February 9, 2014

 

 

In times of hardship

you were there;

a constant in my set.

Re-assuring and cajoling,

and to you I am in debt.

 

In times of heartache

you were there;

the first to hold my hand.

Re-affirming and supporting,

without question or demand.

 

 

 

February 4, 2014

 

 

Inside my bag of troubles

nestles hidden gems.

Strange, but true, believe me;

as bright as diadems.

 

I’ve seen them for myself.

I glimpsed their light reflection.

Only for a second, did,

they beg for my inspection.

 

They teased and gave me hope,

when I looked in their direction,

Inside my bag of troubles,

I felt momentary affection.

 

Perhaps I looked too deeply,

beyond the junk and clutter.

‘I am really such a thick sod’,

to myself, I had to mutter.

 

It came out of the blue,

and took me by surprise.

A second of self loathing,

A quick flash of old despise.

 

I recovered almost instantly,

as stark reality set in.

l gazed into my bag of troubles,

and almost cracked a grin.

 

What I knew, and always had known,

and what was obviously quite clear,

was that I couldn’t exist upon this earth,

without my bag of troubles near.

 

 

 

 

You are the soul that calls to me,

who reads me like a book.

The one who knows me inside out,

when others, purity, mistook.

 

You are the link that joins me to

the heartache I’ve endured.

You feel my pain, as I feel yours;

we both have been Midge Ure’d.

 

 

 

 

 

Promise you won’t sell up

and move house, Mum.

We’ll have no place left

to call home!

 

Where will we dump

all our stuff, Mum,

when we return from

our travels to Rome.

 

Please don’t downsize

and move on, Mum.

This house holds,

for us, so much joy.

 

and bruv needs his room

to crash out in, Mum,

when his assignment

is finished in Illinois.

 

Please don’t get on

with your life, Mum.

It’s not as if you’ll

never see us again.

 

There’s still lots of

reasons to stay, Mum.

Why on earth would

you move to Spain?

 

 

 

 

 

Each night I pray

that they will come

and tip-toe on my bed.

And give me solace

like once they did.

But sadly, they are dead.

 

I pray that they will

come to me, with their

deafening scream.

And say ‘me-owwww,

we’re back again’.

But it’s a far off dream.

 

I pray that they will

sit on me, forcing me

to keep still.

Or be my constant shadow;

tripping me endlessly,

when I turn around at will.

 

I pray that they will

think of me, as now

in heaven they reign.

If only the years I had

with them, could come

around again.

 

 

 

When all reasoning leaves the alcove space,

and flees for cover to loves warm embrace.

All too late, melting footsteps to trace;

time to finally accept, a mirrored face.

 

 

They lived as one, side by side,

but now their house is for sale.

How sad to see the changes come,

as time, makes us all so frail.

 

 

 

 

 

To strike a blow

at ones achilles heal,

shows lack of tact

and very little zeal.

 

So of it the victim

mustn’t make a meal,

but instead gather strength,

and all hurt conceal.

 

 

February 2, 2014

 

 

Saturday was a day to remember.

The Leader showed them the cultural scene.

Passing Bram Stoker’s home

and then onto St. Stephens Green.

 

They stopped for a pint in the Shelbourne,

then into Dublin’s smallest drinking den.

Before finding a bar with a telly,

to watch the footy – well, men will be men!

 

The girls went off to do some shopping,

saying ‘Can we stay out ‘till three?’

‘Oh, yes,’ cried the men with one voice,

while rubbing their hands with glee.

 

At last they could get down to business.

‘Another six pints of Guinness, good man’,

they shouted to the barman in eagerness.

‘This draught sure beats that in a can!’

 

The girls arrived back at three twenty,

thinking that they were so late.

But another game of footy had started,

so back out they went thinking, ‘Great!’

 

At teatime they walked along Grafton Street,

and stopped at Bewleys Tea Place.

Where they ordered sandwiches and coffee;

the day was still picking up pace.

 

In the evening they went to the Guinea Pig,

though they lost a ‘big brother’ on the way.

As one guy was still feeling very sick

and decided to call it a day.

 

The men soon got talking politics

and the world’s problems they did debate.

and decided to have some brandy,

when told that the taxi would be late.

 

Forgetting they’d lose an hour next day,

when all the clocks were put on.

They headed to a bar for a nightcap,

but one jumped in the lift, and was gone.

 

The Leader had been promised tickets

from a guy, who’d never let him down.

They were to meet him in the second carriage

of the next train heading for town.

 

This soon proved a journey to remember.

The passengers were crushed to bits,

One woman yelled: ‘You’re breaking my ribs!’

another screamed: ‘You’re squashing my tits!’

 

Each time they pulled into a station

the doors slid open and still more got on.

One of the girls nearly burst into tears,

as sadly, her bottle had gone.

 

The Leader came good with the tickets,

well, he got an all important two!

And with hindsight, for him and his best friend

it’d be a match they wouldn’t want to view.

 

They’d probably have developed heart failure,

or at least sunk in utter despair.

Because the game wasn’t so much a ‘walkover’,

as it was embarrassing beyond compare.

 

Two of them stood at the back of the stand

to avoid the inevitable squeeze.

Whilst others headed towards The Herbert Park,

for stew and Guinness to at least appease.

 

Some headed into the city,

to find a livelier spot.

And stumbled up the stairs to O’Neills,

into a room that was hotter than hot.

 

One poor guy was still feeling dodgy

and needed a place that was cool.

‘I could give all this lot twenty years!’

He thought, as he stood on a stool.

 

But age, in the end, didn’t matter.

as England won by a margin so clear.

And gave all the much travelled supporters

an excuse to down yet even more beer.

 

They then headed back to Mulligans

and ordered more beers and coke.

Where they met the Leader’s older brother,

who turned out to be one hell of a bloke.

 

He was just back from touring Australia

and he had an amazing grin.

Due to a plate of teeth made from titanium

that he said was almost ‘paper thin’.

 

The rest came in celebrating,

the unbelievable England win.

And ribbed the Irish unmercifully

but they took it well, on the chin.

 

Then they caught the train back to the hotel,

including the brother and the best friend.

At least they could commiserate together,

a sorrow shared, by good pals til the end.

 

The group then collected their cases.

Their adventure was over and done.

They agreed the weekend had been terrific,

and best of all – England had won!

 

 

 

 

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