Bridge by Stephen Kingsnorth

Stephen KIngsnorth | March 25th, 2024 | poetry | No Comments


They bombed this town, old IRA,
past thirty years; the day before
the Sunday which was Mother’s Day,
with youngsters buying gifts of course,
bouquets of blooms in gratitude.

At ten and two, those boys were killed
and ever since the town has met
and wept again for global toll;
this final farewell from, now frail
these few who knew innocence lost,
saw flaming childhood, ash to dust.

Those three decades plus one you see,
no longer focal, VIPs –
an odd bunch but were gathered there,
amongst the flowers and wreaths laid down,
lest lads forgotten by the town,
the war report now ancient news.

The blood of martyrs, soil and seed,
strong in tradition, Ireland Isle,
but ever linked to our town now;
the Bridge Steet bomb that spanned divide
from Warrington, where so much learned.

Poet Bio

Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at

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