Tag Archives: galway

Limited Nights

I keep having dreams about the people I used to meet.
Of the people I loved and the hopes we dreamed.
Never falling in love easily has been a trait of mine,
but last year was a time when it seemed that
everyone I met impaled my mind and twisted a form
upon my fate.

I think I only dream when I’m in love,
and these past few nights, the dreams
have come and stayed, imprinting their
impressions of something once great.

But how those days ended so swift,
and the longing of home to end quick.

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If I may hold you as close as your name

If I may hold you as close
as your name, then in that moment –
perfection realised.

Before I leave, this is my wish,
to dance with you is my final request.
Nothing more, not more just yet,
but to slow-dance with you in an image
I cannot forget.

I don’t know how to dance,
I don’t know much these days,
but I do know that I wish to share this dance with you.

And if you may, if it isn’t too much,
with no objection in mind,
of this imagined touch,
reach out to me on the side –
turn imaginary into the physical divine.

Love and Pints

Your gaze haunts me not
but that doesn’t halt my persistent
gaze as you sit only a foot away.

An empty bar stool
lends itself to an empty heart
by the aid of an empty glass.
Reminding me that I had not eaten at all that day,
and the sudden combination of love and pints
might not have been the best of ideas.

I’ve written you a poem,
do you know? And others
claimed to have liked it,
others that I have never known.

People like my thoughts of you,
but I don’t know if you like the
thought of me –

sitting only a foot away.
Invited sometimes in conversation,
shoving my way in others because
I’ve nothing to lose when all I have are these
thoughts of you.

Down another drink of you –
no, of the stout instead.
Yes, that’s right, another please –
if you might, that is.

But would I rather be drinking in you…?

Ta, why yes you can
borrow my pen because I borrow
the image of you in my mind
too many times to know.
Your voice I’ve sampled more times-

why sure, I’d like some more
if you have some to spare!

You like this song, too?
The band, you say? Oh man,
that’s great because I like them too and
obviously this is a sign that you and I could work
well together.

What’s worse than being in a relationship where
you can’t stand the other’s taste in music? Is it possible
to survive? I can’t imagine.

And you like to read, as well?
Hot damn, holy hell
this level of connection
cannot be real.

‘Sometimes I fantasise, when these streets
are cold and lonely….’

Great band, this. Glad you like them.
(I like them, too.)

Would I like another? I’m not sure,
but my stomach says yes to a question where
my mind’s shadow refuses to answer.

‘And the cars, they burn below me. Don’t these times
fill yours eyes?’

Modern Theology

(Work in Progress)
[The image of loveliness, hide behind.]
All of which, I know, to be a part of your design,
but the power of your eyes
stalls my heart and I reckon,
just perhaps, that
there is a master and meaning to
this life.

Never a moment wasted as I while
away time with you – a newfound
reason to wake up each day even
though I have not woken with you by
my side.

By God, how could I once before complain
of being alive?

Living a shell of a life that was defined
by the numbers of strife that plagued
the very essence of time.
This is the reason why humans dreamt of flight
and answered with steel wings to dominate the sky.
Why compromises are committed to settle
in a town where you swore you’d never die.

This is the reason why I feel like I can live.
This is the reason why happiness doesn’t feel like
an unattainable position in life.

You could not have been an accident,
an impossible statistic created with the stars
and dust of the galaxy, with the trial and error
of animals deceased.

Within your soul is the universe
complete, with the galaxies and
constellations flying past your eyes.

No amount of fantastic accidents could have
formed your arms so long and strong, no
amount of forgotten ancestors could have
created the path of your falling hair,
strands curling in organisation of an orchestra
leaded by a god itself.

You alone are the product
of a thousand ramblings trying
to define the perfect dream
of this human life.

Your lilted laugh
creates the Earth
to revolve the Sun.
Your anger, the ground
to shake.

Modern theology is the name
you spoke as ways of introduction

Have you a stowaway in your heart?

Have you a stowaway in your heart?
A picture on your mind that won’t stop
no matter how often you change your thoughts,
but the train that brings your sight further from your
mind, the one vision that slows down your limited
time and gives you a distinct feeling that this is what
it means to be alive
and be a part of this species that enables the wingless
to fly and the ability to mark our likeness on mountain sides?

Do you have a stowaway housed within
your soul? The kind that doesn’t understand
that you’ve lost in love before and the damage
is still far from being controlled?
You’ve travelled the road before and still have scars
from the branches that itched and welcomed you
after too many wrong turns paired with an
unanswering phone.

Why do you continue to unrobe your
soul when the world throws you
back into the woods naked and abused?
A reminder that the world is cruel; tempting
you to turn that way too, not that it has
shown you that even the winged fall and all
mountains eventually fall?

Tresspass no more.
Forever I am done with the ways that
continuously finds new ways for my soul to break.

Free me from your presence, though dear,
that only batters me from rain and gales.
Leave my ship whilst the damage is slight,
I’m not your captain to welcome you to flight.