Red Moon

Conversation carries us along the
Dark backroads of Portmarnock, and with no
Lights to guide us home we jog the whole way,
Not in fear but lost in freedom only
Solitude can bring. A glance to our left
Shows a big red orb hanging in the sky,
The moon watching tenderly over us
In its unusual shade; a glance to
Our right shows a field with once endless
Expanse now slowly dwindling as
Empty apartments creep closer to these
Narrow, pathless roads. Yet the changing scene
Does not bother us as we run, for in
These moments the tedious, painful words
We exchanged about a past resting in
Futility and a future that could
Be just the same fall away. We run in
A different time, seeing the pitch where we
Grew up together, defender and goal-
Keeper, protecting the honour of a
Team that never had one to begin with.
We recall the old man with his Sunday
Finest and his cigarette addiction,
Memory lapses, temper tantrums and
Unbelievable passion for a game
That eventually attacked his heart,
Ending their love affair. The liberty
Of youth on this nostalgia run takes us
All the way to Donaghmede, where, once the
Running ceases, all the complications
Of the present catch up to us again,
And you vomit, mostly from drunkenness,
But partly in disgust, as the truth that
Those days are over hits again under
The glare of the ever watchful red moon,
Bloody with pity for our blissful plight.


(running home along isolated and empty backroads in the dark with a friend brings a freedom unattainable elsewhere - but it was only a brief reprieve as you cannot outrun life)

Chamber

I have a chance to die here, all alone,
Overcrowded beach of faceless strangers,
But I run away, leaving my friends to
Die there instead, solving nothing at all.
In reality, the isolation
Chamber I constructed for you, that we
Joked about, was made really for me
To hide behind, so I could watch the joy
Of your life without disrupting its free
Chaos filled essence, conflicting and cold.
Your eyes in which I deign to lose myself
Are set soulfully on another man,
Invisible and imaginary,
Whom I do not know, yet envy still.
Our shared kiss is dead in the annals of
History, forgotten by you because
It was a footnote in your weekly game
Of who next? It yellows within my mind,
Tearing at the edges as I fight to
Grasp that feeling of meaning something to
Somebody once more, when the truth is
I never did, because they all run away,
Empty words floundering in fear behind.
My time is spent chasing indifferent
Shadows daily and nightly, waiting to
Catch one and never let it go, because
The order attained in books and films will
Finally be mine when I do, even
Though the stories written for amusement
And entertainment are written only
To cash in on manipulation.
They are not real and they never will be,
So this hope to achieve the scene-set end,
Of taking you on the beach as the waves
Whisper, telling us that the world has stopped
Spinning, is futile, because this chamber
Is designed to prevent, not to create.


(the last poem ever to go on Bebo).

Choiceless Ceremony

Sitting at the choiceless ceremony

In complete indifference to the girl

Attempting to prise her way into my

Cold embrace, as it has been for so long.

You are all dolled-up with no one to kiss,

Nobody to hold your hand as my sight

Rests firmly on a former flame that was

Never lit because of the pretension

That time has helped me come to loath so much.

Tonight is the culmination of it

All, where the awards are given to

The worthy, and the months, days, minutes

And seconds wasted finally earn

Some form of recognition from their pears.

And yet you only have eyes for me while

Mine are set across our table at the

Beautiful woman in the cream dress, with

Those eyes that just light up whenever she

Laughs, with her golden skin so soft to touch.

And she sits there, blissfully unaware

Of the conundrum her grace has caused me,

The doubts her previous confession still

Raise in my mind, as I always wonder

If she really meant what she said before

On a cold September night long ago.

And what makes this whole thing tragic is that

You brought me here under false pretences,

Perhaps believing that we may share a

Kiss under the star light of this venue,

The Mansion House, a marble marvel lost

In this decaying city of false hopes.

And the irony is I posses no 

Feeling for you, and she has no feelings

For me; we three are just chasing shadows,

Conforming to this game they all play in

Their confines of calls and chat, just waiting

To be broken again, as you cannot

Prevent the inevitable ending

Naivety brings when you have no choice.

Golden

Desperate defeat left quickly behind

With the chance to dance on deity’s designed,

Shaped in September of a year now lost,

Fumbled through fingers as chores crossed.

I wipe away lashes, disillusioned tears,

Your disappointment and your future fears,

Realisation hits, you slowly start to smile,

No more excuses or drunken denial.

Surrounding circumstance is then ignored,

Past idleness forgotten by the bored,

Focus becomes present, to you and me,

The end of an era sets us both free.

Beauty resonates in your smooth cream dress,

In your golden skin I love to caress,

And it is up, not down, I am staring,

The lights in your eyes, the sign of caring.

And even when you can stand no more,

Alcohol weighing you down to the floor,

We sit in silence, your eyes shut tight,

And we hold hands amidst the passing night.

Your head resting gently upon my hand, 

While I stroke softly every silk strand,

And by the end I walk you to your door,

Waving goodbye to your kiss once more.

Shaken Hero

I see all the belief you have in me checked

And re-checked, again and again, doubtless,

Without a single clouded thought crossing

Your mind so sure of my capabilities.

Then, I see you look into a mirror, and you

Waver, unable to meet your own gaze

Because what you see within your eyes

Is a soul so restless it feels the need to act

Without rationale whenever it is pinned down.

Flight is always easier than confronting

The issues at hand, and flight is always

Your chosen way, one flight after the other,

Until the ash trail you leave behind from those

Cigarettes smoked in stress leads you back to

The beginning again, and you realise you have

Been running in futility from problems that were

Never irresolvable, just overbearing.

Claims of misplaced faith fall onto my deaf ears

Because the only faith that has been mislaid

Is your own in yourself, dropped somewhere 

Along a rocky road that has shaken you

Time after time, rattling your nerve,

Until you become certain that every little thing you say,

Every little thought you think, and every single

Choice you make is the wrong one that sends the world

Crashing down around your ears.

And I see, then, that you need to be told something

That can help restore your belief in yourself,

And your love for those around you

And for this life we have to live.

That one thing is this and I beg you to heed the words:

My love for you is unwavering

Because you are my goddamn hero,

Shaken, but not broken.