Belfast Jacket Poem

Belfast Jacket


On the side of old Cavehill, one leaf-blown autumn day.

The island wool in my Belfast jacket kept the chill at bay.

A pen and notebook from my pocket caught the shifting light,

That turned the greens and browns to grey as day gave way to night.


Walking back from old Cavehill, I thought of days gone by.

When scutchers, beetlers, spinners, made Linenapolis thrive.

But wait! – my Belfast jacket weaves a story of its own.

The trades of old are still alive around my northern home.


Eugene Dunphy
December 2017