1.
In order to live gently
without causing harm
be like a snowflake, only softer.

2.
Be mindful of the grass you walk upon
and the sky you look up into -
it is the backbone of the earth,
the softest skin between her thighs.

Trolleys line the corridor
Like ships waiting to enter port.

In the resus room
Heart monitors clang
Like ships’ bells in the fog.

Unwelcome, the berserkers stole in from the East,
On their long ships, shallow-bottomed beasts,
Swinging axe, ****** swords in hand,
Swearing death by Odin to all in this Christian land.

And though there was little gold to speak of,
They tore what there was from neck and alter both,
Then burned our homes before they left
With Peter’s daughter, leaving father bereft.

Walking down past
The Parliament buildings;
Riding past Hero’s square
In an open topped bus,
Under the watchful eye
Of Archangel Michael;
Buying tickets for the hot subway
And having to get off at the first stop
Because we were headed the wrong way;
Strolling Along the Danube
But then stopping to cry
At the bronze monument of shoes
That brought the past
Marching menacingly back
Into the disbelieving now.

Oranges
and lemons
augment the paths
we walk down
into town
in the
mid afternoon
sun

Behind gated villas
like modern day Cerberus
hounds grumble into half life
howl languidly
as we pass

Whilst pink and purple
bougainvillea
wild and free
as our love
flourishes in the ragged
hedgerows.

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.

For my situation in life
I don’t blame my parents
or anything like that,
They may well have been crap
And ****** me up
(Just Like Larkin said)
But blaming others won’t change anything,
It is as it is
And I try and take ownership
Rather than mitigate and delegate
Hate.

Over the years
I’ve met many people who look back in anger,
Blame all the faults they have,
All the problems they’ve encountered,
On their parents
Or others,
How they were raised as kids
Else treated at school by a teacher.
And, you know,
Maybe it’s true
And maybe it’s not,
But I try hard
Not to linger,
To doff
And point an accusatory finger.

Standing naked and alone
Facing with all your faults,
Taking ownership is difficult
And accountability *****,
But when the blade of justice swings
It’s important - even for such a schmuck as me -
To face the consequences,
Not to duck!

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 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.

One by one we leave here,
Not always as anticipated,
Nor in any sequential order,
But all eventually leaving here
Over time.
In the end it could be said
We are all just passing through,
Treading water,
Waiting to depart.
And if we are among
Those considered ‘blessed’,
Doesn’t longevity
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?

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.

For RG.

On the day you passed
I was in Istanbul
And the ATM outside
The Radisson Blue Hotel lobby
Swallowed my card
And I couldn't work out
Who to contact for help

On the day you passed
I drank coffee in a bakery
On the street
Where the gypsy woman
Selling flowers
On the corner
Gave one to a stranger
Asking nothing in return

On the day you passed
The people in the hotel
Looked worried,
Said it was strange
But  I knew why
The sun went in
And it rained and rained
And the man on the corner
Yesterday selling sunhats 
Started selling umbrellas instead
And  I got drenched to the bone
And never wanted to see the sun again
Because I felt so sad and alone

You rifle through cupboards and drawers
Like some baby grizzly bear:
Bits and pieces pulled out and thrown across the floor
Untidily and indifferently
All in a search to find what you are looking for
A bra perhaps or pair of warmer socks in winter
Clean pants after showering

I’m still running on
Yesterday’s priorities;
Seeking prizes that,
If I only I took the time
To think things through,
Revaluate my situation Properly,
Don’t really matter to me anymore.

I’m still caught up in the
Want of yesterday,
Driven by desires
Well past their sell by Date.

The insignificance of Bygone yearnings
Haunt my todays
Until I exorcize them
Screaming
Into faded memory,
File them away
Marked ‘Insignificant’,
‘No longer useful’.

What use is a horse
If I cannot tame it
And ride to your rescue?
What use are the stars
If I cannot pluck them
From the trees
And light your window?
What purpose the rivers and hills
If I cannot offer them up
As gifts to you?

This is no life,
Merely an existence.
Where is the cunning
In scavenging for scraps
From these bins
In nocturnal gardens;
The most common rat
Does the same to survive!
I have heard our elders tell
Of the greenest fields and the sweetest grass;
And I have dreamed vividly once, too,
Of midnight hills and rivers -
An innate memory of a life
that has never been mine?

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.