A Song


My old blood pressure is peaking
feel like a boot stuck in a bog
perhaps a bit of Bushmills
will clear away this fog
the fears, me, for my future
this road I travel along
I need to get my guitar
and play myself a song

My passions are a'flaming
and I struggle to contain them back
this shite is driving me insane now
but control of my emotions I do lack
the bastards they have got me down
feel like I'm giving them the win
for letting their getting the better of me
for worming their way under my skin

Blinded by self-destruction
hell-bent on my course
foolishly fighting for an ideal
just leaves me pissed off and hoarse
not matter how hard you try to make them pay
you still shoulder the greatest cost
for you can't get to those bleeding gobshites
who really couldn't give a toss

My old blood pressure is peaking
feel like a boot stuck in a bog
it weighs on me and is sucking me down
my vision blurred by tears to a fog
the fears, me, for the future
this road we all travel along
I need to get my guitar
and play myself a song

A Mourning

tears well
like salty swell
distort discerning
before dreams drown
flood of sorrow
leaving tumultuous trail
canal down cheek,
etching darkened tone
wiped away by back hand
sweep
wave reseeds
memory, softens
pebbles becoming sand,
all that we keep.

Life Never Seen

I wait for that life
that I've never seen
where my mind is at peace,
content and serene
the longer I go on,
seems less likely to be
the life that I wish
where I could be free

toil and torment
can make a good man
builds strong character,
learn alone to stand
but the days often come
when enough seems enough
my knees they do buckle,
learn I'm not truly tough

Idealism of youth
is fettered by chains
while the world beats you down
with their bit and their reigns
and soon the young stallion
so vibrant with life
is subdued to a cart
then the old knackers knife

I take in my lot
and sometimes I suppose
that much has been set on,
but there's much I have chose
and at every crossroad
I now second guess
in my wanting for more
I end up with less

for life is of beauty
but life also denies
obstructed by others,
tainted by lies
emotional promises
sown but not reaped
abandoning the faith
the first allowed us to leap

Like a ship out of water
or fish laid on the land
our hopes and potential
dries up on the sand
raked over by rain
and baked dry by the sun
we weather the storms
but never leave where we're from

I wait for that life
that I've never seen
where my mind is at peace,
content and serene
how long I'll go on,
by Christ I don't know
for it all leaves me parched,
turns to dust and then blows

The more I feel empty
The more I do strive
And focus on living
But forget being alive
the walls they close in
the bulkheads are bare
And I'm left here wondering
Left wondering why the hell I should care

I dream for that life
that I've never seen
where it all makes sense,
not so bloody obscene
but the longer I go on,
seems less likely to be
the life that I wish
where I could be free

Lit

Wind washes through
the willows weeping
starry skies
sees I'm not sleeping
all around
the bushes creeping
moonlit eyes
motionless, peeping,
I envision you
and of tomorrow
thinking thoughts
of time we borrow
and how so much life
ends in sorrow
teary eyes,
brows bent furrow
while I ponder
this a while
memories of you
still make me smile
even if life seems
some days a pile
of blood and guts,
shite and bile,
I know that
when we boil it down
it's better to be
in passions drowned
than to rot
above the ground
amidst the beauty
all around
for life's adventure
made of folly
despite tragedy,
Frida and the trolley,
the poverty
of Dublin's Molly
soldier killed
by booby trapped dolly,
try we do
to gain a sight
on blackened skies
to see the light
it can leave us
full of spite,
if we bow down,
spirits take flight
and that is why
I think on you
for the hope I feel
when upon I do
Through the dark
you pull me through
with tender words
or in me arse your shoe
I pray you are
safely asleep
amidst the whish
of willows weep
and pray that
in your heart you keep
a place for me
where I can sleep
regardless of what
the morrow brings
to me you've
given many things
a greater wealth
than any king's
lighter than
an angel's wing
sweeter than the song
a siren sings
Wind washes through
the willows weeping
starry skies
sees I'm not sleeping
all around
the bushes creeping
moonlit eyes
motionless, peeping,
I envision you
taking flight, my sorrow
no thinking thoughts
of time we borrow
and how so much life
could end tomorrow
reddened eyes,
the graves we furrow
while I ponder
this a while
memories of you
still make me smile
these memories
make me smile
as I embrace them
for a while
as I embrace them
for a while.

Faint Lights

The walls, they close in
with their padding gone hard
the points never scored
always short the last yard
banged up and bruised
with dreams that retard
from where I've always wanted to go
seems there's no escape
trapped in this life
where fortune provides promises
made slack by the knife
that keeps us dangling
to suffer this strife
leaves me looking up from below

Fare thee well
to the happy end
forcing a smile
through the days I pretend
at the mercy to time,which to our life lends
the day's dusk dark slowing closing

But sometimes a window
lights up a door
and we're sat there wondering
what we were worried for
it's people like that
that help us endure
seeing the beauty of being
it's never at all easy
this much is clear
when our minds banter between
encouragement and fear
truth be told,
no day's truly clear
never give up on truly seeing

Don't lose out hope
for the happy end
forcing a smile
through some days I pretend
at the mercy to time,which to our life lends
the day's dusk is dark but light's still seeping

"Impressions, Ink..."

