Glow

Glimmering glow gliding gracefully,
Through the tomb toward the top,
Washing waywardly while wishing wistfully,
Hoping her hidden home hides here.

Living lustfully like lung looping liars,
Tormented thoughts throng through tiles,
Badgering bottomless bastards become bedfellows,
Seeking stoppage so solitude solely survives.

Dreams die deserted, defeated, destroyed,
Partial pieces patching past participations,
Clarifying concerns considered closely, constantly,
Bringing broken bails before backtracking boys.

Dream Screen

One sad thing about this life we live,
It has lived for so long before us now,
The word love is dead and gone,
Along with all the meaning it once held.

All I have ever wanted is to feel love,
From a young age, that is all I have ever hoped for,
Maybe if I was born in a different decade,
I could feel in return what comes out too often.

I want the fantasies we see on television everyday,
The job, the home, the wife, the children, everything,
My time has not yet come, and I fear it never will,
As love extends only to infatuation these days.

The film reel turns, playing back to me my birthday,
I slip into sleep and live my dreams there,
And it is no longer my birthday past I see on the screen,
But the future I wake up everyday hoping to be in.

That dream screen smiles at me without malice,
Showing me that our capacity to love has not yet died,
Only that it is ignored by most, who maybe fear its power,
And I know that once I embrace it and know people who embrace it too…

We can be anything we want to be.

The Race

Racing, always racing, looking to reach the end before the track runs out, before time suddenly stops and what seems endless in youth becomes sparing in age; snatches of it pass in front of my very eyes, within touching distance but transparent, vapour that cannot be trapped in bottles or on windows, that cannot be frozen or solidified in any way possible, like hope, belief, chance, love, hate, fear, sorrow, and all emotions big or small, major or minor, real or imaginary, like those mental diseases that many ignorant people believe are a self-serving myth, a massive attack of self-deprecation spawned from some ‘sick’ need to be appreciated, to be desired - imagine, wishing to be wanted, bemoan the human condition and its vulnerabilities, and pray never to succumb to the weakness of neediness for this, in the eyes of the ‘mentally tough’, is a cardinal sin, one punishable by being exiled, sent to live in isolation; spiralling off track in exuberant amounts of distraction and over-elaboration when the simple matter is an overwhelming need to escape this goldfish bowl of a nation with its corrupt bureaucrats and personal histories, to start anew abroad, somewhere big yet also small, a place to see and be seen, to live and be lived through, where experiences come and go daily in the people you meet and the surroundings you inhale; shaking legs show the pent up energy and frustration this suffocation is causing, fit to burst, racing toward the end without knowing when or where the starting block was, not knowing when or why the decision was made that this place, this house, this life, was too restrictive to breath properly in, or where it was the shackles were locked around the ankles, forcing the running of the race to take place in just one place, running a hole right into the same spot for the last three years as everybody else is released off the chains and out into the real world, with real ground to run into, with real lights, real sounds, real conversations, real feelings, real things they do not show us on the television anymore, out to where we can see that lies are what they are for ourselves; I just need to run my race, no matter where it takes me or how quickly it ends.

Twinge (I Do Not Want)

I can feel it again, that twinkling twinge,
That familiar feeling when someone breezes through,
Occupying your every thought, minute after minute,
Imagining all those things you could have done together,
Remembering all the things you did together,
And realising they are not the same and never will be.

One day of the week cannot come around fast enough,
The one time where we all go out together to dance,
To revel, to be with each other for a cheaper price than any other day,
Laughing, falling, paying each other’s way with money lost on the ground,
Drinking their alcohol while I drink my water,
Enjoying every moment nonetheless.

It was these nights where she came to my attention first,
Moving, smiling, not a single care, it was infectious,
A freedom I had not known for five months straight,
And that only comes fleetingly now, like a ghost returning,
Just to remind me of simpler times when my heart was bigger,
She lets me remember who I was again.

Yet I have seen her with another, not strictly together,
Not strictly apart, they are casual in their courting,
Allowing a chink of light to shine before me, breaking the omens,
Letting me have a little hope, bringing gratitude impossible to personify,
While also putting me in the way, a place I do not want to be,
While also stranding me in no-man’s land, which is where I have been this whole time.

