Twelfth morning #ShortPoems

The master raises the drum to his chest on Folly Lane.
Resplendent with Lily, Sweet William too.
The band called to order, his domain.
He calls the tune. Killaloe, after two – one, two.

Its Twelfth morning and in this poem I reflect on years gone by.

Twenty years or more ago I used to line up with the drum corps of Lisnadill Flute Band each Twelfth of July morning on Folly Lane in the south of Armagh prior to setting off to join the rest of the lodges from that district. My two brothers and I formed half of the corp in front and to the side of the bass drum of the Band Master. My fourth brother played out high notes on piccolo at the back.

As the youngest and smallest my uniform was a mishmash of hand-me-downs and ill fitting items. Country bands didn’t have the money for new uniforms so ours was a second hand lot from God knows where. My cap had crowned perhaps a dozen heads in its lifetime. It stayed on my head through the grace of soggy rolled up newspaper inside the head band soaked with sweat. My white Andante snare drum hung round my neck like a millstone.

The band took its name from a small rural townland three miles further south from Armagh. It was what is known as a melody flute band. Its numbers would be swollen to over twenty on the twelfth, still a small unit compared to the blood and thunder bands. Hymns and tunes such as Our Director, Killaloe, Liberty Bell and Dolly’s Brae made up its repertoire.

We would have paraded Armagh in the morning, making our way through the town to the Co-Op at Alexander where buses would collect us and take us to the host town to join the main demonstration in places like Newtownhamilton, Tandragee and Killylea.

For us it was a grand day out. We’d march to the field, head off to meet friends and grab a burger before returning to where the drums and lodge banner had been stashed beside the lodge car. There we’d join older band members and sit on the grass with rolled up shirt sleaves in the sun drinking a can or two of warm Bass or Tennents, smoking Embassy Red, and chatting about women and cars and the price of cattle like men. We didn’t get drunk though. A full bladder and a sore head aren’t conducive to keeping time and the long walk home.

Those were great times before educational then economic migration scattered us to the four winds exposing some of us to different cultures and traditions.

The Sun #shortpoems

The Sun

Up there
In the air
Beams the sun
Shining through
Chasing off
The morning dew

I wrote this short poem after walking through my garden on a summers morning. The sun was already high in the sky to the East. My feet were bare and I could feel the dampness of the morning dew against my skin.

The Dock – A poem by David Crozier

I am delighted and honoured that my poem “The dock” was chosen as the winner of the inaugural MATRIX Poetry Competition. I collected the prize on Saturday 5th October 2013 from Poet Laureate Carol Anne Duffy at a reading session she hosted in Derry~Londonderry as as part of Poetry Month and the 2013 City of Culture celebrations.

Collecting the inaugural MATRIX Poetry Competition Prize from Poet Laureate, Carol Anne Duffy and MATRIX Deputy Chair, Dr Norman Apsley
Collecting the inaugural MATRIX Poetry Competition Prize from Poet Laureate, Carol Anne Duffy and MATRIX Deputy Chair, Dr Norman Apsley

The inaugural competition, which was introduced by MATRIX to highlight the links between science and the arts, was to write a poem about any science related topic.

It was open to those people who study the STEM subjects or work in science/technology based industries. It was judged by Professor Iggy McGovern, Professor of Physics at Trinity College Dublin and award winning poet.

MATRIX, the Northern Ireland Science Industry Panel, is a business led expert panel, formed primarily to advise government, industry and academia on the commercial exploitation of R&D and science and technology in Northern Ireland.

My poem drew inspiration from the sounds, history and future of the area around the Thompson Dry Dock which my office overlooks.  It also draws parallels between the heavy engineering that the shipyard area was known for and the future, driven by research and development, carried out at my place of work – the ECIT Institute.

The motivation for writing the poem is simple. MATRIX Chair Bryan Keating asked me to. Sometimes being asked to do something is motivation enough.

My poem:

The dock

The sound of hammering and clanging ringing out from the dock
Regularly drifts in the sea breeze through my window.
This recording a remembrance of ocean liners engineered
In Belfast’s mighty shipyards once spread out below.

Now in this furnace of technology, an Institute of the future,
Researchers secure the digital tomorrow for one and all.
Transportation of a different kind their focus; of data and knowledge.
The brains of this nation answering Queen’s Island call.

For through science our pride will be restored once more,
Technology despatched through new venture creation.
Lessons learned, skills honed, motivation unsinkable
Let’s doff a duncher to this foundry of innovation.

Creative Commons License
“The Dock” by David Crozier is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at