Gutenberg, 1440
Printing Press presents
gateways, escapes,
knowledge, life beyond;
muting mundane in chaptered moments
the weight of your spine, bound firm
cradled in kneading, calloused hands
organic musk of pulpy page, made more comfortable with every turn
ignites craving spirit as a slogan to revolution
filling world-heavy heart
with hope, release;
moments caressing each line, type faced
curves, fathom further, deeper meaning
often found, sometimes lost as we oftentimes, ourselves, find
this separate world, safely bound
between protective covers
keeping it safe so it can be
re-read and re-read as an oath or prayer,
comforting, regardless of our seclusion,
despite every story coming to
completion, leaving us
empty again, yet, somehow, full.

We continue to pull from the shelf...
burned, exploited, perceived
in many, many ways - torn, crumpled,
made into boats or planes
ink, like blood, bookmarks places:
paradise, purgatory, hell
I could never put you down,
despite distractions: TV, iBooks, the Net-
those cold plastic and glass projections, unnaturally powered,
void of substance and soul,
my blood, too, marks this page
as a testament to a dwindling empire-
can you feel your immortality?
life in a life,
spelling and weaving ways
that never I promulgated could come to pass,
perpetually bound, fearing only the dust
which inevitably will consume me
in a final chapter, perhaps never fully explored,
wherein, the end.

When Is It Time?

Falling out of time again
from the point where we needed to be
searching soul, for a way,
leads back only to where we've been
this world seems so sublime
as we fall down over and over again
when is it time?

If you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn to believe
determine your needs now from your wants
and wear this mask - at all times
if you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn believe
and accept your lot in which you're caught
false faith is what you've got...or not

I can't tell what this life should be
comedy or tragedy?
we have a need to find a way
to that point where we're all being forced to see
and if this life lets us down
know we had a hand in it's script
hero or the clown?
to trip or to rip?

If you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn to believe
determine your needs now from your wants
and wear this mask - at all times
if you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn believe
and accept your lot in which you're caught
false faith is what you've got, it's what you sought

Shakespeare said the world's a stage
but never gave a map to the trap doors
the things that we threw away
the things we made ourselves ignore
and when this mirror makes us cry
over and over again
when is it time?

If you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn to believe
determine your needs now from your wants
and wear this mask - at all times
if you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn believe
and accept your lot in which you're caught
false faith is what you've got, on ourselves it was brought
If you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn to believe
determine your needs now from your wants
and wear this mask - at all times
if you can't lie now to yourself
you'd better learn believe
and accept your lot in which you're caught
false faith is what you've got, or it's all for naught

Ambitions of a Tinker

I've lived to tell the tale
of agony and frustration
survived the battles of
self-imposed self-altercations
and made my best to find the way
while reason often alludes me
for I'm an idealistic fool
I posses this tenacious ambition
that I can never keep at bay

Pursuit of passion and contentment
may be nothing but a dream
though I feel like hell and wish I were well,
I know life is never as it seems
for the poet's like a tinker
whose heart's always for the road
life goes on, and so must I
no matter the weight of this load

For when the wagon's no longer moving
and this life comes to an end
bowed at the back, a confidence that lacks,
miles are measured by your friends
no sunrises or sunsets
ever define a perfect day
for perfection is an infection
and is what leads us astray

For I've lived to tell the tale
of self-imposed self altercations
survived the battles of
agony and frustrations
and made my best to find the way
while dreams often allude me
for I'm an idealistic fool
I posses this tenacious condition
that I can never keep at bay

Strings Attached

Well you know I'm rather artsy
and it affects the way I think
I bear my soul to those I don't know
like a man out on the drink
I espouse my thoughts and philosophies
but sober I remain
knowing full well, those ideals upon which I dwell
cause me nothing more than pain
life imitating Art you see
is nothing more than a dream
for conservative conventions usurp our intentions
and stitch us up at the seams
I'm freakish as on the fringe I hang
attached by this garroting thread
judged for believing differently
and the controversial things I've said
tell me what is the point of carrying on this way
trying to make water in to wine?
it's not a tale that I can swallow or system I'd follow
but I chase it all the time
tell me what is the point of carrying on this way
and trying to make my mark?
when the crowds they will crush you,
with tarred brush they will rush you
snuffing out that faint spark
For you know I'm rather artsy
and it affects the way I think
I feel so pathetic, wish I were apathetic,
or could drown away into drink
Yes, you know I'm rather artsy
and it affects the way I think
but I'm hooked to the seam, attached by a dream
so I'll give a nod and a wink...

