Peter Cullen

Peter Cullen Jul 2014

Waiting.

One hundred million grains of sand,
each one a part of what was planned.
Measured each before they fell
amongst the seaweed and the shells.
Feeling warm beneath your feet
everything it has to be.
Waiting to return to sea.
Waiting just like you and me.

Peter Cullen Jul 2014

All The Good And All The Bad.

So that old clock stopped ticking,
one less noise to fill my ears.
As my mind goes to rewind,
pulsing, reeling in the years.
Every second hazy,
lost in time just like the clock,.
Memories lost, through just living,
moving on, amongst the flock....
Thinking of the shepards,
some were good,
and some so bad.
Moments that formed where I am,
all the good and all the bad.
The memories you lock away,
will be the ones that drive you mad.
When that old clock stops ticking.............
there's no time fo feel so sad.

Peter Cullen Jul 2014

Luna May And The Holy Ghost.

On St.Michael's layline,
a dozen miles from Dingles coast.
This was where young Luna May
was to meet the Holy Ghost.
High upon the rocks of Skellig,
awoken by the angry waves.
The ground beneath began crumble
opening the ancient graves.

The ocean calmed,
as angels fluttered,
danced and sang beside the sea.
Young Luna May just watched in wonder,
shedding tears of disbelief.
She checked her pulse and shook her head
cryed out loud "how can this be?".
Blessed herself before she fell,
gracefully onto one knee.
She looked up to the skies above,
eyes filled with fear
and filled with love.
The clouds gave way to brilliant light
and she could sense that God was near.

She asked "why have you chosen me,
what is it that I can do?"
This is when the Ghost appeared
forming from the morning dew.
It led her up the ancient steps
Clasped her hand,
yet she felt free.
Sat her down upon the grass
kissed her gently on the cheek.

As it did, her life went flashing,
like lightening bolts before her eyes,
thunder roared inside her soul,
as she slowly realized.
"Am I here because I've wondered?,
doubted all I felt within"
This is when the Ghost would speak,
telling her "doubt is no sin,
all you need, has always been".
"All you need, has always been".

Then suddenly..........
her eyes shot open,
jolting upright in her bed.
This is when she was to realize,
"I've spent too long living dead.........
Then with grace she was to realize,
"I've spent too long in my head."

Peter Cullen Jul 2014

Blackrose Hill.

A slice of toast,
burning on the grill.
A ghostly face,
the window pane,
terror running through the brain.
A shadow that was moving,
now is still.
Darkness hoovering the light,
and all that shun on Blackrose Hill.

Floorboards, creaking,
then they're not...............
Hiding in the pantry,
with a stomach tied in knots,
Churning, like butter in a ***.
That old house on Blackrose Hill,
years since left to rot.
That old house on Blackrose Hill,
that old empty cot.

Peter Cullen Jun 2014

Plains Of Fear.

The hands of time turn lonely on the plains.
There was six thousand bodies,
now thirteen remain.
Like a bakers dozen,
cooking, underneath the sun.
Underneath the plains of fear,
missing everyone.
Missing Sunday dinners,
a kind word from a trusted friend.
Underneath the plains of fear,
there's no time to pretend.
No time to hide from all that love
that graced us as we shun.
Underneath the plains of fear,
me and my old gun.

.

Peter Cullen Jun 2014

As We Greet The Light Of Day.

We lay here as the night sets sail,
as that darkness falls away.
Underneath the dying night,
waiting for the beckoning light.
The stones that rest beneath our backs,
rounded by the years and tides,
how they make us both relax,
filtering our thoughts and fears.
Being close to nature.
Being close to you,
these they are the moments,
the ones that draw me near to you.
The moments that resist confusion,
slowy.......... filtering the truth!
A thought once it has blossomed,
can easily defy its roots.
But now we're left with nothing,
just the stars above our heads.
The stars that sparkle in your eyes,
the ones that say its time for bed.
Those eyes that watch me dreaming,
as I slowly fade away.
They're the only eyes I want,
as we greet the light of day.

Peter Cullen Jun 2014

Sunflowers

Sunflowers,
growing tall,
bringing life to that dull wall.
Reaching up towards the Sun,
flowering for everyone.
Bringing seeds and oil to harvest,
paintings from a demented soul,
the kind of one who falls the hardest,
upon life and everyone.
Nature coursing through the madness
bringing new light with the dawn,
but every star is stalked by darkness
making it shine all the more.
Until its flame is quenched by powers
A force much stronger than us all.
We'll just sit and watch the madness,
and those Sunflowers by the wall.