Tag Archives: Chicago

7 December 2016

The light coloured wind
softens the blow against body
meeting world.

To the right is Chicago in springtime,
with Canadian salutations sending
their floral musk across the Michigan,
its scent changing and collecting
the pollution it meets along its way.

To the left
are the rises and falls
that separate Northern England
from Alba true.

In either direction
the trains howl and slowly
submit to the power of
man against machine.

Location is relative.

Christmas tree lights
and music nice –
what is earthly death
here is
Arctic revival
in another world,
another time.

To decrease the distance between us two to


I am willing this bus to

decrease the distance between us two
to a much more reasonable few feet,
with two feet running to decrease the feet
to mere inches,
with four arms to annul the distance all together.

But I am still here, miles away
wishing to an unacting God to bring me to you.
To obliterate the traffic,
not to kill them,
but to misplace them all for just a minute or two
until I am right here with you

Can you hear me? These are my yells
for a union of two bodies to crash into one
just as when I discovered my love for you.

Can you hear me? Because I would
rather like it if I knew I was not yelling

But I am still here, stationary
on a sometimes moving rectangle
wishing that I could sprint the distance,
but the distance is much too far for
these two feet and two arms.

Oh how I’d like to make these pair of twos
into a creation of four – waltzing
and reeling together into a jig of slowed down time.

Just as this bus slows to allow
a fellow off, but can they too not
hear my incessant screams that beg you to

Here I am. Can you hear me
breathing and fighting time
with the writing of my hand?

Where are you?
Are you yelling, too?

These streets are a tangle of knots.
I’d rather us be the streets that tie so easily

Quiet my heart to the yelling
of my head. Faster!
Shift me to him, I scream.
Bring him to me, I beg you
all. Shift away, for just a minute or two
so that he and I might become

Rugby and Oscars

What is the point of me giving you my name, information, history, and heart if it only ends in defeat?
What if we continue to crash into love, we will only bruise our hearts farther.
Adding stories through scars.
What if you don’t hope as I do?

But it can’t have been just me,
it wasn’t only me
that saw you looking at me more times than I looked at you.

The two men sitting beside me saw it, too.

The way you talked to me more than the others.
How you had given me a new name, one that only you could use.
How our words flew in mock-battle with no victor in mind.

How you talked about films because you knew I liked them.
How I talked of rugby because I knew you liked them.
How I was called the Star of the County Down, and you agreed.

‘Do you like him?’ a man asked.
‘Of course I do,’ my answer, without a thought.

But what’s the point?
I shall go to England. You will go to Galway.
What’s the point of wasting my time by enjoying your company?

For while we smile often together, it will only end sooner than we imagine.

Addressed to Galway


To my Galway boy,
how I would love to write you poetry,
but the need has not yet risen.
I’m sorry for the loss, if the loss is what you’re feeling.


What do they call you from Galway town?
What is it you’re escaping from?


Fate, deceit, broken-hearted
You must have left behind something.


My boy from Galway town, so pretty.
Proud and tall, just like the songs you sung.
How has your island served you wrong?


My Galway man, my Irish dear,
Blue eyes so fair and strong.
Looking at you creates forever, but know my forever won’t be long.


Ask me not for words
ask me not for verse.
Forgive me please, my wordless heart.


What do they call you from Galway town?
I confess I’ve never been.
Take me along your troubles –
introduce me somewhere to begin.

Written on a Paper Napkin (Or, Untitled Poem II)

After the moment ends and the silence has blackened the ears of the living;

After the creation of eternity from the multitude of moments locking into place;

After the forever after ends and all that remains is a period to mark the spot

of where young dreams used to lie tight in bed at night.

Never know after the after more,

to deserted cafes and revolution dreams.

To a time where time felt fine and where you knew what I meant.

To a time where I wasn’t afraid of what I dreamt.

Back to a place where I was what I knew

and back to a place where life seemed true.