Poetry Centre


  • My pocket comes alive with sound,
    Writhing and screeching, I pick up the phone,
    My finger collides with a button found,
    And I sigh as I listen to my dad’s drone.

    The screen lights up in the dull dark room,
    Three strokes link me to faceless friends,
    Battle commences banishing all gloom,
    Axes are raised and arrows fall in fantastic glens.

    The face of my distant cousin, half way across the world,
    Suddenly appears in my room,
    I watch in awe as his words unfurl,
    His now strange dialect increasing in volume.

    This digital universe is only half real, half dreamland,
    I wish Max could be transported here by broadband!

    by Fintan O'Connor (Cheney School) (Third Prize)