Garbage can summer
your breath smells of dust
sticky cola fingers and ice cream faces
mixed with orange from the wrappers of long dead lollies
hot tarmac and the heady fragrance of sun dried dog ***
hot girl you need the mouthwash of rain
and perhaps an Autumn flavoured mint

TO CARTHAGE THEN YOU CAME

To Carthage
then you came

and other fabled places

seen now only
through the lens of War.

Here you are
in simple black & white

playing football
with scrunched up rags

camouflage tanks
your only spectators

the horizon
a thin cruel line of infinity.

Desert rats
the thing of history books to come

now only
a bunch of laughing lads.

The desert
everywhere about you.

Young boys
pretending to be young men
pretending to be soldiers

and not
succeeding.

This a game
played for real.

War has made you
so.

I show you
you

again & again
wearing the many faces

that you were.

Death lurks
in every face

looks out of
your eyes

with the knowledge
that it could be

you now

you
this time.

Photos
taken then.

Time
stopped still.

I see so many
bright eyed young men.

Their youth
their most notable feature.

“Dead...dead...dead! ”
you intone

in place of names
as if it hurt to name them.

But I know
from other times

that this dead man
is John.

This one Fred
your best best friend.

Even now you talk of him
as if he could walk in the door

at any time.

The door
forever closed

The last photo shows
an insect crawling

in a dead
animal’s skull.

THIS MAN WHO IS NOT MY FATHER IS MY FATHER

This man
who is not

my father

is

my
father.

The others laugh:

“It’s not your turn but
he calls only for you! ”

And so I go
& clean him up

his skeleton thin body
splashed with ***** & sh.

I laugh & joke
with him.

He chuckles
as I tell him:

“Michael


Johnny...you used to be
so full of crap
but sh...now you’re not! ”

Lucky
our Irish sense of humour

extends this far

say anything with love and
it becomes so.

It is a tired old joke
but like a child he

pounces on its nuances
relishing each pause and stupid syllable!

I bathe
him

this man
who is not my father

gently as if he were

my child.

I sing
to him
all the old songs

I learned
at my father’s hands

as he bathed me.

“...why does my poor heart keep following you...”

We sing together
softly as I bathe him

dress him
anew

in the memory
of my father.

This man
who is not

my father

becomes
my father

as my hands learn
to care for him.

I settle
a pillow

behind
his head

wipe sweat
from his forehead

stroke
his hair

until  his sleep
is full

of dreams

...dreams.


*

He was only skin and bone and very weak...one could imagine Death standing by. He was always amazed that "How does a young fella like you know that" or as I would bathe him when he soiled himself I would sing the "Old Refrain" and again he would  say "But how does a young fella like you know a song like that!?" And the answer was always the same "My Da would always sing it to me when I was small and he was bathing me!" Or my Da would suddenly recite to me when tying my shoelaces or combing my hair "Jenny kiss'd me!" Or sing to me as he worked in his plot...'Liverpool  Lou.' And so the love of these would be passed from my Da to me and so to him. We all loved these things in a line stretching all the way back to my Da's young days in the 1920's. Love never goes away it just changes into another person  and an old poem and an old song would be the means to carry that love.

THE HONEYMOONERS

slides out of...
my arms: then. . .
crashes back in again

a cuddle, that
most difficult of things
to maintain

whilst crossing the
Bay of Biscay
life is swell, well...

we imagine a ship hit
by wave after wave of
broken biscuits

after a toddler
rechristens it
The Bay of Biscuits

endless days
only sea to be seen
forgotten what land is

feeling perpendicular
and horizontal at
the one and the same time

losing our bearings
but we an ever fixed mark
the latitude and longitude of

love.

I am out of practice.
So many parts of my former self swirl around like the last catch of a half-remembered dream.
I am out of practice.

Having a baby will change you, they say.
and they’re right.
I am changed.

But tonight I am the same me of a thousand me’s ago, the whole me, the core.

It’s hope.
That’s the instigator,
and I hope my daughter can see that.

Your whole me is worth fighting for.

My 60 lb lap dog,
Wet nose pushed under my calf in the just-morning.

Ruiner of couch cushions
and muddy backyards,
Seeker of the softest blankets,
Speaker of many grumbling, awooing, harrumphing languages,
Your gigantic brown eyes home to the secrets of the universe.
My sassy girl, head tucked beneath my chin,
Here you sit, leaned casually
Against my side, your arm
Lap-barring me into place:

“Stay.”

Stay the blinds.
The closeness of the flat and gray
Press ever forward,
Yes,
Forward and down,
the tidal wave of day
A promise delivered,
the threat of suggestion
An unbarring of the way.

Stay the blinds.
Speak to the shadows
Unhurried in their fleeting,
lingering upon the fragile lace
sighs and forget-me-nots
Caught in the corner just there,
Unmolested in the graze of a wallpaper seam,
Beneath the scattered fluff
Of yesterday’s brushed away minutes.

Stay the blinds,
If only for another moment,
Before the roaring morning
with its advancing demands
Breaks the surface of this dark, pooled reverie.