And this brings a slight slit to this surfacing sentiment,
Torturing myself with the pain of the past, with those five months,
Always reliving the hurt, even when forgetting the person,
Building a brick wall around myself to stop it from ever happening again,
Allowing no emotion to seep out, and no one else to come in,
Permanently preventing a new lodger for a splintered house.

(the very last line and the feelings felt at the time inspired this poem - as well as a belief that being alone is better for everybody else).

Silence After the Gunshot

There’s a silence after the gunshot is fired,
We stood our ground while sitting down,
Now we’ve achieved what we most desired,
Now we fear being brought down.

Running from that bleakest of scenes,
Away from your shrilling screams,
A moment’s peace broken by bad aim,
And we become tangled in this game,
You lie there coughing up bloody phlegm,
Sirens wail, we run from them,
We didn’t want it to come to this,
Until we heard your snakelike hiss.

You sold us out to our biggest rivals,
So we sold you out to God,
And despite all your religious denials,
You begged for salvation from God.

Betrayal of the lads was a stupid move,
You really upset our movement’s groove,
A bullet to the heart was too good for you,
They want to reward us with a bullet too,
We keep running in random directions,
Far from police and gangs’ detections,
Carelessly throwing the gun away,
Thinking they wouldn’t hunt all this way.

Word comes that you've stopped breathing,
And we feel we can breath again,
A simple thought that is deceiving,
We should’ve thought again.

The time has come to flee once more,
Before they break down our hideout’s door,
Grabbing more pieces as we leave,
Our door breaks, with our time to breath,
Trail of blood follows us cross-country,
As do police and gangs, all and sundry,
Doing what they want to catch the traitorous criminals,
Using excessive force and complicated syllables.

And when I look in the hostel’s mirror,
I see a friend of death staring back,
As I look longer, things become clearer,
And I see a stranger ready to attack.

Barricaded in our €70 a night room,
Outside enemies' shadows converge and loom,
Ezekiel’s words run through my mind,
Our path is truly beset by the unkind,
Officers and gangsters bang repeatedly,
Each bang hitting me and my mentality,
I understand our wrongs and seek repentance,
Our door comes down and I feel acceptance.

There’s a silence after the gunshots are fired,
We embraced our fate while lying down,
Now we’ve achieved what we most desired,
Now we fear waking to live this down.

(I was listening to a lot of Kasabian and this happened - note to self: never write while listening to Kasabian because you are not the genius that is Serge Pizzorno).

Butterflies

As I read your confession a feeling lost returns again,
And it’s only when I get it back that I realise how much I missed it,
Butterflies fluttering in your stomach, full of excited nervousness,
In hindsight that was the saddest loss of my self imposed exile.

Hello little butterflies, welcome back.

A genuine smile raised with consistency has been a rarity,
Often forced in the company of people who like to ask too many questions,
Yet often dropped when the pain in my cheeks became unbearable,
But not anymore, for the butterflies have returned and I smile freely once more.

Hello little butterflies, welcome back.

And the only regret we each have, now we know the other’s thoughts,
Is the fact we failed to act on an impulse we fought so hard to suppress,
But even though you have travelled across the freezing Atlantic ocean,
The butterflies will flutter in anticipation of your return to the Smoke.

Hello little butterflies, welcome back.

We may wonder what will become of us in the future when the present arrives,
But until that moment in time we can be content with fancies and flings,
And I’ll let the butterflies flutter foolishly around my cobwebbed stomach,
As it has been too long since a reason existed for them to do so.

Hello little butterflies, welcome back.

Feels Safer

The floor,
Green, red, blue, two step,
Red, blue, green, three step,
Blue, green, red, two step,
The floor.

The ceiling,
Flashing in strobes,
Bar one bulb, it stands alone,
A void, a black light,
The ceiling.

And I close my eyes, because everything feels safer.

The bus,
No passage of time,
One minute - club, next minute - seat,
Everyone sits on the left,
The bus.

The journey,
Half of a man falls limp and dies,
Other half fights the spreading stroke,
Everyone sits helpless on the left,
The journey.

And I close my eyes, because everything feels safer.

The walk,
Bus stop to front door,
Hoping the batteries do not die,
Cats’ screams are drowned out,
The walk.

The bed,
Crawling in as the wind howls,
Dead leaves rise in turrets,
And fall like confetti outside,
The bed.

