Poems By Simon Beechinor

This poem, written in contemporary free verse, is the second in the 'Kildare' series. Listen to: When Mother Read The News Armed with a mug of instant coffee and a fag, my mother opened the Daily Telegraph , and read for a while, before her eyes fell on the brief article: ‘The British bulk carrier, “Kildare”, 153,000 tonnes dwt,  is reported missing in the Indian Ocean.  The crew are reported safe,  but the ship’s owners have provided no further details.’ She scanned the pages, sucking hard on her fag, drawing smoke deep into her lungs, urgently seeking a clue searching for news of her son, reaching for her mug, for something to do. The telephone rang, she flew to the phone; it was him, the nice man from the office. His courteous, soothing voice assured her we were all safe (we weren’t), though not yet in port. The nice man oozed with confidence; all would be well, (it was the ‘70s after all). She grumbled she’d seen the article before the courtesy of a telephone call, but she

This is the first poem in the 'Kildare' series. Listen to: Joining 'Kildare' The dawn led day still deeper into winter, as biting northerly winds drove rain hard across the port in chill, translucent shrouds, that veiled the dormant hulks beside the piers, laden with cheerless cargoes of iron ore. Crane grabs dipped within their open holds to pluck the piles of red metallic ore. Like hungry, raucous crows, they seemed to feed, preying on some drawn and rotting carcass, leaving nought but steel and ribs exposed. My new world of conveyors, cranes, and ships was painted dull, in red-black monochrome, with a sodden slurry of fines of ore, that fouled my skin, the ground, and rusting steel, its tireless industry jarred my senses. I shrank, shivering from cold and nerves, deeper in my coat as grime-covered men lowered the gangway to the muddy pier. I climbed on deck, unknowing and unknown, to join ‘Kildare’, bound for God-knows-where.