All the stars in all the skies
Are not as bright as my Love’s eyes.
Imagine all the seas pooled together,
Wild roses blended,
And yet they are not as deep and red as her lips
When I bend to kiss them.
Tonight Politicians continue to argue
about what is right or wrong,
Lower taxes or raise them
Create & break legislation like fences
Nurture corrupt ideology.
Yet I am not disturbed-
My Love's hair shines like a host of golden suns,
There is the scent of a thousand crushed flowers
in the air.
Do you ever leave me when
All my thoughts,
Every fibre you possess
Both night and day long?
In darkness you are my dreaming,
And all day my light and song.
Distinct in beak and wing,
We are inseparable,
Gathered forever within.
At work he was one of those people termed ‘difficult’.
He liked to question things, things long standing,
He would ask why, nudge at times the status quo.
He knew his reputation because the boss told him so.
‘You’re’ difficult’ he was told ‘and it needs to stop.
We don’t like problems, only solutions, so change your ways
Or you’ll have to leave us, simply go.
With a flourish, the boss indicated to him through which door.
The trouble was, he couldn’t change at all,
Even if he had wanted to he couldn’t change his ways.
He just couldn’t help asking ‘what for?’ and ‘‘why?’.
He really wasn’t ‘difficult’, just unable to follow the corporate lie.
One by one we leave here,
Not always as anticipated,
Nor in any sequential order,
But all eventually leaving here
In the end it could be said
We are all just passing through,
Waiting to depart.
And if we are among
Those considered ‘blessed’,
Just mean in the end
That our loneliness becomes more apressed
Against our yellowing skin,
As we hang on dearly to the past
A terrible ache mounting in our heart?
From Dublin he came, or a village thereabouts;
No doubt it was the potato famine drove him out;
Just another starving ‘****’ sailed to Liverpool town
Then onto Hull, where roots were put down.
The decadal Census Records take up his story thereon:
The cheap rooms he rented, rough streets lived on;
Close to the docks and the Irish pubs now gone,
Seems he finally settled with Mary, whose hand he won.
Yet the Records tell little of his actual life:
The day to day struggles, disappointments, strife;
Whether he loved Mary and their four children well,
Is something it’s impossible from statistics to tell.
There’s no hint either that if we could meet one day
We’d find a connection, things to say.
Maybe we’d hang awkward, the moments tense and long?
‘Though I like to think the familial bond would kick in strong.
I think that I have forgotten
How to pray
Until faced with dreadful fear,
When all the sacred words,
Learned when I was young,
Come sudden flooding back
To my tongue.
Unlike the devout,
Prayer is not something
I do without certain doubt
That catastrophe cannot be prevented
Without divine help
On bended knee entreated.
I wish I could peel back the years
To when you were alive.
I wish I could spend
A few quality moments
Just talking to you
One last time again.
I’m guess I’m more of a hugger these days,
Less self-conscious now I’m older,
And I’d like to hug you now
Man to man, friend to friend,
Although I’m certain you would pull away
Embarrassed for sure.
But, if nothing else,
I’d like to deal you
A royal hand of cards,
Be beaten hands down by you
At your favourite game of poker
One last time again.