Poem Of The Month: August 2015

JOSEPH PHILLIPS

Here I lie in Ballybough Cemetery

at the West Wall,

Row II, North to South,

buried in a white shroud.

Under my head,

turned slightly to face east,

a bag of earth from Israel.

You’d pass me by easily enough,

since I’m without a headstone.

Stolen, one drunken night,

it’s serving as a hearthstone

in a house on nearby Richmond Road.

My grandson saw it there, poor boy,

while playing with his Catholic friend.

It reads –

Joseph Phillips, son of Uri. Native of Gorsd, Poland.

d. 6th. Kislev, 5640 (1879) aged 75.

That’s me.

I made a living peddling wares

and selling pious pictures

to my Catholic neighbours.