Pints of Guinness like priests – poetry by David Cooke, After Hours

April 25th, 2017 § 0 comments

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In After Hours, David Cooke returns to the theme of the migrant Irish, visited in his earlier collections, as well as poems of travelling, the passing of cultural icons of the 20th century, and his love of music. Just published by Cultured Llama, here is an extract from the title poem from After Hours. The collection is dedicated to the memory of John Durr, David Cooke’s father-in-law:

5. Fathers

If mine had survived
they might have had some sessions,
the union man,

the ganger, their red
and blue dissolving somehow
into shades of green.

6. A Quiet Pint

Our pints of Guinness
look like priests. Eyeing them up,
we drink them slowly.

7. Laid Out

He has scrubbed up well.
His daughter pins his relic
onto his lapel.

There’s holy water
sent from Knock, the set of beads
his cold hands fumbled.

Find out more, and order After Hours for £10 plus p&p, here.

If you order two or more books, post and packing is free. Why not add a copy of There Are No Foreign Lands by Mark Holihan? Or Zygote Poems by Richard Thomas?

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