Self-promotion arena supplying for
social gatherings and family space,
at times useful mirror and judge onto the lives
of the untrue, the corrupted, the vicious,
at most theatre for public sacrifice by the rule of the thumb
with mercy at the hands of the pleb.

Samnites, secutores and retiarii fighting to the death,
noxii and damnati hacked in the man-made
monument built for entertainment,
barbarian combats in the name of munus,
lethal games on the tilt of a double-edged sword
serving political agendas and commercial must,
their successes encouraging others.

Youths sold, batches addicted
to the screen of civilization
erected to conceal and divert the eye,
to the glittering murderous show
permeating the four cardinal directions while
confusing children's moral compass,
morphed into unactive witnesses,
blood-thirsty enablers, wishful executioners,
as loved ones helplessly watch
the self-destructions, the stabbing cuts,
and hear the roars of beasts feeding,
the shouts of be-headings acclaimed.

Like the *** you transferred
into calcareous soil, not knowing
it would turn the leaves yellow
as they rot.
Under a winter sun
I gave too much
or not enough,
the dirt arid then wet through,
half a glass of stale water
remaining below the roots.

The dark green, the larger ones fell first,
turned yellow on their edges
or from their ribs,
their stems browning until they failed,
to carry the weight,
to nourish the foliage.
The smaller leaves rolled on themselves,
day by day sagging a little more,
light green and brittle,
crumbling.

I moved the plant,
and moved it again,
by the window for some sun,
but with the cold seeping through!
You provided the chemicals,
I moved the plant again,
aware by now that I might be too late
and it may not recover,
not when the sun warms the earth anew,
not when the world rights itself once more.

Though - if the rot has not taken hold
yet of the roots
or of the branches,
and if our balms are enough to save
the trunk with the future stems,
we may once again
see spiking curls grow
and darkening green leaves unfold,
wondrous flowers bloom,
red flamingos standing tall.

I'm telling you that's it, I quit!
A year on now I weigh a ton,
drinking my way out of this pit.

Hotel meals with a book I sit,
a woman on her own must be fun...
I'm telling you that's it, I quit.

Day after day sleeping a whit,
puff in the lungs and pulse on the run,
drinking my way out of this pit.

Monday drive bawl or afternoon fit,
abusing I yell before the sun,
I'm telling you that's it, I quit.

A ring and a promise, we almost split,
I never home or seeking to stun,
drinking my way out of this pit.

I will admit I learned a bit.
Of colleagues and business I knew none.
I'm telling you that's it, I quit
drinking my way out of this pit.

Windstorm blowing through
suspending the days
Irish summer ending I shiver
at the darkness spreading
the white wisp morphing into black cloak

The fig tree stands branches wild
new sprouts shaking
second season raspberries
crushed on the wall
the tomato vine falls heavily to the ground

Sprigs jerking I sway
trunk holding fast until it fractures
I collapse and the fruits splatter
sap leaking I wipe my cheeks
flustered by my syrupy hands I stare

a sound a shout I straighten
the burgeons call

unfiltered interviews displaying
for all to see

alluring youth offered drive dedication
exposed their introspective sensitivity
kindness obsessions analyzed
their deepest anxieties

fans of their own with
-ia-ending disorders aplenty to bear
their days shared or stolen
entrusted archives auctioned

camera-ready smiles
inner balance thumbed up to the tilt
album sales to arena wealth
ardor of a musician sold

role models pinned to the walls
hunted market gods

What should I wish for in the world of after,
the during still happening I am shifting,
by genes, hormones and choice, our rafter,
the years unraveling as my mind is sifting

from boulders to gravel, the woven threads
sketching a woman and a life on hold,
the dynamic blues and yellows to static reds,
suddenly visible the remains of the mould

in fragments breaking, as I meander through
culture, passion, despair, week after week,
turning into months, I gather my few
by the sofa, the table or the floor, we speak

and I seek throughout a meaning for it all,
a noble string, a crass wire, a silver lining
of hope, to see again the ones we call,
the aging, the sick, on their chairs reclining.

The mould cracks and I gain something other,
in insight and altruism accrued,
in selfishness, in misplaced pride, why bother
when I can squander myself in food?

They sit and talk and demand that I stand
true and clean, through lament and laughter
and the days I will to play in the sand
as they grasp and grow, my wishes for after.

Existing unrest exacerbated or
change in climate lowering the cloud cover
surrounding the mountain peaks For once
visible the centuries of suffering
now leading us into violence The
tables upturned by an invention spreading
like wildfire across dry meadows
or storm rivers under the seas
Bewildering Frankenstein monster
a stage for
the flowers of the brains to radiate
in strands of light above the lands
Connecting
discoveries and creations
Shared
passion and truth and
kindness valued in
a world in transit An echo
of upheavals from ninety five theses
when the rolling waves of knowledge open
for children to follow their drive
where it takes them
A transfer to learn
without belonging pains while
we downsize our upkeep
and upsize our bonds
our unfettered feet buried in the sand and our
heads held where the wind blows and the
sun shines We dance
We sing to a tune freed
on our way to be and to become
and together
in time
maybe
save what can be
                                     or end with beauty

(1)
in house work play hubs
locked flooding storms shredding
Wi-Fi future set

(2)
Zoom Slack Mouseion
locked gyre shift flagged
Wi-Fi future set

Second wave rolling over us,
our lives shocked into shift
we face a wall and brace oursleves
for the hit,
a deep breath in
we observe and count until
shaken we lose sight,
when up becomes down
for a while,
locked in embrace,
pushed and pulled by waters
we fight the flow, or submit,
wondering fleetingly;
How long still,
how long will we last
confined under,
before the surge recedes,
our bodies floating in her retreat,
our hearts and our minds imprints
fading on the sand,
unless
hands buried and knees covered,
saltwater streaming on the beach,
we gasp,
soon to stand under an open sky.

she was for a year or two.
Sweeping floors she recited verbs
"je suis / tu es / il est"
while her fiancé crawled in the army.

Belittled immigrants,
the madam had many,
locking doors at night
to block the son out.

The madam is dead now,
naught but a pinch in the chest
from a street, a play,
a remindful sweep.

looming future locked
my psyche shies away from
with sights of the past

One of many I love and shake in fear
from now onto the far future
to let me see them age year after year
I beg in the night the whole of nature

Happy and healthy and tall as their father
their lives in their hands as I take the pen
and I to hold and talk till grown and further
from playful boys to become caring men

While dawn slowly rises through the rain
I remember to cherish the good and exhale
together we will face the morrow's plain
whatever it brings be it sunshine or hail

Blurring lines between unfounded angst
and foreshadowed grief to act upon
in crippled joy, or ignore chancing loss!

A bridge to cross, a path slowed
from months to days to minutes,
drops suspended in wonder, in gratitude.

Losing grip, claws out.

Savouring the moment
when my youngest son stirs
from his night's sleep,
his arms around my neck, his head
bent on my shoulder as we descend the stairs.

His body curled up against my side,
eyes staring out of the window at the shaking
greens, the shades of grey and white
of the Irish sky, he slowly wakes until
the Switch calls to uncurl and play.

Soon his brother will come down,
his sun-touched hair entangled,
smiling, scrubbing the same shaped eyes
as his brother's and their father's,
strained against the light.

Blueberries to share and clothes to wear,
if the rain stops long enough
they will bike and slide in the park,
and if it doesn't,
we will stay in, together four.