My daughter Morna married Mike, her boyfriend of 8 years on Aug 3rd in Castlegrove House. I wrote and read the reading for the service.
On This Day, Be Thankful.
Tag Archives: Poem
ODD SOX
Nothing had never been noticed
when old John did disappear
He’d been cussing and singing rebel songs
When he got throwed out on his ear.
No one there had missed him
or his stinked of piss odour.
He’d rarely broke horizons
Laid flat back drunk upon the floor. Continue reading ODD SOX
TO BEE
The old bee bumbled,
like a cold engine in winter,
choke pulled and sputtering,
bumping her black head
In drunken dance against the glass cage.
Her flight of fluttered chaos
scattering a trail of dusted pollen
in her yellow wake.
Her honey, sweet from flower scented,
fresh, since Pharaohs sate on her gold
in pyramids of mere stone.
Sliding, buzzing below, stealing
one closing glance though striped reflection,
at man’s last waltz for freedom.
DISTANT MOTHER
Her kitchen, quiet, layered with dust,
aged a decade deep,
Her table laid and draped in cloth
before she fell asleep..
SLIABH LIAG
To wander along her weathered crest
through heather’d purple flair.
And fill your chest on every breath
with gulps of mountain’d air.
To stop astride the Pilgrim’s path
through lowly roofs of mist.
Then edge to view the tabled chair
and fear the Giant’s wrath. Continue reading SLIABH LIAG
SO LONG…
The world unspun, the music gone
a week upturned, and hope withdrawn,
we gained a fool and lost the one,
the man of word, turned into song.
The heart is broke, when love is gone
a bird cries lone, before the dawn,
on darkened wire, it’s shadow long,
like the man of word, turned into song.
a bird cries lone, before the dawn,
on darkened wire, it’s shadow long,
like the man of word, turned into song.
TIMELAPSE
Been drunk twice today, once
in the haze of dawn in slumbered pile, again
before night’s drape had drawn a while, while
in-between, through sober gaze, I wished
for clouds that went clockwise by. Continue reading TIMELAPSE
THE CURATE
He stepped out from the dark,
that man of Sunday’s way,
waving an unholy shroud,
woven white, with bloody spray. Continue reading THE CURATE
LOST IN DANCE
She danced her dance,
soft print in moving sand
to waltz in time remembered.
From left to left,
she gently swirled,
then right
with heart surrendered.
The tide beat time
and splashed in stream
to rhyme in slow meander,
where wave on wave played soft,
lit dim, in moon bystander.
AT LAST
Today
could be that day,
the last day to be awake,
not woken,
to have dreamt,
in dreams, mostly remembered ,
and speak in words, mumbled,
not spoken. Continue reading AT LAST
Shorts 