stephen-mc-auliffe - Hello Poetry

I could not feel my feet again I was lost again within my pain But I had a feeling in my aching bones That I wasn’t feeling this alone Then a homeless guy with sodden feet Saw an angel loosed on Oxford Street And the drugged, the dimmed, those shorn of hope As one the billy-goats awoke And suddenly the world it flowered And everyone became empowered Everyone Became empowered

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Aug 25, 2018

Aug 25, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC

ANGEL STREET

I could not feel my feet again I was lost again within my pain But I had a feeling in my aching bones That I wasn’t feeling this alone Then a homeless guy with sodden feet Saw an angel loosed on Oxford Street And the drugged, the dimmed, those shorn of hope As one the billy-goats awoke And suddenly the world it flowered And everyone became empowered Everyone Became empowered

12

You think you can appease or please the gods who placed you in these chains? These chains were forged from years of work So why suppose you can merely shake and **** these mental chains to earth like dirt? In prison cells you train your mind To leave the walls and bars behind In spite of tablets etched in law And dictates of those gods of yore Through heaven’s gate to evermore The free man In his bliss does soar.

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Aug 14, 2018

Aug 14, 2018 at 5:58 AM UTC

THE FREE MAN IN HIS BLISS

You think you can appease or please the gods who placed you in these chains? These chains were forged from years of work So why suppose you can merely shake and **** these mental chains to earth like dirt? In prison cells you train your mind To leave the walls and bars behind In spite of tablets etched in law And dictates of those gods of yore Through heaven’s gate to evermore The free man In his bliss does soar.

11

Terror-struck now, they bow their heads and shed their tans like snake-skin suits As the inevitable full extent of the reckoning unfolds And the scrolls are unrolled before their disbelieving eyes These self-professed Titans now turn to pallid ghosts As the great myth of invincibility Shatters like a champagne flute - blasted by a soprano’s high note And they who grew fat upon the flesh of others Are pulled down into dripping caves and dragged through labyrinthine tunnels Meanwhile, far away from off-shore maritime law, the true nobility For so long held in grim captivity - -They, driven by love, truth and empathy Rise and fly like sprung angels.

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Jul 22, 2018

Jul 22, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC

THE RECKONING

Terror-struck now, they bow their heads and shed their tans like snake-skin suits As the inevitable full extent of the reckoning unfolds And the scrolls are unrolled before their disbelieving eyes These self-professed Titans now turn to pallid ghosts As the great myth of invincibility Shatters like a champagne flute - blasted by a soprano’s high note And they who grew fat upon the flesh of others Are pulled down into dripping caves and dragged through labyrinthine tunnels Meanwhile, far away from off-shore maritime law, the true nobility For so long held in grim captivity - -They, driven by love, truth and empathy Rise and fly like sprung angels.

12

Love, Rain down upon the massed ranks of poison-tipped umbrellas All pointed toward the sky Now break the fearful canopy and raise their sleepy eyes Love, raise their sleep-filled eyes

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Jul 8, 2018

Jul 8, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC

LOVE, RAISE THEIR EYES

Love, Rain down upon the massed ranks of poison-tipped umbrellas All pointed toward the sky Now break the fearful canopy and raise their sleepy eyes Love, raise their sleep-filled eyes

5

Aching, breaking 20,000 leagues beneath the sea, you now find yourself shaking. And the pain, it is buried so very deep You think you could glimpse the opening to Hades. So why not stop to ponder what became of all that childhood wonder And before you finally go under, recall the manifold wonders That the child within you glimpsed with each unique unfolding day – It was knocked from you, shaken out of you: The hard ruler thwacked upon the desk; the calloused hand that cuffed your head … all of it inevitably led To A late card A lanyard A back yard … A graveyard But it doesn’t have to be this way my sleeping brave That child who dreamt of wonders never truly went away He’s been sat in extended detention staring out upon the rain all these blasted, wasted days Smiling defiantly, waiting patiently for this, the day that you inevitably awake again -So awake again And acknowledge the dull convention that held your child in suspended animation All these very many years -recall the tailored hopes and fears that steered you upon this path of aspiration All that vile accumulation of stifling convention Now let those dimly-lit and narrow days just simply wilt and fall away Lay down your daily paper and incline your face up towards the sun And allow the child to mingle with the man you have become. Be a child once more my son And you may rise with the grace of a brace of golden angels once again. Spiralling; entwining; in the endless space between the margins. Dipping and swooping, joyously, carelessly loop-the-looping Through skies and heavens never ending You feel the glory of your golden child for evermore ascending

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May 5, 2018

May 5, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC

THE CHILD OF EVERMORE

Aching, breaking 20,000 leagues beneath the sea, you now find yourself shaking. And the pain, it is buried so very deep You think you could glimpse the opening to Hades. So why not stop to ponder what became of all that childhood wonder And before you finally go under, recall the manifold wonders That the child within you glimpsed with each unique unfolding day – It was knocked from you, shaken out of you: The hard ruler thwacked upon the desk; the calloused hand that cuffed your head … all of it inevitably led To A late card A lanyard A back yard … A graveyard But it doesn’t have to be this way my sleeping brave That child who dreamt of wonders never truly went away He’s been sat in extended detention staring out upon the rain all these blasted, wasted days Smiling defiantly, waiting patiently for this, the day that you inevitably awake again -So awake again And acknowledge the dull convention that held your child in suspended animation All these very many years -recall the tailored hopes and fears that steered you upon this path of aspiration All that vile accumulation of stifling convention Now let those dimly-lit and narrow days just simply wilt and fall away Lay down your daily paper and incline your face up towards the sun And allow the child to mingle with the man you have become. Be a child once more my son And you may rise with the grace of a brace of golden angels once again. Spiralling; entwining; in the endless space between the margins. Dipping and swooping, joyously, carelessly loop-the-looping Through skies and heavens never ending You feel the glory of your golden child for evermore ascending

