Sunday, September 5, 2010

January Thoughts

January 14th 2010.

You are my friend,
You will not bend
Your ear to bother
With the lazy words
Of those who do not
Give a damn
For truth or decency.
A friend is not just for Christmas,
Or to dangle on the arm
He is not an ornament
Upon our festive tree.
He is true, he is loyal,
She is faithful, she is steady.
Friendship is its own reward,
It makes us what we cannot hope
To achieve upon our own.
It draws us out, it steels our back.

Its not the bleeding man falling with the tortured cross,
Its not the heavy burden that weighs down upon the world
But far more the rising after falling, the quiet acceptance
That we can only rise when we have fallen,
We can only soar from down below.
To fall and rise to rise and fall,
Better to lose than not to try at all.
How perfect his life, how good in every way
On the contrary, how boring, I say.
Evil is not the condition of fallen man,
Overcoming evil is the only way we can,
Show who we really are and find our soul,
Impress ourselves and show that we can be
Much greater than we might if our postal code
Was East of Eden or West of Disneyland.
Arise my human spirit from the grot and booze
Of indifference and mediocrity.
Show me, that I can be, the person that the child in me,
Once wished, sometimes forgot but now rewon.

Into the world we come, wondering
We shuffle out, wandering
On the road we travel and meet,
Men and women, Gods and devils,
But our journey is longer and our path is steeper,
And so we arrive at the end as at the start
Alone – and we alone can take the next and final step,
Into nothing, or maybe everything
But certainly untrodden paths.
And so it always was and always will be
The lonely march into infinity.
Do we embrace or abhor
The cold clinging kiss of death
Seeing it as the definite end
Or just the sleep of the Ego
When we rejoin the Milky Way
And become another distant star
Absent but not always forgotten.
Will our works live beyond us
And does it even matter
To have built the White House
To have given the Gettysburg Address
And do I still have a dream?
Forgive me Father
For I do not know what I do
Nor does anyone I know
Except the faithful and the saved
Who worry me, do they not trouble you?
Such pat words to such messy issues
Such lovely and black and white vignettes
That strain to frame a world
That breathes and bleeds
Before our very eyes.
We struggle to make sense
And declare one hue the winner
In the mad prism of unruly reality
That wont obey our command
To fit neatly in our photo album
Between the aisles of lovely books.
How insubordinate and downright rude
To ignore our rules and pretty thoughts.
Neat and tidy with a bow
Shall our thoughts be tied and tamed.
Off they run and roam
While closing stable doors seems the right end
Even though the foals gallop in the meadows.
Even as I wrestle to keep them still
Under my arm, they will peek
And sneak and be themselves,
Whatever that might mean.

She was not beside me when we played the school games
On low January evenings in the wind and rain.
Not for her the muddy rugby fields where boys became men
And where we forged loyalty in the furnace of the fight.
She stood at the local shop with bright lipstick
Shimmering black tights and studied insouciance.
Would she or could she know what it was to rely
On companions who would fight and bleed for you?
What seemed to start with lust and love
Works into scented chapel aisles and babygrows
And on we travel fighting and forgiving
Growing and shrinking along the twisted path
Of fate that is sometimes chosen
Sometimes endured.
The ordinary flux and flow
The compassion and indifference
The hopes and fears
And failings and triumphs
The common conquests
And the silent and unspoken
Oversights that leaves the Good Samaritan
Supported and ignored along the milky way
Of our eternal journey when sunlight
Pierces the mist and picks out
The shiny cathedral spires of our loves and hopes
And childish aspirations

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Poetry – 14th Feb 2010.

Bitter Sweet

Regrets, I have had a lot,
But all the better for them.
Better to have lived and loved,
Than not all.
We cannot rise without a fall,
No response, without a call.
No joy without sadness,
No shade without light.
We stumble, mumble, stagger on
On roads not yet mapped and marked,
We stutter, stammer, improvise
And draw with many colours
The rich and interesting tapestries
The threads that weave our life.

She Alone

No woman is an island
And yet she must sometimes stand
Alone and pregnant with the one
She fears and longs for in equal urge
The most and least unnatural
Invasion of her womb
Oneness and twoness
All intertwined
So many around
Yet so few within
Then comes the hour
Feared and wanted
A crying creature
Or a lovely child?
Only moments to decide
Which way it falls
When the little voice calls
Yet days ahead to love
To cherish and to mourn
What is given and what is taken.

