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 sweaty lip, the furrowed brow the dread of each encounter? There is no map, or uncharted path, In love’s rough seas to point the way. All who are in spring of life know the chill of…Read more Love Poem
Love on the Line Love on the line, converging connections, distance, unknown, uncertain, too Gathering speed, smooth terrain, imperceptible incline, doubt and decline Speed bumps check the rush living, life, scenery passing Attractive siding, enticing divergence, less than a landslide to wonder why When tracks divide in new directions blood on the tracks…Read more Two Love Poems
Three times we met in the space of a single month. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. That’s not a coincidence. Things don’t happen that commonly, I thought, without a reason, a purpose. Yet, even as I thought this, I began to doubt it. A man can be in two minds, as the saying…Read more The Last Hurrah of a Hungry Poet
Write me a poem of love and hate, of ugly things that glow within the hot coal grate of empathy, breathtaking beauty, nurtured in a furnace of self respect and mutual regard, nothing twisted or circumspect, cast, sincere intent, forged true and pure on an anvil of stone, a rock of ages to withstand the…Read more Bloom
If you don't know Imelda May, you should. Writing about her makes me dyslexic, I can love or loathe her but I still listen. Ok, I've had the advantage of listening to her, as a teenager, singing back up vocals to bands in Dublin pubs. I watched her enthral a pub of Irish music fans…Read more LiveLoveFleshBlood…Brilliant
Seventy years since the survivors' of Auschwitz were liberated, I was watching a tv documentary where six of them recounted their stories of survival and the terrible aftermath they've endured, of nightmares and tragedies. One Polish man, Dr Tadeusz Smreczynski, who became a doctor and practiced general medicine within ten minutes of the camp gates,…Read more Tosca’s Tale
Y'know that moment, when someone who broke your heart, swings into view , whether by accident or design and you're left drained and speechless? She looked in through the saloon window A blast from the past Her shame or his blame No honesty No trust Return to remind Twist the knife Salt the wound Where…Read more Blast the Past©
I've been listening to I'm Not Bossy, I'm the Boss by Sinead O'Connor before I'm overwhelmed by comments and misguided reviews. Of those, I've read a few. Some spoke of a new maturity while others toyed with the notion of Sinead, the auteur, creating 'characters' with and about whom she can spin tales of forlorn…Read more Who’s the Boss?