32

She left in the morning with just a burlap sack She sat upon the bus with the sack upon her lap She marvelled at the travellers who all looked very sad And in the service-stop the salesmen, they all seemed very sad And the teller and the feller selling coffee, they seemed sad And she prayed that the city was exempt from all this sad But when she arrived in the city not far after five All the faces seemed blurred And only half-way alive So she sat by a statue, tried to pin down the picture But her eyes weren’t adjusted, and her brain wouldn’t let her And a man shouted at her And another tried to tempt her And she slept in a doorway till a cop came and kicked her So she walked by the river where a man tried to trick her… And as the drunks staggered homeward and the jackals closed their eyes She began to see the city as the sun began to rise And in the shadows of the shards and the black brick buildings The steeples and the courtyards had their moment of revealing: Amidst the sky-scape of Hawksmoor and the mind-scape of Blake A landscape of Albion was summoned in its wake And the God within the River raised his head to shake his hair And the ancient stone of London sent a signal to her there And the head of Bryn ascended from a mound near Tower Hill Whilst the Southwark geese all danced to a mighty jig and reel She heard the echoes of the anarchy of ancient London fayre’s Where the rich never lingered, and the power never dared She glimpsed the ghost of Jack Sheppard upon the rooftops of the Squares And Leno’s crazy clog-dance whipped a whirlwind in the air All the heroes of the city filled her aching soul with light As she pulled her knees to her chest and curled her aching body tight Cocooned now in sleep, the revelries all ended And she dreamt the city back to life, as the worker-ants descended And each and every day thereon she would dream as they descended Now she sees beyond the blurs and the slate-grey etched-in faces She sleeps amidst the majesty of all the hidden holy places She lies outside the fear and lies; the ruckus; riot; and squall Some say she’s an incarnation of the Holy Hermit in the wall. But maybe she’s a frequency – outside of space and time And the spirit of the City, within her now resides And though the Peace of the city is killed by screaming cars And the Light of the city extinguishes the stars And the Heart of the city is banished to the edges And the Beat of the city is traded by the hedgers The Soul of the city is safe within her hold So pray tonight she’s wrapped up tight against the biting cold. -And bless her when you see her and thank her for her dreams For the dreams she weaves are miracles and we are products of those dreams So bless her If you see her And maybe, you could feed her For though the city is her lifeblood It often fails to feed her And if the city shall not feed her, and if she fails to dream Well – can you truly visualise a world devoid of dreams? -Can any of us visualise - a world devoid of dreams?

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May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC

ALBION SLEEPS

She left in the morning with just a burlap sack She sat upon the bus with the sack upon her lap She marvelled at the travellers who all looked very sad And in the service-stop the salesmen, they all seemed very sad And the teller and the feller selling coffee, they seemed sad And she prayed that the city was exempt from all this sad But when she arrived in the city not far after five All the faces seemed blurred And only half-way alive So she sat by a statue, tried to pin down the picture But her eyes weren’t adjusted, and her brain wouldn’t let her And a man shouted at her And another tried to tempt her And she slept in a doorway till a cop came and kicked her So she walked by the river where a man tried to trick her… And as the drunks staggered homeward and the jackals closed their eyes She began to see the city as the sun began to rise And in the shadows of the shards and the black brick buildings The steeples and the courtyards had their moment of revealing: Amidst the sky-scape of Hawksmoor and the mind-scape of Blake A landscape of Albion was summoned in its wake And the God within the River raised his head to shake his hair And the ancient stone of London sent a signal to her there And the head of Bryn ascended from a mound near Tower Hill Whilst the Southwark geese all danced to a mighty jig and reel She heard the echoes of the anarchy of ancient London fayre’s Where the rich never lingered, and the power never dared She glimpsed the ghost of Jack Sheppard upon the rooftops of the Squares And Leno’s crazy clog-dance whipped a whirlwind in the air All the heroes of the city filled her aching soul with light As she pulled her knees to her chest and curled her aching body tight Cocooned now in sleep, the revelries all ended And she dreamt the city back to life, as the worker-ants descended And each and every day thereon she would dream as they descended Now she sees beyond the blurs and the slate-grey etched-in faces She sleeps amidst the majesty of all the hidden holy places She lies outside the fear and lies; the ruckus; riot; and squall Some say she’s an incarnation of the Holy Hermit in the wall. But maybe she’s a frequency – outside of space and time And the spirit of the City, within her now resides And though the Peace of the city is killed by screaming cars And the Light of the city extinguishes the stars And the Heart of the city is banished to the edges And the Beat of the city is traded by the hedgers The Soul of the city is safe within her hold So pray tonight she’s wrapped up tight against the biting cold. -And bless her when you see her and thank her for her dreams For the dreams she weaves are miracles and we are products of those dreams So bless her If you see her And maybe, you could feed her For though the city is her lifeblood It often fails to feed her And if the city shall not feed her, and if she fails to dream Well – can you truly visualise a world devoid of dreams? -Can any of us visualise - a world devoid of dreams?

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