![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/0620f775cbb0a028b488b83d407612d5.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Karl Parkinson<\/strong> is a poet and novelist from north inner city Dublin. He is well known for his spoken word performances and videos, like the one at the end of this piece<\/em><\/p>\n Karl has published a novel, The Blocks<\/em> (New Binary Press), and two collections of poetry: Litany of the City and other poems<\/em>, and Butterflies of a Bad Summer<\/em> (Salmon Poetry).<\/p>\n His new collection of poems is called Sacred Symphony<\/em>, and\u00a0is a work of spiritual and political poetry from one of the sub-proletariat living in north Dublin’s inner-city tower blocks. Sacred Symphony<\/em> contains poems and photographic images about the working class, art and beauty, the precariat, love and death. Here is one of the poems in the book:<\/p>\n All The Swings Are Gone<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n by Karl Parkinson<\/em><\/p>\n from the old flats. All the swings are broken and gone.<\/p>\n Tonight, I’ll swing so high. I’ll swing from the fuckin chandeliers I’ll swing out of history, memory and time, All the swings are gone from the old flats. All the swings are broken and gone.<\/span><\/p>\n Sacred Symphony will be launched in Dublin later this summer.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n
Swings we played on
as youngfellas and youngones.<\/p>\n
I’ll fly right out of this fuckin kip,
Mountjoy prison.
I’ll swing through the bars on the window,
I’ll swing over the gates,
I’ll swing down Phibsborough and land in Doyle’s pub,
drink a toast to my victims, my enemies and my abusers.<\/p>\n
in the big posh gaffs in Dalkey.
I’ll swing from the top of the spire,
naked, prison ink tattooed, fight and gear scared,
and I’ll spit on the heads of every bastard I see
that every laid a hand on me, or ripped me off
or turned up their nose at my track suit and accent,
fuck them all, I hate everyone, I hate like a house fire,
I hate like a virus, I hate like cancer hates.<\/p>\n
I’ll swing to wherever the dead go.
I’ll swing from this bed post till I turn fuckin blue.
I’ll choke myself to freedom, and they can all laugh
or cry at my corpse, as it rots in a paupers coffin.<\/p>\n
Swings I played on as a youngfella.<\/p>\n