Reflections<\/strong><\/p>\n Hush boys, keep your hissed whispers to yourselves, and see if you can spot the wood warbler, son, the rough lunchtime sandwiches are waiting And if I, still in my soggy children\u2019s trunks, Now, things didn\u2019t, perhaps, happen like that; \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But – I choose to remember <\/p>\n Conor Robinson<\/a> was highly commended in the Young Adults category<\/a> of the NCLA’s Water Poetry Competition 2012<\/a>.<\/p>\n The NCLA Water Poetry Competition was judged by W.N. Herbert <\/a>and John Burnside<\/a>. The ceremony was held at Northern Stage<\/a> on 23rd February 2012<\/a>.<\/p>\n Photographs of the event can be viewed here<\/a>.<\/p>\n
\nlisten\u2026 to the water bubbling fruitfully,
\ncoloured with all the pastel of a bruise.
\nSee the way it wells and billows under the
\nrocks and into the inky hollows below;
\na few hours, then we\u2019ll drift back to the car, and homeward<\/p>\n
\nthe pied flycatcher, maybe even the
\nnuthatch. They know the woods, these birds do;
\nthough, in their hopping, and their
\ntripping, and their tapping,
\nthey are as child-like as you<\/p>\n
\nin the old bread bag, with the bottle of diluted juice
\nand the bright plastic cups, dinted by teeth;
\nbut the brothers are already kicking off shoes
\nand socks, discarding clothes with breathy laughs,
\ncrashing through the mossy shallows with
\nthe mad flip-flop of homesick salmon,
\nthe water swallowing them up, to the waist<\/p>\n
\nstoop over the edge, and peer down into the glassy pool,
\nI see both the smudged greens of trees
\nand the sunken, muddy deep;
\nand for a moment, just for a moment,
\nit\u2019s as if there are rocks anchored in the sky
\nand birds flying through the water<\/p>\n
\nperhaps trips to Allen Banks weren\u2019t marked by
\nthe burn of skies, gentle water and river song,
\nor the sound of the pitter-patter
\nof dews that fall from trees in
\ndroplets, like rain music –
\nmy memory is mud-stained, and gives
\nunclear pictures; like ripples in pools\u2026<\/p>\n
\nthe reflection of sky birds gliding through the river;
\nof my brothers, and me, grinning our way into the evening,
\ntramping back with our makeshift tree-branch crutches,
\nto sleep away the long journey home<\/p>\n