The Yielding Limb

You sit alone
amidst strong yielding trees
as the wind, it howls
born of a breeze
the ghost of thoughts
rove swirling round your head
mixing pleasure with all that you dread
mixing pleasure with all that you dread

Away from home
where you can not dwell
and dogmatic circumstances
of this personal hell
the life you live
and the one of which you wish
leave you broken by all that's amiss

Why do we even try
to live in a world that
makes us deny?
O why, O why do we try
in a world where
our dreams are denied?

The days we spend
in a life so brief
stuck and gutted
like a wretched wreck on a reef
a sea that's so vast
filled with beauty and strife
the cruel savage nature of life
the cruel savage nature of life

Thoughts of a day
when these winds fill your sails
and the tempest desists
pulling you through this gale
to be in a place
as a tree rooted and sound
bend but not broken on the ground

Why do we even try
to live in a world that
makes us deny?
O why, O why do we try
in a world where
our dreams are denied?

Living in the Culture of Fear

The culture of fear
leaves us little release
stuck like a crumb
in the throat of the beast
the violence and terror
we need to be freed from
get passed on down
through the barrel of a gun
what if we all just ignored
the lies that have been set
can we ever be separated
from the greed that we beget?

Weapons in space
are the next bold frontier
billions blast off
this brilliant blue sphere
despite starving millions
they still make their case
to defend our freedom,
justifying this waste
but what kind of freedom is it
with everyone in someone's sights
pawns of power we've become,
swords, bombs now satellites

Now this hate they sell
creates this hell,
and we're lost forever more
for the culture of fear
drives us all to tears
and we're lost forever more

I try to live life
the best that I can
but just like the love
of a woman and man
nothing is simple
and sometimes we quit
or we're too overwhelmed
by society's whip
but what matter are our lives
when so many each day are lost
things will never ever change
if we keep paying the cost

The culture of fear
leaves us little release
though some of us try,
taking the throat of the beast
choose what to swallow, don't wallow
but choose to ask why
and live fully this day
for on one tomorrow we die.

Lighting

The soft Halifax lights
gently painted the pier
as I shared all my sorrows
and you fought with your fears
given no heed
to the rats running near
or the condoms that swan in the drink

The salt in the night
mixed with the mist
we were both in our twenties
and pleasantly pissed
so long ago,
and so sadly missed
the days before we were fallen

The ferry's low grumble
haunted buoy bell
like a call to meditation
danced with the water's calm swell
the drama from then,
nothing like this hell
unlike now, those days were not wasted

Now in mid life
I think to this thought
and the shite that kills passion
with all that it's wrought
like a fish in a net
panicked and caught
the gull o'er head a-swarming

Though there's still beauty
in all that I see
I'm troubled by
this black agony
a sinking old feeling
that we'll never be free
the lights bleached white by the morning

Scars of Passion


Do we live dispassionate lives
for security's sake
or curse caution to wind,
take the bed that we make?
do we question the road
we decided to take
living lives of numb apathy?
or is this life
a measured ol' test
that's to be lead by the head,
not the heart in our breast?
to make time for living,
do we make time for rest?
a spurious sense of security

Winds of change
Can't you hear them calling?
Swept our breath
Since we first started bawling
There at your back
Resist, they're lashes,
And one day
They'll scatter your ashes

I wake up each morning
and question the day
I suppose I should seize it,
but my mind works this way
and not of what all others say
gives me a sense of genial peace
the dreams from my heart
have infected my head
and by Christ I will chase them
til my last page's been read
I believe there's different ways
that our passions are fed
That quarry, boys, can never cease

Winds of change
Can't you hear them calling?
Swept our breath
Since we first started bawling
There at your back
Resist, they're lashes,
And one day
They'll scatter your ashes
And so I go
Forward falling
the winds of change
I hear them calling
My heart is swept
Never by fashion
Bleeding alone,
The Scars of Passion

Come What May


When I look into your face
all my fears become displaced
though I've lost the gift of dream
days are less dark then they did seem
for when I'm in your company
I don't feel the anxiety
that my life's been pissed away
that there's still light left in the day

like smoke that rises through the mist
from lips that I may never kiss
my passions swirl in lithely dance
wondering if it's all by chance?
or are our lives all preordained?
to torture, pleasure, love and maim
this road were on and know too well
trespassing heaven and dragged through hell

be in the moment is what we said
not knowing where we're to be lead
to rise up high or crash and fall
frustration banging head to wall
I trust the world will find its way
and so may we one fateful day
until that time, come what may
O come what may

