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Tuesday, 15 September 2020


 I have a portfolio of features, reviews, poetry and short fiction published in all sorts of places - Belfast Telegraph, Tribune, Ireland's Own, Dalhousie Review, Fairlight Books, Reader's Digest, Reality, Lapwing Poetry, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Spillwords, Dear Reader, Amethyst Review, Black Bough, to name a selection.  Oh, and the odd BBC radio contribution. I wrote books on retailing, on dealing with job losses and a biography of film star Stephen Boyd.

This is a series of (hopefully) funny poems from hundreds I've written over the years (inspired by the likes of Spike Milligan and Roger McGough) to provoke a smile in these odd times.

My own original Text ©2020 Joe Cushnan (But you can RT!) 



The crooked line of the red roof tiles

could be seen from the brow of the hill,

a perfect building for its background,

an Ulster barn weathered by damp and chill.

On this day it was a timber store

and forestry equipment warehouse

but the historical solid beams dominated,

emphasising the sadness of modern misuse.

It had little natural daylight

and there was a mysterious gloom,

a darkness, a dust-haze and, then, movement,

maybe mice, rats or ghosts from a past womb,

groans, creaks, mindful of nobler times,

noise of ancestors in rustic prose and rhymes.

The property developer stepped back 

and admired this potential habitat

Rubbed his hands and said: 

“I’ll get a million quid for that.”

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