The man with the beard and/or a hat
(Although it isn't cold)
Walks past the man with none of that
For he is not so bold.
The pretty girl ignores her dates
She's plugged them all away
Together they are separate
Together they're astray.
The man who stares at screens all day
A slave to the machines
His routine route he can't escape
Even in his dreams.
The man with the Windsor knot and suit
Looks down on them like ants
He would crush them under his foot
If God gave him a chance.
The girl who holds her fathers hand
Thinks they all look the same
She sees the man with nothing and
Ask's him for his name.
''I have no name, for I have nought''
The predictable reply
She thought that he had more, no doubt
Than all these passers by.
For the man is the rock that shapes the land
Embedded in the ground
Around him move the grains of sand
That try to tear him down.
The girl, like other pebbles, drown
In the unforgiving sea
Her father dragging her back down
To our society.
Let me explain.
Being a (relative) rookie to this website I feel I have made some errors - namely, in the ecstatic rush of getting followers/likes/etc., I have rushed my recent poems to get them out and about - however looking back I found this unsatisfactory. Frankly, I have been greedy. It was bad for the poems and and improvement for myself as a poet. So, here I show a new poem, a refreshed poet and I am a happy chappy.
If you recall, this is about 'sondering' and those people I see (well, we see) walking in the streets, to their trains or whatever, whom we'll never know about! Most of this was written on a bus, if that helps.
What will become will become of this day and I wake up to find this day's been taken away by the thieves of the night,is this right,
does the night carry on even though it has gone,does the day have no say in its dawning?
It is morning in my head ergo,I am not dead or maybe I could be.
If the night doesn't see me does the day really free me,do I carry the can for the sins of mankind?
I find in illusion a great deal of confusion,a smelting of fantasy,a melting of freedom.
This hit and miss in me really disheartens me and although I keep trying there's something inside me that tells me I'm dying,it's a shame.
There is no fortune or fame for the runners up in a game just the harsh feel of failure,but if the day should return and I am still awake,there's a chance of a part,a starring role in the affairs of my own beating heart,
is it here
do you know
did the day really come and the night really go?
In cahoots with the Pole Star, I map out a route that will make me fortune,the moon makes me a beggar man and the beggars just scowl,
I'll be free soon not out of tune with my peers,not retreating from the advancing of legions of years.
It's all relative or so they say,
and what will become will become of this day.
Zombified and out of breath
Terrified there's nothing left
I ask myself why I feel this way
Miserable day after miserable day
Of course I smile sometimes
But I never forget my crimes
And you are never off of my mind
I wish I would have been more kind
Valium doesn't take away the pain
I try to get your attention, but it's all in vain
Nothing I can do will make this alright
My eyes are never dry and my mind is black as night
It's rotting from the inside out
There is no more clear route
I'm tossing and turning and dying with each try
To correct my wrongs, to erase my lie
You said you'd always be there when the going gets rough
But you had much more than enough
And I cannot honestly blame you
And I'm sorry for turning into who
I said I'd never be, and doing everything to you
I said I'd never do.
It's like a light bulb.
When it's on, it's bright and lights up the room
When it's off, it's dark.
It's so dark.
The thoughts creep through the darkness, they are haunting, they taunt emotions.
They sneak through, and they attack.
It switches, as quick as a snap.
Their off. They're gone and it's out.
I'm trying to fight it, I'm trying to stay focused, trying to break back into brightness.
It's too late, it's gone.
I Can't control myself.
These thoughts are overwhelming
They flow through my head, around my brain.
No direction, just pounding.
A Painful, Powerful Punch.
Like an anchor thrown out of a ship,
weighing me down.
I'm struggling to feel, I can't control myself.
From a flash of a second i'm high, then i'm low. deep in the ground.
the ground is drowning me
Thoughts of hate and despise rush through my mind.
I hate everything, everything i've ever touched, loved or cared about.
My eyes blacken, and i'm gone.
My blood thickens to poison, no escape or exit route.
I have no control,
The words flow out of my mouth so effortlessly,
Small words that destroy worlds.
Words that the devil himself created.
I was made as a Monster, and i will never love again.
Soft rhythmic ticking of a mechanical heart,
You scream for silence,
But she ticks on.
You stand still,
Bathing in the winter sun,
Burning in the blinding snow,
Which way do we go?
Which route do we take.
