the Radio for Ciaran O’Driscoll I awoke to Louis MacNeice on the radio Singing his ‘Carrickfergus:’ When I was five the black dreams came Propped on an elbow I plumped and fattened the pillows behind us And our room was different and the same Grey doubt in the slow drop of a curtain Photos leached black-and-white As before sleep they’d shone in colour – Now their image was uncertain As if spoiled by night-coughs of parasitic light And to look at them made them duller So when the ’phone rang there […]