YOUR WONDERFUL LIFE WAS 'ONE MOMENT IN TIME,'
TURBULENT, DIFFICULT BUT BETTER THAN MINE,
THERE WERE DRUGS, BEATINGS AND TROUBLED RELATIONSHIPS,
LIFE'S GONE BUT NO DEVIL ON YOUR SHOULDER SITS;
YOU GAVE PLEASURE TO MILLIONS WITH YOUR MELODY,
AND TOLD US THAT: 'I WANT TO DANCE WITH SOMEBODY,'
YOU DID, BUT NOT THE BEST FOR YOUR PRECIOUS BREATH,HOW IRONIC THAT YOU SAID: 'HE ROMANCES ME TO DEATH,
YOU SAID THAT, 'I HAVE NOTHING,' BUT YOU HAD EVERYTHING,
WE KNEW THAT WHEN WE SAW YOU AND HEARD YOU SING;
SO WHEN YOU'RE STANDING IN THAT HEAVENLY QUEUE,
YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT, 'WE WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU,'
THE ENDING OF YOUR LIFE WAS REGRETTABLE,
BUT THEN YOU GAVE US: 'THE GREATEST LOVE OF ALL.'

My thoughts
        flow up into the trees
like paper lanterns
released by eager
and giving hands
They fill up the night
with their rectangles  
of light                    
They create blazes
that are sometimes
               soft and
sometimes ever-strong
and I ponder
upon where they will reach
         ponder who the dreamers are
that release them
so willingly
Dreamers such as I
who relish the act of thinking
Yes, we navigate
through the dream-realms
steer the hidden rudder
of our destinies
We flow
as we glow
and turn the
captain's wheel
toward destinations unknown

Now I release my lantern
let it reach out unto the stars
until it glides
and slides into the night
into universes
of other worlds
alternate realities      
where I sometimes
visit
sometimes dreaming
my silken wishes
into reality

Interpolated amidst,
Glittering stars betwixt,
Deep intervals of space,
Separations of vacuum grace,
Glimpses of sights unseen,
Boundaries of space between,
Vast space between galaxies,
Existent for eternities,
Space between quest for our race,
Horizons of space between,
Eons of sights unseen.

I’ve been watching you since that first hit
four and a half cigarettes ago. I haven’t taken my eyes off you since you moved
down two seats closer to me and ordered another drink.
Three drinks later my eyes still hadn’t moved away from that deep red-colored flannel.
I couldn’t taste what I was drinking any more. I would regret it in the morning
but I didn’t care. I would keep drinking as long as you were
there. You finished your eighth cigarette and slipped
out of that flannel to reveal a white V-neck that stretched over your strong arms
you’d probably deny you worked hard for. Another drink

was placed in front of me. Looking at the bartender
he pointed to you.
For the pretty lady that cost me more than half a pack of cigarettes and six drinks.
Raising his drink, we clanked glasses and I took another sip of what I swore tasted just like I imagined
Your lips would taste. I woke up
the next morning with a folded piece of paper
lying in the empty, wrinkled sheets beside me.
See you next Friday. It was then I realized
he'd forever be my favorite hangover.

I guess being used is better than being forgotten.

Brigid was born on a flax mill farm,
Near the Cavan border, in Monaghan,
At Lough Egish on the Carrick Road,
The last child of the Sheridans.
The sluice still runs near the water wheel,
With thistles thriving on rusted steel.

Little's known of Nellie's early years;
Da died before she knew grieving tears,
They'd turn her eyes in later years.

She's eleven posing with her class,
This photo shows an Irish lass.
Her look is distant,
Her face is blurred,
But recognizable
In an instant.

She was schooled six years
To last a life,
Some math, the Irish,
To read and write.

Her Mammy grew ill,
She lost a leg,
And bit by bit,
By age sixteen,
Nellie buried her first dead.
Too young to be alone,
Sisters and brother had left the home.
The cloistered convent took her in,
She taught urchins and orphans
About God and Grace and sin.
There were no vows for Nellie then.

At nineteen she met a Creamery man,
Jim Lynch of the Cavan clan;
He delivered dairy from his lorry,
Married Nellie,
Relieved their worry.

War flared, men were few,
There was work in Coventry.
Ireland's thistles were left to bloom.

Nellie soon was Michael's Mammy,
Then Maura, Sheila and Kevin followed,
When war floundered to its end,
They shipped back to Monaghan,
And brought the mill to life again.

The thistles and weeds
That surrounded the mill,
Were scythed and scattered
By Daddy's zeal.
He built himself
A generator,
Providing power
To lights and wheel.

Sean was born,
Gerald soon followed;
Then Michael died.
A nine year old,
His Daddy's angel.
Is this what turns
A father strange?

Francie arrived,
Then Eucheria,
But ten months later
Bold death took her.
Grief knows no borders
For brothers and sisters.

We left for Canada.

Mammy brought six kids along,
Leaving her dead behind,
Buried with Ireland.

Daddy was waiting for family,
Six months before Mammy got free
From death's inhumanity.
Her tears and griefs weren't yet over,
She birthed another son and daughter;
Jimmy and Marlene left us too,
Death is sure,
Death is cruel.

Grandchildren came, she was Granny,
Bridget, Nellie, but still our Mammy.
She lived this life eduring pain
That mothers bear,
Mothers sustain.
And yet, in times of personal strain,
I'll sometimes whisper her one name,
Mammy.