That it was broken once,
Makes it precious to me now.
When the porcelain vase is shattered,
Embrace the pieces tenderly, and
Heal the cracks with gold.

Recurrent dreams of butterflies; my inner vision sings.
I saw my very happiness dancing on the wind.
Metallic iridescence like a precious living pearl;
Their wings receive the sun as they gracefully unfurl.
My fumbling hands swat the air to cage my merriment
But wings of bliss are transient, so my joys must end...
Waking from my reveries I find myself content
That butterflies and happiness will visit me again.

I want my corpse to fly.
Indeed I wish my wish be known -
Launch my body into orbit
'Til my naked body glows.
May the stars illuminate me
And irradiate my bones
While the solar winds can *******
'Till me rigor mortis goes.
Yes I want my corpse to fly
Where no corpse has ever flown -
To the boundless reach of space;
Into the great and vast unknown.

When the sun has grown old
And the oceans are dust
And the hum of humanity; silenced,

Will the light of the lone,
Last eyes of the earth
Pierce the night sky with cognition

- The very same sky
That you saw as a child
With your father's hand there on your shoulder -

And a flickering star
Will brighten those eyes
As they stare in the face of extinction.

The eyes of a deer she had; poised yet unassuming
And possessed with impish beauty, her gaze averted, now resuming
To assume a countenance beguiling and alluring.
All the night she’d naked dance with flowers in her locks.
Retiring by the day she’d rest her cheek upon a fox.
We’d walk the forest shade beneath the dark and sunless pines
Yet with a glance she’d part the boughs to let the sunlight shine.
Her step and skip across the stones was delicate and airy.
Thus concluded I, that she must be a fairy.

Flowers ever rise
Come the dawning of the day.
Skyward though they strive
They are plucked and thrown away.

The festival of life
Welcomes chaos to the fray;
Yet flowers ever rise
Come the dawning of the day.

Hatred came to fill my heart
But here it found no home.

Step, yes step – nay, dance -
Upon my grave
But do not wallow, whine or whimper
Nor in lamentations rave.
I am gone; I am past;
Into a quiet place at last.
The world is warm and bright
Though I lie beneath the grass.
Pick flowers, if you must
But do not leave them here for me.
Bring them home
To be loved
By friends and family.

A chilling frost descends
Upon the wings of idle butterflies
That sleep amid the grass -

Like sordid memories past.

But glowing dawn ascends
Until the green and gilded meadows rise
With purple flowers too -

The day begins anew.

Supernal shades of blue,
Best approached in early hours,  
Lend the land a joyous hue
Where the Morning Glory flowers.

The leaves are emerald hearts
With rambling stems and coiling tips;
Every searching tendril starts
As the glowing sun uplifts.

Prolific and with ease
The Morning Glory onward climbs
Over shrubs and over trees -
All are smothered in the vines.

But now the weeds have weighed
Upon this heart they once adorned
And I am stifled by the shade  
Where morning beauty stood before.

Moths in great abundance - cavorting and obsessed -
Flit about the fluoro lights with single-mindedness;
They spiral in confusion as they misjudge the view,  
Believing that their beacon lies as distant as the moon
They ride this fatal arc until their final destination;
With exhausted wings and will they then collapse in desiccation.

Dolorous and pale-faced
Mountain peaks of barren waste
Create the raging winds that blast
The adamant, eternal past.

Yet here a happy sylph resides
Within the fabric of the sky
Whereat she blows her breath of change
To warm again the mountain range.

One day you’ll hold your head up high;
Yes, higher than the Sun.
When joyful tears befall the light,
A rainbow reaches everyone.

The Queen revels beyond the realm of summer’s lurid light
Yet scorns the damp recess of shade where moss has laid its lawn.
Her pale and powdered faces flaunt the earth by starry night;
Though falling, faint and faded, by the cawing crow of dawn.
Her slender, waxen limbs are draped upon her chosen sire  
Who cradles her, consumed amid the scent of her perfumes.
Wherever out her branches bend; is loveliness admired
By fleeting bat and beating moth; by men and sailing moons.
Magnificent she flourishes; dry, dappled shade her nest
Where wild and unrestrained, resplendent flowers ever grow
So fair, and verdant framed, and scarlet tipped, and golden tressed;
With flames of bronze and ivory her lighted candles glow.
The chills of night cannot befall: the hallowed earth is blessed
Wherever blooms the Queen of Night; Selenicereus.

