Given to hours just two alone
I find my way far gone.
I visit a world of alone emptiness.
No comforts just lack of dis-
When I return,
I look at loved ones like strangers.
Forgetting names and myself.
I smile more but care less.
My life of thunder slides away.
In it cracks the sound of nothing.
No futures, no pain, and just those eyes.
They peer soft as fire and hard as time.
If Love is a crown, her smile a kingdom.
from behind her window
she saw the people
passing by, watched
the homeless and
the wounded and
the elderly and felt
not pity, but envy --
they carried their loss
on the outside,
they carried it in ways
that the world could
but her heart was empty
and there was a black hole
where there once was
her scars were invisible,
but equally real
and some days she longed
for a wheelchair
or a missing limb
or anything to justify
the pain of being
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.
She first came to me in my dreams
when I was fifteen or so. Yes,
she was the fire of ecstasy and her first licks
set my world alight.
She's a shape-shifter, sometimes
blonde, sometimes dark,
but always softly naked when she comes.
She often whispers secrets
in the molten nights.
But clumsily, when morning breaks,
I struggle to remember. Accordingly,
I search subterranean rivers
and far off mists and mountains
every writhing, glistening day.
So it won’t surprise you now to know
about where I live and breathe.
I'm under the volcano,
you know, the place of endless fire.
It's where us dreamers and us demons
dance with our desire.
Mike T Minehan
everyone has their own problems
in their own world
in their own mind
everyone has their own beauty too
in their own world
in their own mind
even when they're trying to hide
if you look carefully
that we're all made
our own sea
I feel very hopeless,
I feel the strength oozing out of me,
Pooling up on my bathroom floor- staring up mockingly.
I feel the vibrations of your voice, loud & clear,
They always know where to hit me, just like a spear.
I feel as if I do not belong anywhere I go,
I'm a laughing stock & guess who's the main attraction at this wicked show?
I feel my "loved ones" drifting apart,
I was your rock but reality has crushed me down with a mighty start.
I feel the non believing eyes boring down,
None of you care as deeply as you claim, you'd rather I swallow my misery & hurriedly drown.
I feel you changing your mind about me,
I'm not the person you cleverly made me want to be.
I feel the stomps of your feet though I am thousands of miles far,
You make yourself believe you provided the necessary with a house & a car.
I feel the love I have for you slowly disintegrating,
It's funny how it's your world that is now changing.
I feel myself going crazy, completely insane,
& you're the only one who can carry that blame.
I feel the way this is going to end,
So let me get the blade, my old friend.
Love contemplates creating the end of the world.
Between two poets.
Each with banners unfurled.
The madder it was, the madder it is
Was undeniably so real.
Love crucified lady and gent.
Everything was totally meant.
Blazing soul, dripping in the mid-day sun.
Now waiting impatiently to die.
In broken voice with sodden eyes.
He cried and held and held some more.
Wanted his love not to go.
Back in her domain.
Upon papyrus scroll she wrote.
Okay poetic imagination.
Papyrus just really tatty old piece of paper.
A letter, which became a portent of almost certain doom.
Weighed a tonne inside his head.
So still in bits she sits.
Wishing that she hadn't sent.
The letter led to her demise.
Still she sits and f**king cries.
oh to sit on an apartment balcony,
with my body folded into yours,
as you untangle my knots
and smooth your skin,
the world beneath us
while life for us seems to stop,
our hearts beating simultaneously,
your love all mine,
the city that we live in
my new found house,
but you my darling the home
in which I will for ever grow,
and you my precious baby
promise to never go.
I realized early on that the world and its inhabitants are virtually an unfeeling entity as a whole.
I now know that heartbreak comes in many disguises.
I know a feeling of utter loneliness contented only by the mere knowledge of its commonality.
We write of vaginas and old Morris Minor's,
Of flowers and mud.
Of crosses and blood.
Where angels and devils cross paths in our pens.
Temples and stables.
Fiction and fables.
We lay cards open wide,
splayed over our tables.
Sometimes of crying and lying and dying.
Of love that we found.
That which we have lost.
But we will keep trying.
No denying at all.
We're having a ball.
We pen tales of terror in world's mad distortion.
As the world scrapes nearer to each days abortion.
Write of myth and orange pith.
We scrawl what we scrawl in the hope that it's real.
Or maybe its what we saw in minds eyes.
In a darkened world of what ifs and whys.
One crazy man and one crazier chick.
All we both say hey, hey.
When time she merits.
Whatever fits at that time.
Of maladies and passions sprouts.
In words of others voice,
Never always mother tongue
Hell how we do play.
As to the Gods and Goddesses of poetry
We the two of the twenty do pray.
VVV Glory to poetry no matter what way!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)