March 2, 2019

 

 

Some say Shakespeare placed commas

where he meant us to pause!

No right way or wrong way,

he made his own laws.

 

Rap music also

makes it’s own rules,

though a dash never followed

a full stop in high schools.

 

The problems with apostrophes

puts the mind in overload,

as confusing as dots and dashes

used in Morse code.

 

A semi-colon, not a buddy

of an exclamation mark.

High treason committed

when brackets used for a lark.

 

And when capitals miss-used,

it sends some on a rant.

And are italics just there 

to give meaning a slant?

 

So release all ideas

that into the mind, flood.

Don’t see as a barrier

grammar misunderstood.

 

For words better written

than left in the head.

Punctuation can follow

when manuscripts put to bed.

 

No point in an asterisk,

if the other’s gone west.

Thank God this is finished

and now off my chest.

 

 

 

April 28, 2017

 

 

Forever burdened with the truth,

that lies buried deep within.

The layers of yesteryears events;

a decadent life of sin.

 

Forever troubled by a past,

where does one begin,

in putting right what went so wrong?

Sensitivity, paper thin.

 

Forever imprisoned, perhaps for the best;

take each blow on the chin.

The tide has turned and washed away,

sad tears and old chagrin.

 

 

March 17, 2017

 

 

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.

 

Not realising they’d lose an hour

next day, as 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!

 

England v Ireland  – The Big One

 

 

 

 

August 31, 2016

 

 

So free the mind of everyday clutter.

Forgotten are days of woe.

No returning to muddy waters,

on a tug that sailed long ago.

 

So free the mind of knotted seaweed,

that the hippocampus knew well.

Now the mind on a voyage of discovery,

without baggage, as heavy as hell.

 

April 14, 2016

 

 

And people came, hoping to fit in;

a new life willing to begin.

 

No sea too risky or too deep,

to sap their strength – no time to weep.

 

Each one battling fear and fright,

for a chance of freedom – knuckles white.

 

Survivors of life’s cruellest game;

to live in peace their only aim. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and sunlight came today;

I gave myself a break,

away from a self absorbed existence –

a breathe of fresh air to partake.

 

and vision came today;

depression to replace.

My mind flooding with ideas,

I re-joined the human race.

 

and hope came by today;

a future I could see.

Solitude, a draughty corridor,

that nearly was the death of me.  

 

 

 

 

December 26, 2015

 

 

The bench, my own

just for tonight.

Warm wooded slats,

the soul, to excite.

 

Free from the draught

of winter’s bite,

and wind blown leaves,

and doggy shite.

 

 

The bench, my own

til morning light.

The sky my ceiling,

twinkling bright.

 

No mortgage plan.

No rent arrears.

My shower – rain water,

hiding tears.

 

 

The bench, my own;

I slept well last night.

And awoke with new hope;

the aroma right.

 

Near my arm, a Big Mac:

I knew there was a god.

And a can of beer tied with tinsel

left by some kindly sod.

 

 

 

 

November 1, 2015

 

 

I daily wait

at water’s edge.

My open heart

to him I pledge.

 

The point at which

we two last kissed,

I return to daily.

I can’t resist.

 

To recall the moment,

I never tire.

His love alone

all that I desire.

 

Please God let

his ship return.

And sight of bow

replace the stern.

 

I daily wait

at water’s edge.

My open heart

to him I pledge.

 

The one for me,

the only one.

My life on hold

since he’s been gone.

 

 

 

October 6, 2015

 

 

Oh mind that sees me

short of rest,

in the wee small hours;

I do protest.

I need this time

to clear my head.

In the wee small hours

whilst in my bed.

 

Oh mind that keeps me

from shut eye,

in the wee small hours,

disturbed, I lie.

I need this time;

give me a break.

In the wee small hours,

for pity’s sake.

 

Oh mind that sends me

on the same dream,

in the wee small hours,

I awake and scream.

I need this time,

to keep my senses keen.

In the wee small hours

grant me, sleep serene.

 

 

September 24, 2015

 

 

And towards the junction of the road,

undecided, dear Erasmus strode.

Three choices had he at this brow;

go left or right, or return home now.

 

But going left just wasn’t right;

the west not on his satellite,

and if going right, all that was left,

would the eastern star find him bereft?

 

So although freedom, Erasmus yearned,

from the unknown, his back he turned.

And no other option had he now,

but to seek out middle ground, somehow.

 

 

 

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