Writing out poetry, line upon line,
As the Summer rain, silently, dripped down the window,
I solemnly scribed every rhyme upon rhyme,
Forging sentiment slowly distilled from the page.
Whimsical musings yet tinted the scenery -
Colourful, fancy and folly imbued –
As the wondrous flashes of visual tapestry
Filled me with passionate fervour renewed.

From the earth a kingdom rose;  
Not of bricks nor made of mortar
But of seed, and soil and sun
And of sweat and stone and water.
A garden waits within my hand;
Tomorrow's paradise concealed.
All I need is time and land
Until my heaven be revealed.

A single crab escapes the ***
Where several would be doomed;
The fate of one becomes the lot -
Boiled and consumed.
They tug and tear each other down
Dividing limb from limb
As each attempt to scramble out
Will pull another in.
But humans are a clever lot
(Though some, we may have doubts)
For when we fall into the ***
We help each other out.

Spineless as a decapod;
The ones who got ahead,
When scrambling up the ladder, trod
Upon another’s head.

There’s always time to stickybeak -
To stop and have a look.
You never know unless you peek
In every shaded nook.

Who needs a reason to explore -
For any reason’s fair.
You won’t know what your looking for
Until you find it there.

So take your time - investigate -
The place where no one’s been.
It’s easy to appreciate
The things you’ve never seen.

This residence is haunted
By no one but myself.
My room; a silent kingdom;
Yet is prison, and is hell.
Still-life inside a chrysalis;
My own skin forms a crypt.
The struggle to break free
Entombs me further yet.
It’s not that I am scared
Of the worlds’ one thousand things -
I’m scared that I will free myself
To find I have no wings.

The radiant face of the moon so proudly shone
The ragged pall of night was beamed asunder;
Melancholy peals of distant thunder
Sang across the sky they sailed upon.
Receding darkness flowed like ebbing tides
Revealing peaks of snow-clad evergreens
That lent a lonesome beauty to the scene
Portrayed upon the starlit mountainside.
Indeed, the face of the moon so proudly shone
That snow upon the trees did melt and shroud
The lofty mountain peaks with heavy cloud  
Until – the splendour of the scene was gone.

How to write ones final words? How find the will to carry on?
When I know this ship and all - all of this - will soon be gone.
Yet perhaps, if not my bones, at least my memories will be found
Amid the wreckage of a land where none but swaying palms abound.
So may the finder of this bottle bring these words I duly pen
To the family of the sailor - Kieran Dacey Boylan -
Though my body lies in rest beneath the roiling of the sea -
Know my soul forever soars above the verdant Irish lea.

The sky is blue, and water wet;
So the ocean must be too.
Once I sunk beneath the waves
To gain a better view:

Pink and spongy; black and scaly;
Yellow jelly, cold and clammy;
Beady eyestalks glaring
From an urchin crusted cave.
Clustered tubercles protruding,
Searching tentacles recoiling,
Pulsing mandibles awaiting;
Ever lurking in the shade.

The universe exploding with
One billion burning suns,
Is empty, void and meaningless
When all is said and done.  
So for those inclined to measure
What hue the ocean be:
Ignore her gaudy creatures
For the darkness in between.

The sky is blue, and water wet,
But the ocean – it is black
And I fear the vile abyss that is
Endless, dark, and black.

The rotting flower blooms anew,
Though withering and greyed,
Bewildering the twilight gloom
Where higher forms decayed.
The silent kingdom rises from
The earth where life has left
To bear a fruit by virtue of
The renaissance in death.

A crystal pitcher; aptly made
My trembling hand upon it laid
Then to my lips, I did lift
With loving sips upon more sips
To feel the wet and languid kiss
Of innocence amiss.