And I close my eyes, because everything feels safer.

(the aim of this poem is to be deliberately fragmented while still making it obvious that the things going on are just happening in my head in a fit of fatigue-induced paranoia - whether or not I've achieved that is up to you, but it was interesting to write a poem in this manner).

Solitude

I was out last night, I made a friend,
A mate at the time, gone in the end,
I’ll be out tonight, I’ll make a friend,
A mate at the time, gone in the end.

Woke with a smile, permanence being,
The smile went away, only dreaming,
Wake with a smile, permanence being,
The smile will leave, always dreaming.

Dug a hole, got lost in it,
Tried to dig up, buried in the pit,
Dig again, get lost in it,
Try to dig up, get buried in the pit.

Youth chased trouble, seeking the corner,
A minute glass alone; solitude - I adored her,
Life fled trouble, fear of the corner,
An hour glass alone; solitude - I despise her.

Sought a hand, gift of a ring,
One of perfection, harpist of the heart-string,
Found a hand, snatching the ring,
Far from perfection, breaking my heart-string.

Writing alone, about being alone,
Skimming old numbers, looking for my own,
Writing alone, about being alone,
All dead and gone, leaving me on my own.

Everybody’s mate, nobody’s friend.
There at the time, gone in the end.

(this poem was based around the first stanza and the last two lines - everything else is just elaboration).

Break

I see you while you walk.
I see him as you talk.
You see me while I stalk.

And in one glance I see us break.

I hear you while you cry.
I hear him as you lie.
You hear me while I sigh.

And in one whisper I hear us break.

I feel your pain while you lied.
I feel his indifference as you cried.
You feel my presence while I hide.

And in one moment I feel us break.

Away from everything we once had.
Away from safety through good and bad.
Away from times alone in that special place.
Away from wiping tears from the other’s face.

And memory by memory we drift.
Each with a sly parting gift.
A silence long widens the rift.

And in nothing at all I know we break away from promises to never let go.

(I think I was listening to 9 Crimes by Damien Rice when writing this - that's just the feel I get from it).

Like a Piano

She plays a game,
Confusing him,
It’s all the same,
He never wins.

He accepts this,
No other choice,
He loves her kiss,
Sound of her voice.

He’s her doormat,
A back-up man,
‘What are you at?’
They say to Fran.

And he’s played like a piano.
Every key knotting him tighter.
And he has nowhere else to go.
He’s too weak to stand and fight her.

She enjoys it,
Dice dominance,
Breaks every bit,
Price prominence.

Syllables’ ease,
Control his thoughts,
Deathly disease,
Drives him to noughts.

No way out now,
Lonely in love,
Get out somehow,
It’s not enough.

And he’s played like a piano.
Every key knotting him tighter.
And he has nowhere else to go.
He’s too weak to stand and fight her.

(this was a reminiscence of an old romance, a realisation of how it was, letting go of what I thought it was).

You Don't, But You Will

You don’t want to meet your heroes for fear they are only human,
You don’t want to push the extra yard for fear you stumble over the edge,
You don’t want to work today for fear of earning the sack,
You don’t want to appear at her house today for fear of breaking your pledge.

You will stay away from your inspirations because they will remain God-like instead,
You will put in half the effort on the sly because nobody cares about what lies ahead,
You will work through the day a nervous wreck because you will be sacked either way,
You will appear at her house today because you just want to get into her bed.

You don’t want to read a Bible for fear of identifying with Jesus Christ,
You don’t want to heed your parents for fear you prove them right,
You don’t want to go to college for fear of being socially ostracised,
You don’t want to live anymore for fear of finding no light.

You will become an Atheist because scepticism is easier than finding faith,
You will ignore your parents because they are out of touch with the modern day,
You will work in shops and fast food places because you ignore the foreign legion always,
You will keep on breathing because even you know you can’t run away.

Uncertain

Outside the people walk to wherever they’re going,
Questions burning with answers unknowing,
They turn left and right to knock on doors,
Crossing streets and crossing chores.

All uncertain of what they’ll find.

She finds a heart beating at twice her speed,
And decides this is the last thing she needs,
He argues with her one more time,JunejJ
And decides this is where he draws the line.

Each uncertain of the others mind.