THE MYSTERY

Did you ever wake up
(oh when you were very small)  
in the dark black pitch of night
and find yourself

in your very own room
(in your very own bed)  
although you had falled asleep
(in another room)  

or the long journey home from the sea
side.
Did you ever wake up
(oh when you were very small)  
and scared of shadows

and rubbed the broke sleep from your eyes
and wonder how (it came about)  
you were ok and everything was
...alright?

And peering from your patchwork quilt
you heard your Dad asleep ('Hee Haw! ')  
and heard your Mummy's gentle breathing.
And thought how Daddy was like the sea at her side
and she was the shore dreaming of seaweed and shells.

And still you didn't know how you had falled asleep in Aunt Mary's
and found yourself washed up on your own little island.
And the Mystery made you suspiciously sleepy
and you drifted back to how you wer

Superman and all
your other favourite comic book heroes!
Did you ever wake up(and find out)  
how.. when...
the day's play had drugged you asleep
Daddy came and lifted you with his strong hands
(Yes...Superman dreams and all!)  

and brought you home to your own room
sailing ship shape bed
and Mammy said:
'Shhhhh....don't wake him! '
And Auntie Mary said:
'Ahhhhh...the poor little cratur'! '

Did you ever wake up
(Oh when you were very small)  
and catch
the Mystery
...out!

I  can smell the musty, generations passed
An odd lingering scent that last
A Mixture of cedar wood and moth *****
Bring forth a flood of memories.
I great their calls
Happiness Fills my head and nose
A flower for Grandma,
A hand picked garden Rose.
It’s much more than just their clothes
The scent transport me to Yesterdays
A maze of peace, only A heart knows

In the visiting room they’re walkers and wheelchair all clutter
The set up, make it hard, to get to them
Under their breath, they mutter
We show our love with hugs and kisses
Whispering in there ears secret wishes

A quiet sadness fills the air
looking into their blank stares.
Was this going to be,
another awkward silence?
Only in time we shall see
Perhaps A frustrating outburst of violence
Are they in there?
We miss them, and we care
Or have they gone?
We wonder for how long,
off to some place in their mind.
Where did they go?
what will they find?
Hopefully fading back
Sometimes Music and stories,
help them find what they lack.

Children, young and old
gather for; a yarn, a tail, a story told.
Loving memories My grandma knew,
from a time of long ago.

Her soft voice was gentle and kind
a warm comfortable chair,
One can always find.
Settling down till the story fills my head and the visions spins like cobwebs
I fall asleep in my makeshift bed.

The story always starts the same.
Somebody asks her
“what is it like being so old,?(100)
Knowing most of your life is behind you” ?

With A Wink and A Smile, and
A twinkle in her eyes she begin.
As we listen to the adventures
of a lifetime gone by.
when we laughed , and cried
Babies born and
loved ones Died

“I have always been the same age
my entire life” She says

As A Girl, A Women,A Mother , A Wife
and now A Grandma.A Great Grandma
My fathers darling little girl
With unruly wild hair that curled
Through all my adventures
the Child (age 10)  inside of me,
provided joy and optimism
I could see.
I took pleasures in
the simple things
Of what my life would bring

There was a time;
I got caught up in the worldly ways.
Collecting silly Stuff. I took No guff!
Whoever has the most toys wins.!
I lived in the world of many sins.
Time passed with age, just another phrase
I realize; I lived in a bubble, I was blind.
Family the bonds that bind
Truth acquired along the way.
Kindness towards a stranger
Finding the right thing to say.
Looking for the best
in the worst situation each day..
Realizing every person is in your life weather; a moment, a brief time, or season  Only God knows, there is a reason.

That young girl is why;
I giggle for no reason at all,
I may smile at a private thought
and you look at me as if I’m crazy.
Perhaps I’m thinking of
A beautiful yellow daisy
and my favorite dress age 10
when in our mind children pretend.
where  I didn’t have a care in the world.
I could spin, give it a whirl, and a twirl dream adventures; stories or a song
While doing  chores all day long..
My father told me I could be
anything, I only had to believe
If my pictures is true,
I will not be deceive

I have tried on many hats
Somethings I’ve done I’m not proud of.
But other adventures have filled my heart with a richness that brings me gratitude.
With this comes a winning attitude.

I gained a peace I’ve never know.
So, when you come to visit me
don’t feel sad, don’t groan,
that I’m in a place such as this.

Know You we’re truly missed.
I’m waiting to see YOU,
To give you a hug and kiss
to fill your heart  with
a life once lived in a richness
that you will never know.
My spirit is a glow

I’m sorry we did not
leave you a better place.
But I can tell you of that
Place you’ll  miss
full of God’s loving grace

You sounded just like someone
I've spent the last 5 years burying
I wondered how I could have
Risen the dead yet again
My very posture a seance
Welcoming the past
Like the welcome mat
The ghosts pass over
On their way in
I never opened the door
I swear
I guess I just left it unlocked
I begged you to leave me alone
But the exorcist said
It's so impolite to ask the ghost to leave
If you're the reason their dead in the first place.