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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.