Hello, God

I tried to speak to God by phone today,
But the message minder said he was away.
I was just a little curious and a bit inquisitive
As to the meaning of life and other little things.
I thought I might check with the man above
I am assuming it’s a man and its up
But it could equally be a woman and be down
Where our hopes rise and our fears fade.
Nearer my God would be great
But just a little louder would make my day.
My God, my God,
Why have I forsaken you?
‘Time’ said the weary barman
‘Amen’ said the drunken angel at the bar
‘Have you no harp to play, no hymns to sing?’
‘I used to be big in the firmament,
But all things change you know,
I am no longer permanent’.
The tired angel left the lounge,
The barman sighed, then locked the door
‘I’ve settled for this’ he thought
‘But I always wanted more’


Many are the things we said and meant
Words that sounded right and decent
‘See you soon’ ‘I’ll write or call’
But life moves on and intentions fall.
She waved and cried and pressed the tissue
Her eyes so sad said ‘how I’ll miss you’
As from the station the train pulls out
And her carriage hastens along the track
His heart is broken yet he waves back
Across the days and months and years
Now another boyfriend dries her tears.

Spring Burst

And life bursts forth, the sap is rising.
Love reasserts, it’s not disloyal
He’s gone to war
In a trench lies dying.
The meal’s gone cold and cannot be reheated,
Love and lust must run their passion
The feckless lover who moves on
To bring new flowers in the garden season.
We will remember and for a while
Attend the grave and change the flowers
After a time when the colour has run
The headstone blanches and the engravings tumble
And the songbird gaily whistles
His song in the tree
Above the peaceful cemetery.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Now or never

Always ask for pardon,
Sorry works better than please,
Ask and you will receive
A maybe.
Do and be damned,
But at least its done.
The world divides
Between those who do
And those who ask.

Always look forward
And never look back
Dont wait for lots wife
She's gone off track.

The world will belong
To those on song
Join the doers and rushers
Avoid the penpusher.

Do it now
Do it quick
Enbrace regrets
For all we did.

Better tears for efforts made
Than regrets for nothing done.

If you wait
For the blessing
From all around
The train will leave
Chatting on a wasted platform
Another wasted chat
What might have been
Had we the guts
And the single mind.

Oh yes,
In years to come
We can forgive
And be forgiven.

If we get across the river
Deep and dangerous
And live to tell the tale
To hushed crowds
Who kiss our human feet
Willing to forget
That we once shared
Their uncertainty.

pmm nuevedejulio

Giving for living

At Whiterock in Killiney Bay
A lonesome saxaphonist fills the early sunny winter morning

In gving we're living
Making, not taking
Leaving home we return
Leaving self we arrive
In reaching out
We touch inside.

The ecstasy of giving
No longer blind
Now we see.

The selfless gene
Without fear or favour
Not lending but giving
A promise, once given
Is a bond forever
And ever.

pmm nuevedejulio

Thursday, July 8, 2010

The gift of another day

Things I took for granted
Are things that I wanted
But never were scarce
Were always there

The water tap dripping
The uneaten meals
Food rotting in fridges
While half the wrold starving.

Should we bake a bigger cake
Or smaller slices make?
Are we ready, are we able
To live off crumbs from the table?

To live in convent silence
May seem to abandon sense
But nothing is more real
As the fight twixt good and evil

pmm ochodejulio

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

To hill of Howth
Cross Dublin Bay
From brassy Bray
June's longest day

More than rides and slides
And candyfloss
The onioned town
Shows its many petticoats.

Stony shore and pebbled beach
Ocean smells within our reach
picnic now on meagre kitty
No turning back, Escape the city,

Working men, on workmans wages
Stumbling kids at different stages
Accents drawn across the sea
Wafts of Spain and Italy.

Ireland's blessing
Dublin's treasure
On a clear day
None can measure.

Suburban lung
And natures gate
Heathered hills
Above stonied state,

Blemished and chrished
Like middleaged lover
With seas for her content
And hills for her cover

Surly and burly
Never say sorry
Be who you are
Ne'er flurry nor hurry

Vikings and planners
You don't give a toss
They come and they go
You're still the boss.

pmm sietedejulio