The proudest thing I think I've ever done,
Such artistry, such skill I have attained!
The semi-glaze reflecting of the sun,
The richness of the blue, so lightly stained;
So perfect is the pointed pouring spout
That sits upon a rim of gold emboss,
And proudly do the handles both stick out,
Exquisite is the painted Celtic cross;
I toiled and slaved for oh so many years,
My fingers ever wet and moist with clay,
But now at last I'm free of all the fears
And doubts that clouded me until this day;
        I know you'll all be very pleased for me,
        So thanks, my friends, on Hello Pottery!

When you looked at me
all you saw were my blurred edges
there were no distinct boundaries
no real rights, no real wrongs

and I thought that was a compliment
I thought I finally found someone
who saw me for me
not for the walls that I had put up

I beamed that I was your setting sun
that no matter how bad it got
at the end of your rough day
you'd always came home
to me.

now I realise
how thick was the wool you had placed on my eyes
I was just an excuse
an excuse to use and abuse

you take more than I offered
while promising more than you were prepared to sacrifice
this was your wager of sin
and I was the pathetic gambler too stupid to say enough is enough

well this gambler has folded her cards
I walk away with nothing but the clothes on my back
take your winnings because finally

enough is enough.

Every night
I visit those old memories
where you haunt the corridors like a ghost in the night
and I drink you in until I'm drunk on us
and for a while at least,
I am lost
dancing with the illusion of you.

Visions of crystal cobwebs
swept up in awesome lies;
ambergris whisked scentless
to a sea-streaked sky.

Watching the melting snow,
feeling clouds of fire,
hearing the orchestrated chime,
touching every liar.

Morning passed, blue's forgone
for a quiet afternoon;
vapours pulled at all my senses
towards the rising moon.

Faint southern lights soon faded
against the silent sphere,
no starry sky was witness,
to your smile beguiling sneer.

"Whist," is what Mammy said,
As she whisked us off to bed.
Usually we'd go quietly.

But a gypsy woman sat at our table,
Reading tea leaves,
Pouring prophecies.

Guests were few, and she I knew
To be a special one.
She saw dark clouds in a cup.

My sisters, past the tender age,
Stayed up longer to hear her say,
"Tall dark men are on their way."

I pricked my ears from upstairs,
Tried to put both on the vent,
Both of them were forward bent.

Just then my father
Climbed the stairs;
I saw the dark mop of his hair,
He was tall,
He wasn't humming;
No one else foresaw his coming,
But I vanished off to bed.

hey little one
i see you sitting
over there
on the fringe
of society

i see behind your
smile
to the tears pooling
in the corners
of your eyes

little one...
it is ok to be
so scared
life is a big thing
to undertake

yet you have to
take a step
and join the fray

little one
sitting quiet in
the shadows
waiting for
your spotlight,
your allocated time...
your little ray of sunshine....

little one....
i see you there
waiting to be told
but you gotta
make your own stories
and create
your own fold and creases
in the game of paper
and life's origami  leases

give it time
                 give it time
i promise you, little one
                          you will find  
                                    your way

I thought something
Was wrong with me.
I'm writing so
Seriously.
Reading poetry
Religiously.
Lines invade
When I'm retiring,
Ascending I'm reciting,
Divining parallel parables.
I'm convinced  
He's left the stage,
Replaced by me
On the page,
In figures of speech.
The Chosen words,
Give meaning and comfort
Religion obscured.