It's a straight shot to the other side from here,
Formless spirits tempt you with dreams.
Break enough rules,
And they will crown you Eagle King,
Soaring above the common man,
In self appointed wings,
You watch everything,
You look down upon the lesser flightless creatures.
Dust covered unopened books fill up the library,
Once a prospering civilization,
They have been reduced to brainwashed moths,
They go where the light takes them.
Watchful eyes cover the walls of this city,
Every movement tracked,
Every voice heard,
The night offers the promise of freedom,
Climb the wall and escape,
The world is new,
The world is you.
Three hundred miles away,
Your bloody feet leave a trail,
The vultures are waiting.
Feast your eyes on the magic of a new power,
A golden city with candles afloat,
Sand haired women with velvet dresses
Watch you from across the street,
You're a stranger among them,
Prepare your eyes for the fall of life,
They hold a banquet
To celebrate the meeting of the wolf and man,
It starts to pour as they touch.
Unanswered prayers hum in the air,
Suspended on the strings of doubt,
They have been returned to the sender.
Across the firepit,
Six sick savages mock the fiddler,
The music stops, words are exchanged,
And there's blood.
Six shades of red fluid,
Creeping slowly to fuel the fire that stares.
I've had enough.
I retire to my tent and someone's waiting,
I am the eagle king,
Her red hair paints the sheets red,
My thoughts go back to the six shades
I witnessed moments ago.
There's a murderer on the loose,
I didn't ask for this.
Set off into the night
Towards the temples of the East,
I may find my peace,
In a little corner of the marble city,
Bow down to the idols like sheep in the crowd,
The blade comes swiftly,
I felt no pain.
The sacrifice has been made,
There's no more waiting now,
You'll have your answer in the mail tomorrow.
I've been building you this bridge that you refuse to cross.
I'm running low on energy. Maybe I should just take it down,
But I'll leave it up because
You like adventure.
Possibly one day you'll want to take the scenic route
And though it might be longer,
I'm worth it.
I don't know how to feel.
I'll be okay.
Hope is still within' me.
There's just too much to learn how to deal.
It's as if I'm reading the Yellow Wallpaper again.
As she walks around the room, circles, circles.
The paper learning her routine.
My mind taking the same route, man.
Allow me to smile for you;
I'm trying so hard.
And you walked out, holding hands with her.
Don't worry, that was my cue.
Told you I was going to bed.
Both of you.
It's as if my hands were behind my back, bound and tied.
I'm gonna let this week go by.
Music and studies are calling my name.
And you all will see me around, but not for too long.
I'm sorry, it's just all one big lie.
i wonder if you know that the same route
to your house in the daylight is different at
night. the road turns to currents and the
buildings are coral blooming in their lawns,
the sand gardens. the headlights of cars
are tiny fish catching the edges of mirrors
in the water’s light, bleeding white and gold
that fogs the windshield, an ethereal tide of
loss and shadow and muffled music.
i wonder if you know the second time i went
to see you i couldn’t swim fast enough. you
make me feel lightheaded, you turn my lung
over in your palm until it becomes a windpipe,
you smother my piccolo heart until it pierces a
hole through the sky with its sound. i’m spinning
out through my ears for you, rushing to a beat
with drunken feet, wide eyed and slick bird winged
with a panicked pulse. it was still warm and i guess
the weather tricked me into thinking it was a
temperature my kind could survive in, for you.
i wonder if you know when i saw you in the
doorway you looked more brilliant than all
the shimmering roadsigns from my best
unmapped memory, uncharted like your
wildflower stem wrists. i’d like to get lost
in your underwater mind, wade in the
swampy sadness with my fingers
twisted in algae. we’re not that different,
i wish you knew. you are more magnificent
than every hello and goodbye carved
from any mouth, soft or difficult, shy or
unabashed. when you saw me take my
steps your smile curved like a castle
letting down it’s drawbridge. how did
i convince myself that was a good thing?
i knew you were waiting for something.
i knew you were waiting for someone, but
i never would have guessed all you waited
for from me was for me to pass you by,
to get out of your sight so you could watch
the street roll and pull rain from the overhead
lights into ripples that reminded you of a
different time, a better time, a time before me
when you were happy. but the past isn’t always
as good as we remember it, i hope you know
that. i never would’ve said that to your face
because it was too beautiful to deface with
such a tar-slung sentence.
i wish i was a writer.
i wish i could sing.
i wish i could have done something, anything
to be the ribbon sent across the sky flying
like a star stained lighthouse beacon,
one you couldn’t forget, wrapping you
up on the glassy surface, keeping you
afloat in the present, banishing dark
underneath, sweeping away sharp
rocks, shark teeth.
