Induced

The fatigue entrances the street lights either side
of me so they begin to dance before my weary eyes.
As I walk home alone the moon appears to my right
and begins laughing softly in my ear - an attempt
to distract me from the temptations of the nocturnal night.
I reach the car park and spot a black cat jealously guarding
the surrounding mass of empty concrete that will be
filled within several hours anyway - an effort so utterly futile
that the stunted growth of aging perception seems like
standard stagnation to the eyes of voyeurs, the faceless strangers
who waltz through life completely certain of their “beliefs”
whilst claiming to be faithless by undivine intervention;
and a greenfly lands on my index finger as I write down
all of these insignificant events that, once upon a time,
would have induced the awe of a mesmerised child in me:
Oh, how reality hits when the world stays exactly the same!

The Stimulant

My hands tremble, dropping everything
in their fumbling grip as my body succumbs
to the tremors the metallic silver, blue and red can
failed to mention its contents would provide -
an unnecessary and unexpected fear descends as
my eyes dart this way and that, paranoia gently placing
its firm grip around the steadily increasing
beat of my heart while the customers shop unawares;
the pain of my left wrist extends to the knuckles
of my hand now as the transactions double
with the lengthening of the ceaseless stream of locals
who will simply never have enough of fulfilling their
own needs, especially the convenience store gambler,
a wretched hag out to torment me with her insistence
on awkwardly purchasing her weight in scratch cards.
A brief reprieve is sought in the bathroom, but it is
when I am locked away from the outside world that
the antipodes of my mind reveal themselves to be
the dark expanses I always feared they were, the glassiness
of my eyes reflecting my face back at me in the mirror -
and I am at a loss to explain how such a huge
haggard face came to be confined within the black
recesses of pupils so seemingly innocent (once upon a time).
The twitches begin soon after the bathroom horror
truth, and only a miniscule revelation brought on
from some irrelevant train of thought saves me
from collapsing in pure fright before my colleagues:
Time only passes in working shifts, in the things
we do, both recreational and enforced - it is only
in periods of utter stagnation, of literal nothingness,
that it begins to pass in seconds, minutes, hours,
days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia;
and each iota of such blatant inaction could only be
deemed as ultimately being one thing when that life expires…
Wasted.

(a can of Red Bull made me feel quite uneasy in work the other day)

The Boy

The boy
Was found dead in the safety of his bed.
His lips
Were purple, so the rumours said.
His skin
So grey was callous to touch.
A life
At seventeen that never knew much.

*

Sirens
Shrilled to waken all of Newbrook.
Tears
Fell in sympathy for a home shook.
Gasps
As ambulance men removed a large black sack.
The sun
Disappeared as they stowed it in the back.

*

Naïve
Those who believe that this is so unfair.
Death
Forever chooses victims without a care.
Cloaked
He steals in like a thief in the night.
Lays
A finger upon a soul, then takes flight!

*

And sounds
Of mourning travel the channels from next door.
Reality
Comes crashing down - their boy is no more.

Sleeping Peacefully

The world sleeps while I write what they should think,
They never dream about what they should know.

The world sleeps while I feign calm acceptance,
A fine few see the futility that I see.

***

The world breathes ever so peacefully outside,
Never a stop nor stutter in false hope.

The world breathes with unnerving assurance,
And I question what it is I know and fear.

***

The world lies perfectly still despite its traumas,
Despair and death embraced alongside joy.

The world lies perfectly still despite its tears,
Hurting few as they fall with hail’s ferocity.

***

The world lives happily within its self-made storm,
Because the world knows exactly how it will end.

Tranquil Chagrin

We wake up in the early hours
in Cahirciveen beside the shimmering
silence of the smooth sea’s surface.
Clouds hide the pointed peaks of
the surrounding mountains
as we yawn and stretch to get
ready for a day of stone skipping
and day tripping across the
many layers and strands of this
well known home of peace.

Our plan is borne of childhood
nostalgia and discounted offers,
a cycle to the nearby island of Valentia.
The rent-a-bike chatters happily to us
while we gaze upon our temporary
steeds, battle worn but familiar with
our route; and then we leave, basking in
the freedom only two wheels and a
strong breeze through one’s hair beneath
perfect golden rays of sun can grant.

We reach the ferry to Valentia and cross
to the island where we cycle for over
three hours, lost in the beauty surrounding us.
The uphill struggles burn the thighs so
we stop awhile at the cliffs where we
gaze down at the world’s end, crashing
against the rocks - it erodes the present.
Everybody else shudders at the sight of
such a perilous drop, but I flirt with
the edge and it is then I lose myself in thought.

I see the couples around me, matched up
and made up, happiness personified in a
world where temperance is king and
permanence is a pauper’s false hope.
In my mind’s eye I see replays of love
unrequited taken from my weak grasp.
Isolation roars up in the crashing waves
as the utter frustration coils up inside,
ready to spring from the cliff’s edge
down to the wrong solution below.

They voice their concerns as I eyeball
the jagged stones so elegantly formed,
all oblivious to the whispers in my mind.
Words of worry and the natural sounds
fade away as the footing becomes
treacherous while the whispers grow louder,
coaxing me one step further and
one step further, yanking the invisible
leash around the imaginary
collar on my neck so inevitably noosed.

Never before have I been more
comfortable than when within the grip
of an unbiased wind, pushing and pulling,
giving then taking, and always
threatening no matter which way
it blows the day; and just when I
look set to succumb to the wind,
the whispers and the rocks, I step back,
chagrined by the perpetual tranquillity
I cannot bring myself to ruin.

Lover of a Friend

War of attrition, impossible mission,
Guns set down in forced coalition.

My heart exploding, our love imploding,
Mixed messages forever decoding.

Standing stone still, without any will,
Hours spent gazing from my windowsill.

Cannot comprehend, lover of a friend,
All I ask now is where will it end?

News: two more poems on SpunOut.ie

SpunOut.ie have published two more of my poems, Turquoise and Lover of a Friend. I didn't publish Lover of a Friend on this blog for the simple reason that I actually forgot to, and the fact the site doesn't credit me with writing the poem makes it look like I'm trying to take credit for something I didn't write - but I assure you all now I did actually write it and I have the email from SpunOut.ie crediting me with writing the poem!

So Long

We wander through the streets so old,
Clandestine in our cascade.
It starts to rain as the thunder
Roars its disproval of this charade.

But rather than douse your flames
The water stokes your burning fire,
And as the clouds continue bunching
Together the flames lick ever higher.

Oblivion grows as the abuse increases,
It becomes torrential and ill-thought out,
And a sly remark with raised eyebrows
Was enough to sow the seed of doubt.

Our walk ceases outside an old haunt,
And your eyes bore through mine,
My grip on your hand surprisingly
Slackens as I say “We had our time.”