BBC HomeExplore the BBC
This page has been archived and is no longer updated. Find out more about page archiving.

16 October 2014
Get Writing NI

BBC Homepage

BBC NI Learning


Get Writing NI

Writers Showcase

Established Local Writers

Local Writing Legends


The Book of Irish Writers

Rhythm & Rhyme

Study Ireland

Contact Us

Writers Showcase
Ruari McNally
Ruairi McNally

Ruairi was born in the city of Newry. He very quickly realised that crayons were not for eating and started drawing on the wallpaper. He is now an established performance poet in the Arcadia Coffee House, with a small following of fragrant supporters. You can see his collections of poems - 'Poetry of Thought' and 'Poet in the middle' - on his website.

Imagine by Ruairi McNally

Imagine there was no sky.
would the sea be blue and would the air now be black?
Would there be a wonderful red yellow spectrum set against
that black, black, silvery black at the beginning of a new day?
Would there be a skeptical moonbeam piercing our long, still
evenings with trickling traces of technicolour dream?

Imagine there were no trees.
Would we be content with our buns relaxing leather-bound under
the ceiling of a scraper lobby within a concrete jungle distracted by
the whizzwhizz of street lights,
the mumbled rambling shadows of the habitual street people,
the faint spiralling whisper of a grey smoke cloud
and the 'thankfully' distant echo of an emerging siren?

Imagine there was no US.
Trees could stretch out their stunted branches and roots to yawn life-giving breath every morning, without fear of passing plane or neighbouring building.
They could patiently await an intermingling with Sky in a wonderfully whimsical and colour-filled love affair filled with a fruit-filled fragrant romance.
Blades of grass could relax in a powerful faith that they won't be crushed under the flippant stride of a carefree whistling stranger.
Apples could dangle juicefully happily until the development of maturity that allows them to brace themselves with a knowledge of how to land softly upon a leafy carpet.
Bees could store as much golden honey with a maternal pride without the fear of the regular 'snatch n' grab' by a white glove cloaked with choking smoke.

If there was no me
I would not be writing upon dead tree,
I wouldn't have the eyes to see or to motion capture weeping images of regret which now overflow the cup holding my active imagination.

What do you think of this piece? Email
Please enclose the title of the work and the name of the author.

The BBC will display as many of the comments as possible on the page of commented work but we cannot guarantee to display all comments.

More from this writer:

Day in day out
Kissing Bliss

More showcase writers:

Full list of writers

About the BBC | Help | Terms of Use | Privacy & Cookies Policy