In the near-quietness of morning,
the hum of distant traffic,
a dog's occasional bark,
birdsong, car doors closing.
I lie awake, eyes closed,
absorbing the noises,
and out of next to nothing
a poet starts composing.
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Monday, 30 January 2012
THESAURUS
I reach
for the thesaurus,
thumb the pages
in vain,
trying to write
about love,
but lost for words
again.
for the thesaurus,
thumb the pages
in vain,
trying to write
about love,
but lost for words
again.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
THE LOOK OF LOVE
Why don't you look at me
the way that Ingrid Bergman
looked at Humphrey Bogart?
She didn't have to
say a word,
not a word........
the way that Ingrid Bergman
looked at Humphrey Bogart?
She didn't have to
say a word,
not a word........
Friday, 27 January 2012
Thursday, 26 January 2012
MOVIE MADNESS
Pardonnez moi
pardonnez vous
but what time is
Gerard Depar due?
*
Cecil B DeMille
made big picture shows,
but did 'e pic his nose?
*
Running round hither and thither,
does your googie wither?
*
Timber yard sign
hangs above the clock:
"Be snoopy,
come and see our wood stock."
*
Willem da friend
or Willem Dafoe?
*
Who'd go west
like he should?
Clint East would.
pardonnez vous
but what time is
Gerard Depar due?
*
Cecil B DeMille
made big picture shows,
but did 'e pic his nose?
*
Running round hither and thither,
does your googie wither?
*
Timber yard sign
hangs above the clock:
"Be snoopy,
come and see our wood stock."
*
Willem da friend
or Willem Dafoe?
*
Who'd go west
like he should?
Clint East would.
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
FRUSTRATIONS
Sometimes you piss into the wind
and fart against thunder,
become the bird on the ladder,
the rat on the treadmill,
searching for the pinpoint
where reality meets the dream,
as obstructions and craters
on your path always seem
to divert you left and right,
to cause you to trip and fall,
to test you with frustrations
to challenge your perseverance,
to push you to the edge of the abyss
offering you the devil's choice
of eeny-meeny swim or drown.
But at the crunch hang on to the truth
that the bastards will never grind you down.
and fart against thunder,
become the bird on the ladder,
the rat on the treadmill,
searching for the pinpoint
where reality meets the dream,
as obstructions and craters
on your path always seem
to divert you left and right,
to cause you to trip and fall,
to test you with frustrations
to challenge your perseverance,
to push you to the edge of the abyss
offering you the devil's choice
of eeny-meeny swim or drown.
But at the crunch hang on to the truth
that the bastards will never grind you down.
Monday, 23 January 2012
TO RETURN
Life moves on
towards the inevitable end
but I console myself
that with so much yet to see,
so much to learn, so little time
as I watch life's candle burn,
I will find a way to come back,
for with much still to do,
I will have to return.
towards the inevitable end
but I console myself
that with so much yet to see,
so much to learn, so little time
as I watch life's candle burn,
I will find a way to come back,
for with much still to do,
I will have to return.
Sunday, 22 January 2012
NOT AS EASEL AS IT LOOKS
I was never too comfortable
with art classes at school,
not very good at straight lines
or mixing reds, yellows and blues,
ending up with crooked edges
and mucky greens and browns,
a world away from Bohemia,
from garrets in treelined boulevards,
no admirers to fawn and gush
at my incompetence with palette and brush.
with art classes at school,
not very good at straight lines
or mixing reds, yellows and blues,
ending up with crooked edges
and mucky greens and browns,
a world away from Bohemia,
from garrets in treelined boulevards,
no admirers to fawn and gush
at my incompetence with palette and brush.
Saturday, 21 January 2012
THE BIG QUESTION
I withdraw to the tunnel
at the end of the light
having found the answer
to "the big question"
and I return wiser but more cautious.
at the end of the light
having found the answer
to "the big question"
and I return wiser but more cautious.
Make your own journey,
embark on your own quest,
if you want to know what I know.
It was worth it for me
and the only way you will know
if it is worth it for you
is for you too to get up and go.
Friday, 20 January 2012
BEDSIT
This was it,
his bedsit,
his bowl of used Bic razors
donated by friends,
his one pot,
one pan,
kettle and mug,
his belongings that would fill
half a pillowcase,
his last years in this eight by ten room,
a testimony to his miserable life,
punishment by God
for abandoning seven kids
and his wife.
his bedsit,
his bowl of used Bic razors
donated by friends,
his one pot,
one pan,
kettle and mug,
his belongings that would fill
half a pillowcase,
his last years in this eight by ten room,
a testimony to his miserable life,
punishment by God
for abandoning seven kids
and his wife.
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
FOREVER
In the distance,
more distance.
In the darkness,
more darkness.
In the silence,
more silence.
The poet searches,
trying to be wise and clever,
unaccepting of any notion
of forever.
more distance.
In the darkness,
more darkness.
In the silence,
more silence.
The poet searches,
trying to be wise and clever,
unaccepting of any notion
of forever.