They greet the news in a fit of fury,
Threatening to bring the judge and jury,
They see what their unison has become,
And wonder what it is they have done.

Both uncertain of when things became so blind.

I look on at the people living every lie,
Laughing at each person as they cry,
I stop and take a look in the mirror,
And become sad at realising it's no clearer.

Uncertain as to when it became so unkind.

Two Candles

They dance under the stars and the moonlight,
Beside a table clad in shimmering gold and glistening glass,
With two candles standing tall, despite melting wax,
Glowing brightly in the cool dusk becoming cloudy as the night approaches;
Her eyes act like a mirror, reflecting his face,
And there he sees his own eyes, pupils dilated,
As he opens up to this person he hardly knows;
That first kiss lasts seconds, but feels like an eternity,
And it carries them up seventeen steps to a red bedspread,
Where their newly discovered dormant passion takes hold,
Amidst an undying love he had felt once before,
But which comes entirely new to her,
Whose plague has prevented past feelings from flourishing;
Gently, lovingly, they come together, two people barely acquainted,
Not in a fit of lust,
Not in searching for a soulless encounter reminiscent of the Red Light,
But each stricken by private grieves not shared by the other,
Sad histories amalgamating to create what should be a promising future;
And then he sees her scar, above the breadth of her left breast,
And he kisses her scar tenderly, wishing he could heal it and the heart that lies beneath,
So they could live in unlimited time, to see the world together,
To get married, to have children and live by the sea,
Gazing forevermore at the unreachable horizon and the revolving sun;
But this is futile, wishes confined to dreams and hopeless harbours,
Her life is doomed to being dominated by pagers and hospital beds,
Too-ing and fro-ing from the home of her own to the home of the ill,
With her weak heart making it impossible to even walk her dog
Without tiring to near collapse;
So, she sleeps in his arms, content in the present to put aside the inevitable,
But he cannot sleep, not while knowing that this wonderful new thing,
This young love on experienced shoulders, wisdom unattainable even through surgery,
Is in the hands of a higher authority than his own;
His eyes strain and fight fatigue as he realises there IS something he can do to save her,
Even though it would mean him losing her forever,
Even though it would mean him meeting the creator of these cruel circumstances
Years before his time;
A beeping sound in the middle of the night awakes her - her pager comes alive,
There is a heart out there for her,
Yet he is gone,
And outside, one candle is extinguished by the falling drops,
But the remaining candle flickers unwaveringly in the rain.

Untitled Document

And I am surrounded by mindless, random people,
When all I want is a conversation with one random, mindless person,
And I really do not want to be here, yet I have to be,
In the hope a friend not mindless will let me listen to them,
And there is sweat dripping from my forehead,
But I fail to see the point.

And I am forced to stand and watch as it unfolds before me,
On the dance floor, trapped by the people,
And I cannot move my shoulders as I see their lips lock,
Dashing dreams with every motion,
And I fight my way from the horrific heartbreaking scene,
Leaving in a frenzy of stomach churning emotion.

And I cannot afford to breath too loudly,
Or they will notice my taking leave is based on half a lie,
And the people in the restaurant outside marvel at the saddest sight they ever saw,
A man in a long black overcoat and tuxedo t-shirt,
And he walks the long road home alone, a lost look on his face,
Head bowed in the rain as he realises his hope was the biggest joke of them all.

And the break dancer with the backwards cap and the old man with withered old wisdom,
Stand sheltered beside the shuttered doors of the pub to share a cigarette,
And a drunk stumbles past, a young man with his life supposedly ahead of him,
Trying to convince me that his money has been stolen,
And he howls a crying plea so transparent, I know I will be the robbed one,
Should I take his five simple steps toward his hidden right hand.

And the old man walking thirty yards ahead holds back a tear,
As I lag behind singing beautiful words out of tune,
And they tell a tragic story with inflections of reality buried in the tone,
So much so the old man cannot distinguish between fact and fiction,
And everything in the air is jumbled with all the varying noises,
Disorientating the old man whose sleep that night would be disturbed by visions of me.

And the person lying asleep on the steps of an abandoned house,
Just wishes I would shut my well-off mouth,
And she resents the fact I can afford to walk this distance home,
Safe in the knowledge that a taxi can get me to a guaranteed bed at any time,
And she thinks me a pretentious so and so, who writes random lines into his mobile phone,
In the hope that simple elaboration will make masterpieces of them.

