Loader then bombs,
What happened was unspeakable,
You kept it in your mind,
And Oh My God,
What happened here?

Every nightmare you've ever had,
You've cried out to your mom and dad,
And Oh My God,
What have we here?

You took your secrets,
And buried them in the dirt,
Now, I've no idea,
But Christ it must hurt,
And Oh Sweet Lord,
The tears you've poured.

And Heavenly Angels fall the furthest,
And God knows you don't deserve this.


-Jamie F. Nugent

Lust Often Violently Evokes
Lost Obscure Vulnerable Emotion;
Lakes Overflowing Verge Earnestly
Letting Out Velvet Explosions.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Warm daze, when you wore flowers in your hair,
Sleepless nights, a scarf wrapped around us both,
Under a June moon, paradise was there,
The blue of the night, from the undergrowth,
We're down in the dark, no sign of daylight,
We're here in the night, with sounds of the wild,
If the howls frighten you, then just stick-tight,
Your black hair, moonlit, perfect mess it's styled,
Take me to the beach, bury me in sand,
Don't you know you are my approaching tide?,
The broken finger on the other hand,
When there's no where to run, no where to hide,
We could live in castles made from the sand,
Wouldn't it be perfect and oh so grand?

-Jamie F. Nugent

Cracks and chips off the Post Office pillars,
Concrete Angels wings, riddled with bullet holes,
Stand in the middle of Main Street.

Nine and ninety years ago,
Yet feeling like it was the day before my birth,
Just before my lifetime.

A ****** Sabbath to change everything.

There are many noble reasons
To shed one's blood
And give one's own life.

There are none to justify
Spilling the blood of another
And taking their one, only life.

And the philosophers,
During meek mid-mornings in April,
Were hanged without trial,
Gone judge nor jury.

Or sent to firing squad,
For the quicker, 'kinder' death.

But their deaths,
Slow nor instant,
Were not in vain.

-Jamie F. Nugent

The ship has set sail into an ocean, black and calm.
Just this morning, you got the letter from your mother,
Handwritten in felt tip, slightly stained with a tear,
Telling you to keep warm and stay safe,
To fill your stomach and fill you pockets.

As your sister stands on Dublin's docks to see you off
and wish you well.
She shrinks with the distance growing between you and her, and
She looks twelve and three quarter years younger than she is today,
The little girl who you fought with all the live long day over nothing.
Now, she's the women who put up a fight over your sailing away.
Sometimes, brothers and sisters never change.

She knows that this is for the best,
but she would never admit that,
Not with words,
She feels her words, weightless; would just sail right away with you.
You wonder what she will look like if you see her again,
Will she have received wrinkles from worrying about mother?
Will her chestnut hair have turned white as the snow burying her bare feet?
As she thinks that you can no longer see her,
she's succumbing to the cold,
She starts into her coughing fit,
you watch with desperate despair

On the Eastbound coffin ship.

-Jamie F. Nugent

At mid-day,
you left work early to drive your father to hospital,
bad knees,
old bones.
Instead of saying a cheerful goodbye,
you simply say to turn off the machine after you have gone.
A few hours later,
you are sat with your poor old father,
in a hospital canteen,
smelling of chemicals,
over a brown wooden table,
slurping disappointing green soup,
bread not entirely fresh nor stale,
just too expensive.
Then there is the chime of your cracked sliver phone.
Pressed up to your ear,
you hear the sound of your partners voice,
unsteady but to the point.
She tells you tragic news.
After it's said,
you forget to say a word back,
or even to hang up your phone,
gripped in hand.
John,
poor poor John.
John who had worked at the factory
ten long years longer then you have,
he was ******* in knots,
******* in chains,
chains red rust with sawdust,
chains meant for hunks of wood,
not chunks of flesh,
not bone,
breakable hallow bone.
The boys had to cut the chains.
And they turned off the machine,
hours after you said to
and moments too late.

-Jamie F. Nugent

How you fell from grace,
Brittle leafs from Autumn trees,
Have I fallen too?

Jamie F. Nugent