You know me,
All of me,
Who I am, am not and want to be,

You saw me,
All of me,
Who I was, was not and tried to be,

No pretence when you're around,
To your essence  I am bound,
You see me for who I am,
Warts an' all, see through the scam,

I can be my own true self,
Fake lies dust filled, on a shelf,
All that crap stuff, in the gutter,
You can see me, like no other.......

(C)eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com  07/05/2019

never date a poet because they’ll
expose your lies with the stroke
of a pen and leave you to bleed out
your sorrows.

What is a sin?
A bare skin?
A lover and a room candle lit?
Forbidden touches and a gentle kiss
What is my sin?
You,
And for you
I'd forsake my chastity
My virtue
For an embrace
My bare chest for your hands to trace
To kiss
Forbidden kisses
They made passion an obscenity
And love a taboo
They made me a sinner
And my beautiful sin
Is you ...

the air is cold.

an endless slate-grey
chilling frost-ridged trees.

the wind tunnels, whisking away
bird song,
running cars,
and leaves scraping down bare streets;

the kind of bare you only see in winter,
all picked away by the frozen weather.

the world is a drained snow globe,
so still you forget to breathe.

all you can hear
is the static in your ears
and the workings of your own
organs.

You may think i'm innocent
I swear i'm not.
My heart is formed with black and skulling memories appear.

You may feel i'm innocent, from the bare downwards hell, which none man has perspired.
Little do you know, it's true.

I may think i'm tragic
The scars inside and out
i'm not.

Deep down I know i'm innocent, when it comes to heart, and bare skin.

and it's always about the timing or the circumstances
it's always an "I'm busy" text message that fades into days of silence
it's when you notice how he used to compliment your mind
and now he only ever calls you beautiful when you're bare inbetween his sheets
and you tell yourself he's just a boy
this is what boy's do
it will get better
but "you're my girl" turns into "I don't think this is working"
and you're crying again
and you wonder why you keep having the same ending with different people

and you're wide awake in the middle of the night wishing he'd call
and then he'll miss you enough to want you but never enough to stay
and you worry you are so good at finding the wrong love you won't know how to recognize the right

How green is our city? Is it bleak and bare?
Do open spaces exist; or are only buildings erected there?
And what is that stench? Is it the pollution in the air?  
And what if it is, do we in fact stop to care?

I once read that Bombay was called 'The city of Gold' -
And that there were gardens and open spaces manifold.
But I see no gardens nor strips of wastelands,
For flowers to grow so the city can look grand.
But instead the place is crowded with smoke.
How easy it is to turn the laws into a joke!

It is elsewhere; when global warming is the news,
It can't shock us enough, to stop us from the items we use .
There's a hole in the sky ... Is that of any consequence?
It's too far away for it to make any sense.

There should have been open spaces or trees lining up the roads,
But what we mostly see, is concrete or shanties in hoards!
I hear that it's the politicians' whim (?)
Myopic visions that are making our future dim.

But aren't we all in some way to blame?
For what has begotten this city to shame?
Can't anything be done to correct the flaws?
To discipline the people not to manipulate the laws?
Or do we have to wait for a court decree?
To allow us to co-exist peacefully?
To breathe fresh air and for better earth care?

Our city is decaying by the day   -
What can be done to prevent this dismay?
Surely if each one of us realizes his due
There won't be such an environment issue.
The air will be clean, the earth, more green
The benefits of these is for us to reap
It's easy if we maintain its regular upkeep!

It's
the love I know that used to be there...

it's the
fading passion that's leaving me bare.


It's the recent use of punctuation in my poetry;

filling the gaps I cannot express.