And I gaze into the dark never ending expanse of Fairview Park,
Seeing a gloriously bitter end to a gloriously bitter night,
And creeping cars frighten me with their shadow casting lights,
Because I fear knowing the people inside the cars and inside the shadows,
And I laugh sadly as a swarm of taxis fly by,
Racing each other to the city’s few fares (fairs).

And I see a silhouetted figure run into the middle of the road,
Before vanishing into nothing before my heavy eyes,
And I am unsure if this was a fatigue induced hallucination,
Or a warning to heed the cramp in my right calf,
And I stare nervously at the place it disappeared as I walk past it,
Convinced it will reappear and take me to the place where shadows sleep.

And a car wash light flickers on and off, when there’s no need for it to be alive at all,
When all washable cars are clean at this inhumane time between morning and wakening,
And the cover of trees shelters me from the prying eyes of hunters of the night,
Who may judge my behaviour and spread lies to those who could harm me,
And a song comes on my MP3 player that incites a rage years old,
That I did not know even existed until this moment of disillusioned clarity.

And I am angry at my father now, but not for the manner of his departure,
Or for the consequences on myself or on my father’s side of the tree,
And my anger breaks, leading to screams of undecipherable, mutilated lyrics,
As I realise with sudden helplessness the effect his death will have on my brothers,
And I resent the timing of him knotting the noose,
As his sons were too young to lose a father figure, and I was too young to become one.

And I notice now a slash on my conscience,
A seven year old bleeding wound.

(I was walking home from town one night, which is a two hour walk or so for me, and I was just typing things that happened, or that I saw or thought, into my phone and saving them as drafts as I went - this is the end result of that process).

Tell

I tell them it will be ok,
When they fall and hurt themselves,
I tell them to keep going and going,
When they just feel like giving up,
I tell them to rise above,
When words are used to play games,
I tell them to repair and re-start,
When they are rebuffed again and again,
I tell them it is never easy,
When they wonder why it is all going wrong,
I tell them goodbye is the hardest part,
When they say ‘dead people can’t hear goodbyes’,
I tell them to keep looking,
When they tempt love and feel rejection,
I tell them all these things,
Because they have no father to do so.

But I have yet to tell myself one of these things.

Room of Tufts

The paint glows in the night,
Illuminating my fault,
She takes my hand and holds on tight,
Searching for a key to my vault;
She has been looking a long time,
Wondering about the boy inside the man,
And there is a belief etched in her face,
That a lifting truth will come from her plan;
All these years my reputation has grown,
How nice, kind and sensitive he is,
Word of mouth building a myth,
A false prophet in our friends’ mist;
Her eyes are aglow now beside Earth’s colours,
A sharp blue contrasting with them all,
Piercing my own blue in complete futility,
Making her leave, deaf to my call;
The key she wants was lost by an ex,
Whose passage I allowed so I could hear her sing,
I lost the one who held the key last,
When she tossed it aside for alcohol and a fling;
And as I see my new fancy walk away forever,
I know there is no hope, even at the end,
And when they all learn what I really am,
I will not have a single friend.

And up in the sky, in my windless room of tufts,
I will see rebukes, rejections, and repeated rebuffs.

Nothing

All around
- feelings fly toward the empty sky.
No sound
- except for voices whispering undying love for one another.
Unfound
- all this remains for I alone atop my mountain.
Breaking mound
- avalanching down as they take cover.

Secret shames
- they bind me to my initially enforced isolation.
Horrid games
- they haunt my dreams both night and day.
Friendly names
- they believe my front and think me better.
Futile aims
- they fail like always, leaving only one more way.

Weather turns
- lashing down as my home crumbles beneath my feet.
It all burns
- as they all look back and yell at me to flee.
Stomach churns
- seeing the end of something so unspectacular.
No concerns
- knowing this is the one chance we have of being free.

Only I
- lying broken amidst the glass and debris.
Unable to cry
- no change to what has gone before.
Here to die
- as they all look to me to fight my solitary wish.
Goodbye lies
- shutting behind me life’s exit door.

Something
- the gift I received from a man I never met.
Nothing
- what I did with the gift I had no choice but to accept.