Bright windy November
with the slap of cold sun sending frowns
and the absent rain not beating down
choleric substitutes of alcohol withdrawal
and spatial omissions of home fires stoking
empty remembrances of faded potential and
misplaced amorous regret
Haunted by the lingering smell of the souls of
last night's GUINNESS intake staying swell in
the nostrils which is in reality the gulf breeze blowing
gullshit down the river Liffey giver of life.
...And here I am Dublin pillaged and funded
en route to the hour-rate slog
shiny white commerce bleaching out of
windowsills distracting from rooftop
Chiaroscuro serenading a sky
which old junkie forgotten Sons and Daughters
will die under.
Boots tapping mock-goosestep to the ground
past a girl who speaks on her IPHONE to someone
who presumably not only wants to be seen speaking
to someone on their IPHONE but who also cares enough
to listen as the girl announces to all-and-sundry
human dodging on Bachelors Walk this fateful morn
that "I realised what my problem is Now! People
think i'm saying N when I'm really saying M!"
.....quite an existential crisis you got there, EH DOC?
("This girl's SITUATION belongs in a scenario in the TV show GIRLS which young
Woman Europe-wide have embraced as their spiritual saviour in an era of Consumer
impulse control. By placing the mundane generalities and perceived social failings
interpreted by young American female comediennes as instead representing a means and
self-forgiveness and attempted new-wave soft-core feminist self-celebration young American
actresses are inspiring a new generation of young woman to speak openly in a more in-depth level about everything that usually happens to themselves or some girl they know"-From "The Post-New Male Gaze: Interpreting Critiques of Stereotypically Feminized Pop Culture in Westley Barnes's "Notes on a Rant: The "Took Me Up To Dublin Where It's Famous" Notebook
This is the new white noise.
White Irish Male Critiques perceived socially-announced problems of White Irish Female over White Technology on a white morning in a grey city.
A grey city which subliminally stinks of shame and left-over guilt and of spending too much money on tecno-toys and new-improved nullifying debauchery and even rent during a significantly rough stretch of fiscal years. After a lot of years of white nonsense, really.
But this is where I took myself, and this is what happens once you take yourself here and this is where its famous for it.
Once Monto-based FUNDERLAND for the rich and royal turned over-waxie infested tenement slum district and second city of an industrialised economy waiting for the rest of the world to pay its way.
capital of green and squeaky saviours of the third-world who made some money and forgot about everyone else they used to know back home. Mr Poverty, Mr Humbleness, Mr Sense of Catholic Shame.
Until the rents got too high and they had to move home again.
no matters what it achieves, always putting itself down.
But I can adapt.
I've lived in Rathmines and Portobello before living in either was a
really hip decision to make.
I can find somewhere else before its gets gentrified
(after I find some job that's not worth complaining about
or I eventually leap into becoming to middle-class
to complain about it.)
enough that its a headache living there, too many men wearing the same winter
jackets. Too many packed restaurants and your local actually preparing the tables
in the run-up to the Rugby game on Saturday.
The less of all that, the better for me.
I used to day dream about all of the above, honestly, but I
somehow managed to regain my innocence by living through it.
As for the girl who discovered self-realisation on her (through her?) IPHONE?
She'll be alright. If that's how she starts wading through the floodwaters of relating
herself to the world, misunderstood syllables, name-fails and all, this time in twenty
years, she'll be laughing. Don't worry yourselves, she'll adapt with the times.
Sure, Dublin's famous for it.
Poem a day, day 7
Trying to find my way
In a sea of sound
And a foggy haze
In the blur of life
As it rushes by
My mind is rife
With thoughts of why
How, when, where
And my mind I fear
Is too clogged to know
Clarity is required
I know this is so
And if it could be hired
That route I would go
Shine a light
And clear my haze
Set me right
Before my mind strays
A hundred thoughts at once
From a dozen different 'me's
And I can't hold onto one
I don't know where they lead
One at a time please
One voice, one idea
I beg upon my knees
I need one thought that's clear
Try to make it interesting
It'll need to hold my attention
Being clear but boring
Is not my intention