Monday, 16 January 2012
THE LONGER I LIVE
The longer I live
the more I see,
the more I hear,
the more I smell,
the more I taste,
the more I feel,
the more I know,
senses and brain alert,
experience and expertise grow,
confidence as sure as the beats of my heart,
so, then, why the helplessness
watching humanity fall apart?
the more I see,
the more I hear,
the more I smell,
the more I taste,
the more I feel,
the more I know,
senses and brain alert,
experience and expertise grow,
confidence as sure as the beats of my heart,
so, then, why the helplessness
watching humanity fall apart?
Sunday, 15 January 2012
POSSESSIONS
All he owned was a cow,
a dog and a bible.
The hillside was his bedroom,
his lounge, kitchen and garden.
His roof was the sky,
his light the sun, moon and stars.
He made a mental note
to ring the Halifax
about his mortgage application.
Saturday, 14 January 2012
RITA
Well,
at about twelve thirty today,
she was buried beneath
the Milltown clay,
release, perfect release,
peace, perfect peace,
for the best,
rest,
a well deserved rest.
at about twelve thirty today,
she was buried beneath
the Milltown clay,
release, perfect release,
peace, perfect peace,
for the best,
rest,
a well deserved rest.
Friday, 13 January 2012
ROMANTIC DATE
The moment
between clink
and drink
eyes locked
no blink
both think:
"The night is young............"
between clink
and drink
eyes locked
no blink
both think:
"The night is young............"
LITTLE JOE
It is no longer there but I can see the gnarled tree stump
that used to be a horse in a cowboy and indian game,
occupying a corner of the infant school playground.
At my turn, I was always Little Joe of Bonanza fame.
The mixing of the childish and the creative produced
something of what I am today. The uneven, rough
knobbly, insect-ridden bark left ragged marks on my skin,
and in my head, clear memories, the important childhood stuff.
that used to be a horse in a cowboy and indian game,
occupying a corner of the infant school playground.
At my turn, I was always Little Joe of Bonanza fame.
The mixing of the childish and the creative produced
something of what I am today. The uneven, rough
knobbly, insect-ridden bark left ragged marks on my skin,
and in my head, clear memories, the important childhood stuff.
Thursday, 12 January 2012
TWO DOTS OF SNUFF
Granny would put two dots
of snuff on her left-hand thumb,
hankie ready in her right hand,
and with two rapid sniffs,
the brown dust disappeared,
inhaled, a satisfying fix
followed by a hefty nose blow.
In the years after World War Two,
when a generation had had enough,
people were entitled to enjoyment
and for Rachel, my Granny Millar,
it was two occasional dots of snuff.
of snuff on her left-hand thumb,
hankie ready in her right hand,
and with two rapid sniffs,
the brown dust disappeared,
inhaled, a satisfying fix
followed by a hefty nose blow.
In the years after World War Two,
when a generation had had enough,
people were entitled to enjoyment
and for Rachel, my Granny Millar,
it was two occasional dots of snuff.
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
DOG GRRR HELL
As the sunlight warmed his kennel
on a lovely summer’s dawn,
the dog awoke, stretched and scratched
and gave a mighty yawn.
But the peaceful air was shattered
at the moment of attack,
he expected daylong trouble
when his marrowbone bit back.
Monday, 9 January 2012
THE LIFE & POETRY OF HAMISH SHEANEY - AMAZON KINDLE @ £0.96
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"Hamish Sheaney was born on 1 April 1940, the middle child in a family of nineteen kids. His father was a farmer and his mother was exhausted. The family farm was situated on the Turfymurph Road, three miles from Turfymurph village on the way to wherever from whichever way you came............."
The short, humorous book - The Life & Poetry of Hamish Sheaney" - is available for download at Amazon Kindle for £0.96 http://tinyurl.com/8xs3fug
"Hamish Sheaney was born on 1 April 1940, the middle child in a family of nineteen kids. His father was a farmer and his mother was exhausted. The family farm was situated on the Turfymurph Road, three miles from Turfymurph village on the way to wherever from whichever way you came............."
Sunday, 8 January 2012
SUNSETS
If only
I had collected
all of the sunsets
to marvel at their redness glow,
to enjoy them now
when their magical light
would ease the gloom
of dark moments.
Regrets
outweighed
by sunsets.
I had collected
all of the sunsets
to marvel at their redness glow,
to enjoy them now
when their magical light
would ease the gloom
of dark moments.
Regrets
outweighed
by sunsets.
Saturday, 7 January 2012
TWO COFFINS
1974
I remember the weight of the wood and the body in the box
when it was my turn to be a carrier, front left,
and a gasp as the coffin rested on my shoulder,
heavy but not as heavy as the burden of grieving,
a brother's short life, too soon to be leaving.
2011
First coffin lift in thirty-seven years, same weight,
this time back right, similar uncontrollable gasp,
a cutting pain deep into my bones, just as heavy,
but not as heavy as the heartache, the burden of grieving,
a mother's long life, too soon to be leaving.
I remember the weight of the wood and the body in the box
when it was my turn to be a carrier, front left,
and a gasp as the coffin rested on my shoulder,
heavy but not as heavy as the burden of grieving,
a brother's short life, too soon to be leaving.
2011
First coffin lift in thirty-seven years, same weight,
this time back right, similar uncontrollable gasp,
a cutting pain deep into my bones, just as heavy,
but not as heavy as the heartache, the burden of grieving,
a mother's long life, too soon to be leaving.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
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