Sunday, 2 July 2017

the perfect gin

somewhere over Germany
an easy smile with a gentle voice
asks "would you like a drink sir?"
I suddenly realise the benefits of middle age
and greying hair
a little respect at last
albeit compulsory
"I would" I reply
but I leave her waiting for my choice
"a gin and tonic please, heavy on gin and light on tonic."
she serves it within a fragile plastic cup
which she rocks with ice
then within my pressurised world
within my little life
that hurtles towards Berlin
my perfect gin
lubricates a weary mind
and makes a hard landing
very smooth indeed



Sunday, 25 June 2017

an empty hand


he held my hand
as a child
he gave me gentle hugs
and gentler smiles
he listened
to my first words
and in my youth
he gave me his wisdom
to use
to discard
to mock
he cared for me in ways
I never understood
until parenthood was mine
but as an adult
I ignored the greying hair
and his fragile ways
for to me he was immortal
a man who would never leave
and then one morning
I looked upon a giant
whittled down to a fragile man
asleep
never to awake again
and in that moment of loss
I felt the fullness of his heart
and the emptiness in my hand





(For my Dad)


Tuesday, 13 June 2017

light bulb fruit

walking between tools and nails
that I didn't need
I turn a corner
and fall into a corridor of blinding light
hundreds of lights
burning fiercely
in the middle was a woman
reaching up
reaching up
reaching high
reaching into the light
picking bright light bulb fruit
so bright
so unbelievably bright
so painfully bright
she turned
she looked at me
with eyes filled with mercury
and a pure white smile

my buddhist buddy

I met
a buddhist teacher
he was old and grey
but his wisdom
was fresh and minty
he spoke of fearlessness
and compassion
I listened for a while
but there was no truth
in his words for me
so as the others chanted
I turned to the sky
and as the afternoon
drifted into the night
I found myself
beneath a bowl of stars
and a single shinning truth
the days are often warm
and the nights are often cold
we are born
we eventually die
but inbetween
there's fun to be had


Monday, 12 June 2017

just say goodbye


just say goodbye
and move on
turn the page
close the book
burn it
or add it to the others
we never read
just say goodbye
and let everything go
watch it fall
or don't
it doesn't matter
because the wrong things
aren't meant to last
hold the bitter
I'll take the sweet
forget everything
I will not respond
I will not engage
I will not write a solitary word
for I can feel goodbye
in your words
and this silence
move on
keep walking
and put distance and time
between us


Sunday, 4 June 2017

a question asked

I defend myself with words
punctuated with borrowed wisdom
from minds with original thoughts
my beliefs are composed
of actions and inactions
but enlightenment eludes me
I fumble and claw at ideologies
that have wrestled kings to their graves
who am I to fight this noble battle?
I care not for odds
or for the soldiers who fight beside me
I care not for honour
or the greater good
for I know I stand alone
an outsider
who was born to not belong
so ask your questions
decipher my answers
then unravel my life
but I can not be known
for the key to my mystery
is missing
and locked within
my sardonic smile


tabula rasa

I yearn for the ignorance of my youth
for there is too much weight in my thoughts
my soul has absorbed the suffering
of a thousand lies
and my eyes have seen more
than my heart can hold
where has my naivety gone?
where is the easy trust
and the blind obedience to the state?
now I lay beneath the sword
living in the moments and echoes
and savouring the sunrise
then smiling as I hear the thread break

Saturday, 6 May 2017

the soul

a soul is silent
it is the flesh that is loud
a soul is bright
it is the world that is dark



Friday, 31 March 2017

what lies ahead

if I could map my heart
I would navigate around the pain
that you have yet to give me
I would plot a course between your first smile
and your final goodbye
I would raise sail and blind my eyes
from the man who replaces me
and I would steer towards
the darkest storm
and the sharpest rocks
oblivious
of what awaits


Sunday, 12 March 2017

in dublin


if I had not returned
not remembered a promise
not walked back
not turned right
not turned left
if I waited one moment less
or one moment more
I would not have seen
your smile
I would have not heard
your voice
I would not have learnt
your name

and my life would have been
colder for it