Self-doubt and Anxiety


When I express self-doubt and anxiety
perhaps you think I'm being coy
that I do it for sympathy
or it's the attention I enjoy
but if you only knew the thoughts
that race inside my head
you'd be gobsmacked in wonderment
of how the Christ that I'm not dead
I feel caught and confined,
a captive, in convention's cage
Bottling up my passions
and building up my rage
a masochist, an idealist
a defeatist dreamer as well
whose witnessed the moment's majesty
that traps me tumultuously in this hell
I know that I think too much,
analyse my state of being,
feeling that there's always something else
that we should all be seeing
this introspection's caused infection
withering any healthy, contented hope
pushed me to the brink before,
but I stepped back from the rope
though defeatist, I still dream
and want to see the day
when the world seems to make sense
and I'm not left to feel this way
but I'd rather feel this pain and go insane
from clinging to the belief
that the chance might still exist
to give me some relief
I wish your words would change me
or that the books that I've explored
whose seeds have well been planted
but can't surface through the manure,
would bloom through the gloom that I've assumed,
that battles my optimism down
that I would see my self as more
then being just another bloody clown
I know I've seen the beauty
in all life's sincerity
but little can we taste it
for social intangibilities
so when I express self-doubt and anxiety
I'm not trying to be coy
I'm not seeking your sympathy
for none of this I do enjoy
for now you know the torturing thoughts
that race inside my head
I'm gobsmacked in total wonderment
of how the fuck that I'm not dead.

Wish

I wish there was a way
that I could climb outside my head
and I wish that I would not read
into every word that's said
O I wish I wasn't a wisher
and I wish I knew a way
to pull it all together
to know it'll be okay

I've read the books on Buddha,
The Gita and the Tao
it all makes perfect sense to me
but still I wonder how
to tame my thoughts,
to accept my lot
and not wish it away
the 'what could be's' and reality's
leave my mind in disarray

When imagination wanders
and insecurity sets its trap
you wonder if what's sent your way
just fell into your lap?
Or is there some fated destiny
whose course has long been set?
you question each decision you've made
wonder if them you will regret

Perhaps the day will come my way
when I send caution to the wind
to hell with what they all will say,
their purgatory and sin
and if I end up like Lazarus
with scorched and broken wings
I'll hold on tight to that moment of flight
and I won't regret a thing

I wish there was another way
to live the dreams inside my head
and I wish words that I heard
meant the things they said
O I wish I wasn't a wisher
and I wish I knew a way
to pull it all together
to know it'll be okay

All Passions Subdued


I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
heaven for who spreads peace,
hell for those who spread hate
so many bills, now well long over due
to live in a way
with all passions subdued
So focused on living
we've lost how to live
so used to taking
we don't know how to give
time denies freedom
time makes us all old
time makes us all fearful
crushed, so dreams never unfold

I'd like to believe it
but know it's not true
we live in the same world
but I can't be with you
we've established these customs
our old ball and chain
as we dampen the heart
with the juice of the brain
live in self denial
forcing needs to become wants
like Adam and Eve
and the snake with his taunts
we make sense of it all
with senseless old rules
since we only live once
we're left cheated like fools

I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
that allowed one to savour
the joys life creates
the beauty of passion
the beauty of who
can still give themselves
free rein to be true
but the denial masks honesty
till we don't know our self
pack it away
on our mind's darkened back shelf
time ticks and torches
yet another day
feted with frustrations,
feeling this way

Byron said "society's
one big flagrant horde,
comprised of two tribes:
the bores and the bored"
we've grown so complacent
scrutiny all that we do
so many philosophies on life
but it seems nothing's new
for we think and we chat
and we talk a good game
but in the end
it's all bloody the same
we've lost our simplicity
and organic way
it tears me apart,
for I too think this way

I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
that would figure things out
before life closes the gate
I'd like to believe
that all passion's not lost;
a time where natural beauty
carries not such an exuberant cost.

Foc'sle


Furrows etched deep in my brow
wondering where life takes me now
as I drift from shore to shore
I find strange that which once before
was considered dear and all I had
a fine wine that one day went bad
craving still that sweet satiety taste
of passions that I once embraced
for now it seems my race is run
and ragged, I feel like I'm done
at each turn we play a card
but a gambler's life's so goddamn hard
Ah what, without chance, would life be?
a hopeless road of misery
for hope's the flame we must keep strong
when it's all to shite and all gone wrong
a sense that time cullys is clear
in each day and passing year
so much beauty life can contain
if you can lay down for the pain
and at day's end if you have found
your wavering pegs on solid ground
you know another day is yours
and you've made it safe again to shore
life's but a bauble of toil and cost
yet still we might find what we've lost
re-kindle sparks like beacons glow
transformed to the flame we did dearly know
come live this life and seize this day,
may you find your self along the way
until the deeps take us below
haul away, a-way!