Belfast Boy

Behind an abandoned monastery

I came upon him,

the folds of his bronzed coat rusted,

half an arm kicked off by a rebel,

his tiny face weathered

from too many harsh Irish winters,

his soulful expression somehow mirroring

the country surrounding him —

troubled and weary,

yet exquisitely beautiful.

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Writer and Poet

Tricia McCallum profile

Tricia McCallum

Always be a poet. Even in prose.
Charles Baudelaire.

In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]

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