Tag Archives: song

6 August 2017

I wouldn’t blame you if you
fled away mo duine amhain óg
The stars seem far but
much closer to a home.

The bag’s all packed, by do máthair
agus t-athair, I. The journey’ll
rough, the sky dear will seem
far. But if you must go,
then go on ye should.

With the rocks in the shoes,
the heel gone to hole.
think of maimaí agus dadaí
when all looks far and gone.

Do theaglach can’t much given,
aside from food, hearth, and love.
If I could pack you gold sovereigns,
then I think you’d still ferry far.

From with do fhuil the monster
borne and reared, unstoppable by nature,
and governing law

If I coulda switched it out of you,
by birch or belt all, I wouldn’t
dare change what’s true from nature’s call.

Brought the horse mare your brother,
the call from your sister.
Both missed you already, as soon
as letter lighted shore.

Farewell mo duine amhain óg –
farewell from broken-hearted
loved one, anois anois ye go.

5 February: Musings

oh what changes + escapes
a single week makes.
A single week.
A single week.
A single shot
of heaven divine in a glass of glennfiddach.
Ach, slán. Slán my dear.
Tonight we will depart well and walk
from the reverberating tracks.
I wish you not to look back.
For I will be watching you walk and I couldn’t bear
you to look.

Watching Violin and Viola Play

He touched her left shoulder with
his right arm. And I’m not sure of where
I stand versus where I stood.
Some things advance +
others lag the same old
different speed.

Some things never will change
Some things I never will understand.
The speed of the day ages
the week and unsure
will garner me a grey man.

Violinist + viola
flirt with music close.
Nothing I’ll never know. I write
with ink + mutterers I’ll sing.
Nothing like a musician’s promise
that keeps these vocal poets
away.

He bought me
a drink. He bought her
none at all.

Some things advance +
others lag the same old
different seed.

The violin + viola
swap strings. I’ll call that
euphemism + leave the
reader to think.

I’ll drink his bought drink
for me + wonder how

Some things never will change
some things I never will understand.
The speed of the day ages the
week + this unsure will
garner me away from
the person present will I be.

The violinist was supposed to leave
a time ago. The viola causes him to stay +
together they’ll play
until this bar closes +
forces them away.

But continue I’ll sit and gently
sip his bought drink.
Wondering how old will I be
how grey my hair’ll grow
before I lose this unsure
ground and the lag speeds will
become no more.

16 October (WIP)

Tonight I left the party early
to home _ read _ write that
poetry.

An ode to the poet punk boys
that I’ve looked _ loved
Their songs.
The ones we aged together
with drugs _ dance _ drink
all swilled together but the
taste most fine, my heart’s divine,
is His mouth my tongue entwined.

To my right I stare
to the poet musician; he
sings. That heartbroken-love
The history of sadness
gravels our voices and
grounds all thought.

Or is it just me _
is it not everyone’s thinking?

Those heartbroke songs
the ones we aged together
behind smoke and wine
all swilled together but
the taste most fine, is my heart’s divine,
is His mouth and my tongue entwined.

29 September. Band Plays.

Four musicians sit
at a table.
Two violinists
A banjo player
+ my ol’ gee-tar player.
My fingers smell of cigarettes.
My breath it hints of booze.

The sins + shames of my father are free
for me to choose.

My player he talks of writers.
He plays in open chords + sings
heartbroken songs.

Here. A corner am I. My eyes on ink
+ musician prize.

The crowd around me talks of brew,
ears all blinded of my chosen music’d few.
What is a musician when they do not play?
A person holding a tool of leisure, grace + taste.

Harmonied song the two men play. A voice not
listened but definitely heard by all roomed.
The violin, she sings but not heard like my
eyes’ divine.

Eyes of vision. Eyes of sight. How I wish
to hold you tonight.

Three musicians sit at a table. My musician
he stands + looks around. What he thinks.

What I know. The Eternal Difference
Away he goes out through the front door.
Dissolved in smoke + song of
London’s All.

Four musicians at a table.
A rogue man to have joined.
Accordion, squeezing in
+ out in rhythmed,
musician’s time.

My Eyes Divine
still outside.
In a Corner
Here I still am.
Inked fingers
with still haunted
demon’s drink breath.

To ask to be the
cigarette my Divine
lips touch is too
much – even for
a Shakespearian Hamlet
as I.
Instead contented
I will only hope to
forever be by his side.

To my Left he’s now
appeared. By definition is
he to my side.

Cruel Fate. You knew
what I meant. Instead
of 3 feet divided did I
wish to feel his hurried
breath.

Up + down +
Up again.

Five musicians sit.

And gazing alone am I.
Divided by a Diagonal line
am I to my Eyes Divine.
What he wonders +
What I mind.
Difference divided behind
Different-coloured Eyes.

Five musicians now
sit + play.
No words are spoken
but oh what minds might say.