Take off your shoes, rest for a bit

Grab a pint, take a chair and sit

Drink to comrades that are gone

And their memory will be strong



If you get drunk, that's okay

As long as you're here to stay

We can talk about great poetry

Until our glasses turn empty



If those words you can't find

Well you know, Paddy wouldn't mind

That pint on the table, that vacant chair

You can feel him, he is sitting there



I didn't know him all that well

He had good poems he would tell

Offer up a comment in his own way

Tell the truth in what he had to say



Well God has to give us the test

Because He will only take the best

Now up there, in Heavenly light

You can tell for the Angels he will write



If those words you can't find

Well you know, Paddy wouldn't mind

That pint on the table, that vacant chair

You can feel him, he is sitting there









for Patrick "Paddy" Martin, a true poet amongst us all.

Shivers, creeping down your spine
Grabbing you like a demon of ice
You are shaking, each passing terror
Gripped by the visions of the unholy

Nothing can stop these feelings now
Bubbling up like the foulest pit
Nausea like a fist, clenching inside
But  nothing can be seen, nothing there

That feeling there is something behind you
Watching, waiting, ready to strike
For what can be more terrifying, my friend
Than having to face fear, the horror of *fear itself

I pray thee sun thou should set,
or take thy leave better yet,
wouldst at last my thirst be gone,
But alas thee linger, and linger on.

There be no flower not yet dead,
no water flows in yonder river bed.
'Tis a heat where nought doth grow,
nor doth thee ever mercy show.

Dry of skin and parch of throat,
a man doth need no overcoat.
Thy rays doth burn mine eyes,
they do not hear mine mercy cries.

If there be a place where chill be found,
'Tis there it be that I be bound,
A place where there be no burning sun,
show it to me, so to it I shall run.

(c) 26th January 2010
with apoligies to all you Shakespeare freaks

Sitting in my favorite chair.
Sipping my honey filled tea,
Like an elegant glass of wine.
My unbalanced chair teetering,
Back and forth.
Giving an illusion of an old man,
Rocking back and forth.
A day of work; sweat and blood,
Was finally drifting away.
Relaxation was advent.

I decide to check the news.
Changing it from my beloved show; Cowboy Bebop.
What was being depicted,
Widen my eyes.
Not in horror or sadness.
But in surprise and shock.

I have been secretly follow this story.
To see it in video.
To see the actions taken.
To see the great land of pharoahs in revolution.
Bedazzled me.

Still sipping on my honey filled tea.
All I could do was to hope.
Hope these actions for change,
Do not be forgotten.
Hope that civil war doesn't ensue.
Too many have died already for the cause.

Of course hoping isn't much,
Physically I can only stare.
Stare as I sip on my elegant honey filled tea.
Just staring from the outside is all I can muster.