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.