Nostalgia Avenue

A rattle of skeletons  live in my closet. it doesn’t bother me, they were companions from my past, a memoir in a scrapbook, a reminder we cannot forget, to bring to life, to live, to love. I like to take them out and walk with them down Nostalgia Avenue and Memory Lane, recall old friends …Read more Nostalgia Avenue


This poem was inspired by a comment from poet, Robert Okaji ( about my poem, To That Girl Is it good to remember who we were, does memory have an age? To remember times when we were young, returning youth to doting stage. How can a memory be old, Stuck in the age when it…Read more Memory

Love Poem

Love POETRY is not familiar territory for me but we've all gone through the terror and awkward excitement of first love and the pursuit of love. Where have you been since when, first seen? in a pub, drunk and befuddled. on a pitch, wet, be - puddled, who knows ’til now, love's confusing signals, the…Read more Love Poem

Still water #write photo   When you're used to cityscapes as the background to your visual reality, a jaunt in the countryside is always welcome, for a new perspective. It restores your balance, if you like. I'm returning to County Mayo next week and really looking forward to it. The weather can change five times in five minutes…Read more Still water #write photo


Happy birthday, today, May 10, 2016 to my daughter, Holly

Postcard from a Pigeon


My daughter, Holly, is 26, today. Tempus Fugit, when you’re having fun, I must add. Twenty two years ago, myself and my two daughters went on a road trip in a beat up old Mini. I wrote this poem, many years later, about that wonderful time, the three of us, in west Clare with NO RULES. My other daughter is Hannah.

There are no rules,
I told them,
just love yourselves
and respect all others
to be, to do, to say,
whoever they are

 we pointed the Mini, west,
and hit the road where
we can only go forward,
because we couldn’t go back
to a shattered beginning,
to carry away the fragile output
of that relationship

On loan for a fortnight,
set loose in the west
with a sackful of sweets.
No plans, no rules,
a rudderless ship
in choppy waters,
ever onward.

Into a future
with bright…

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What a mug They only make them in plastic now. When I got mine is was a stoneware stein, a heavy vessel for swigging beer. It was a wild, stormy night, near a town called South Euclid, Ohio. The rain pelted down so hard, each dropped bounced back, a foot high and as I descended, on foot,…Read more What a mug

Shane MacGowan and The Popes

The pit is a seething mass of fans, swaying, swigging and baying: florid of face and, undoubtedly, 'fluthered', to a man, woman, unwashed street urchin and, for all one can tell amid the throng, at least one stray sheep.