The Morning Intimacy

Distant seagulls,
the gentle purr of
the electric milk float.
Blind footsteps down
on the street below.
A cold wind blows
off the Lough.

If I open my eyes
will you be there?
Salute me with a blurry
smile. Half-here, half in the
pre-dawn twilight of running imaginations.
Talk. Small talk, deep talk, fast talk. No
talk. Still.
Stare at the ceiling
listening to the world
slowly animate around us.

I map your epidermic topography:
undulating hills of skin, folds,
moles, birth-marks, stretches, wrinkles -
all your beautiful flaws of
human imperfection.
We could stay here for an infinitesimal time
in our Ikea flat-pack time machine.

This is our Morning Intimacy.

Trees of Lamentation

As the evening embers
crackled on the horizon,
the frogs croaked
as he did
hung from a golden tree.

Truth isn't white
or black but
justice was.
with swift retribution.
no goodbye.

In the heavy, warm heat,
with the grasshoppers
screaming in our ears,
we cut his limp, broken
body down.

Just a boy. His mamma held
her sweet child to the
bosom. One last time.
His eyes, empty,
filled with stars.

A wind rustled through.
Uneasy, sad, carrying the
departed. Darkness envelopes.
The willows weeped
- trees of lamentation.

untitled

"what did you think"
"Oh. It was so so good!"
"I told you it would be!"
"Did you like the finish?"
"Oh, i loved it"
"The big explosion was amazing!"
"Yes, it was, wasn't it!"
"But it wasn't as good as the first one"
"No. No you are right about that."
"I've got popcorn in my teeth."
"Me too!"

Angry People

angry people everywhere
angry people that like to swear
angry people that huff and puff
angry people who've had enough


angry people DONT like to wait
angry people DO like to hate
angry people will happily agree
nothing is better than being ANGRY!

The Inhuman Endeavour

Flight is an inhuman endeavour.
The wingless do s-o-a-r
through jet-propelled

audacity.
Such nonchalance for the
impossible adventure.


We carry a little picture book.
Our right to identify, privilege
to defy.

Our confrontation of evolution, or God -
whichever you please
in such matters.

Each accompanied by a box: black, on
wheels, functional, unremarkable, as we
are. Our 'stuff', just 10 K.G's.

The crap to be strewn over an indian mountain,
shallow Russian bog or, if merciful,
incinerated to ash.


How I often stare at plastic, neon
headrests awaiting a fireball to
envelope us all. How remarkable we all are
partaking in the sublime. My face finally resting
on tabloid front pages.

And we do jostle, push and queue for what?
Overcoming nature and and and and? No.
I extend my middle phenotype at overhead
locker space. Yes!

And they want to charge me to piss! Fuck you.



I sit in a field of tall, lush grasses
and hand my vision to the skies.
We defy gravity for brief moments, little else.
And looking as the crow flies against high clouds

I am satisfied.

all the colours and you

In the blue hour I wake
just before the dawn.
In the grey hour i sleep
Six under the lawn.
+++++++++++++++++++

In-between

+++++++++++++++++++
i live,
With all the colours
And you

pater in absentia

where did our fathers go?
we do not know
but a space they left.

of which

we are unwittingly
bereft


but with each gasp taken
and every heart beat
we feel a little happier
stumbling to our feet.

at last we are fathers
both you
and i.

we make up for their loses