Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Renault Mégane

All day and all night long
And everywhere I go
I am stalked and haunted
By these cursed black dogs,
These elegant Gallic hounds,

That always hunt alone
Or sit and wait in yards or drive-ways
Or the curb-side facing my front door,
Or over-take me on the roads,
Their bright eyes glistening in the rain,

And always seem to be silent,
Just waiting, watching, weighing on me,
A constant reminder of a dark Ice Queen,
The goddess from the black hillside who
Drives them on and would be their master.

Monday, October 3, 2016

For Kitty, the best cat in the world

The thing I love the most in all the world
Besides myself, which goes without saying,
Is the cat, Kitty, the pet and princess
Of all that she surveys, to whom slaying
Of pygmy shrews and mice is merely sport,
Who when young delighted us in playing
With bottle caps, laces, her own shadow,
Who when young would sharpen her claws laying
In our warmth on the couch, fingers bloodied
And arms scratched and the furniture paying
For her leaps and climbs and agility
And all the progress she keeps displaying,

I love her over all and that is that,
This murderous, fluffy, gorgeous little cat.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Before I Hugged The Birthday Girl

Sculpted by a love that lingers
Long after the romance was over.

The corner seat shadows upstairs in a
Popular Dublin public house were not
The place for aping Rodin's Thinker with
Hunched shoulders and clenched right fist underneath

My chin, jawline tense and gaze averted
To avoid the chance of conversation
With the congregation of revelers,

Yet there I sat and pondered and tried to
Make the most of the moments of silence
To start to sober up, but still I let
Myself recall the regrets of the past
Decade and reminisced, stony, solemn faced,
Tried to re-imagine the better times
And fixate first on those for a brief smile,

But with a deep and gentle sigh came back
The memories of the less than happy days,
The errors and the flaws and the many
Reasons why I've come to leave my lovers
Or, more often, they've left me with passion
Faded and spells broken, each new failure
Resigning me again to solitude,

Exhausted and romantically jaded,
All emotions and exaggeration,
Getting drunker on bittersweet nostalgia
Than on any cold and dark wet glass filled
And drained again of stout or porter and
Too attached to names and places like a
Child clinging to his favourite blanket.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Gardens

I neglected the gardens from the end
Of the autumn and all throughout winter,
Anticipating the bright weather that
Would come with the spring and the dry days when
Pruning, clipping, cutting would be easy,
All simple problems, nothing too taxing,

But when the front lawn was gilded by a
Glorious border of daffodils the
Grass almost engulfed them and stray cats could
Stalk the spaces between the walls, and the
Face of the house became less welcoming
Despite the rows of bright yellow beacons,

And the back garden too became gloomy,
The rain almost never ceasing as the
Months drifted by and winter extended
Its stay, at first, before work began to
Get in the way, or games, or some other
Distractions, until some brief bright spells cast

Encouragement on the grass to overwhelm
And early in the summer the little
Apple tree blossomed its beautiful white
Petals and the heart of the garden bloomed
A blue sea of perfect forget-me-nots
And I wished that you might come to see them,

And maybe hold my hand and smile or sigh,
But I could wish on ev'ry one of the
Thousand cloudy dandelions and it would
Make no difference, make no change at all,
Because where I fixate on those beauties
That triumphed where they should have been cut down,

That rose to fight through dark months and torrents
Of pounding rain and hail and thunder storms,
I know that you would focus on the weeds,
The thistles that sprang up and took over
And choked everything around our hearts
While I neglected not just the gardens

But first myself and then you and then the
Things we shared with one another, places
We planned to visit, trips we meant to make.
I'll cut the grass and start again with fresh
Green manicured lawns, and fading visions
Of a patch of beautiful forget-me-nots.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

The Words Ran Out

Tonight it hits me hard,
Realising how much
Spare time and silence
I will have to bear
Without your voice
Laughing in my ear,

Remembering how
We would have to pause
And awkwardly excuse
One or the other of us
From the conversation
For a call of nature,

Reminiscing over
Nights when it seemed
The words would never
Run out and we'd delay
Taking much needed sleep
With news to share,

Reflecting on moments
Of mischief when distance
Meant safety from your
Tickling fingers and
In the same instance
Feeling much too far

Away from your caress,
It hits me hard tonight
Recalling all of this,
It hits me hard to
Recollect such happiness
And know there'll be no more.

Monday, February 22, 2016

Photo Frames and Broken Hearts

Because I cannot speak to you tonight,
And because this is most likely just the
First of many such sad nights, instead I
Finally now make the time to write the
Poem that you wished for all that time and
Yet is certainly the poem you wished would
Never come, the one we never should have
Had to share and one that now we might not
Get to share at all with contact cut and
Goodbyes and farewells sobbed out through many
Tears, the drops of the past two years. Almost.
Twenty four hours short of two whole years,
This funeral song for twenty four months
Of shared days and nights and precious few fights.

Because I went to speak with you tonight
And because so much was said that needed
To be said and those words now have led to
This sad plight, this day that should have been the
First of our third turn to dance and dine and
Smile away this journey around the sun,
Instead I try to bring back to my mind
The frost that lingered in an abbey's shadow,
The green glow of spot lights on a stage,
The snow cascading on the gardens of a
Castle hotel, dandelions and sunburn
Over southern cliffs, bold adventures in
Secluded and romantic ruins of
Ancient walls and hills in two provinces.

Because it is unlikely that we'll right
Whatever wrong or wrongs which set alight
The pyre that engulfs the hope for more
And leaves behind these embers of delights
And memories of places and of pets
And recipes and costumes, cars and beds,
The flights, the train and bus to see the circus,
The comfort of conversing every night,
Because this is most likely just the first
Of many nights when I no longer can
Make contact and proclaim that I love you,
Instead, as you so quickly recognised,
I now embrace this bitter irony
And pour my heart out just a bit too late
To save what once was one, once you and me.