Her hair was a rose of
wonder that I fancied
touching, envisioning
sweet caress of tender-
mossy skin on softened
shore of wet peat-bog,
sinewy, wispy essence
true, intoxication oceanic
Ogyges-blue, observe a
mechanized Sol-to-solace
too, what I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I in
my solicitude and appre-
-hensive about her truth,
Oh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ah-
-I-I-I-I know, I know and I-I-
-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-ah I know oh, oh, if
I lose her, if she go-oh-oes, I-I-I,
I-I-I, I-I-I, will, will die-eye-I-I-I,
I will die-eye-I oh, oh, oh, oh,
my love I will die-eye-I-I-I, oh my
my love will die-eye-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I…
My love will die-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I…
* My Love Will Die!

The sea has claimed all
Our pride has sunk below
Where once flags flapped bright
No sign or ruin gives note
Tall spires were felled low
White walls crashed down like foam
The waves have rolled through
Our hearths are dead and cold
Fair gems have waned dark
Their light shines no longer
All songs have ceased now
The joyful live no more
A cloud has risen here
It's shadow leads the van

The summer's rain starts smashing down,
Battering the seasoned ships.
It wouldn't quite be an Irish town
Without some sodden fish and chips.

He asked me why.
It wasn’t the kind of thing that had
An explanation, or needed one.
Still, he asked why.
It was intrinsic.
I had never thought it through before.

It has something that home doesn’t.
He asked what.
It has you. That’s important.
He asked why it mattered, why he mattered.
Everyone else is gone and you’re here with me.

He asked why it meant so much.
Home has no culture of its own.
We are a melting ***.
Our history has us playing a part.
Our countries share a common villain.
The difference is, we became ours.
You didn’t.

He asked why here, why now.
You view this place like I view my own.
You’ll never see it the way I do.
There is no conversation in bars,
Just fingers and tongues and fake names.

You look at me when I speak.

He asked if that was all.
No, of course not.

Those uilleann pipes make me cry.
I have no nation,
No reason for pride.
My songs and stories
Do not hold the same depth.
You tell me who you are
And it means something.

He touched my arm and the universe swallowed me whole.

Do you want to go home? he asked.
Absolutely not.
Do you want to leave? he asked.
*With you, absolutely.

I walk along
A rainy nova street
Beneath a lilac umbrella

And through the trees
I see shimmers of cool grey
Through the mist

And I have
A familiar feeling

And suddenly
I'm not in nova
The land of traffic jams and crazy schools and swampy heat

I am walking down a street in Howth
A castle behind me
In the cobbles to the street

And in that moment
I am thirteen
And running along
With my sister and grandma and grandad
Hoping we get to the DART station on time

In that moment
I hear birds chirping
Cars running
And the soft, lovable patter
Of rain on leaves

The magic of a flashback

The rose petals in my cocktail
Somehow found a way
To colour your romantic young lips;
I longed to match them with mine,
Bloom a field of thorned kisses between us.
Between the half pints, the martini, and the free shot,
The rest of your face is a blur
But I cannot forget the right side of those thin lips
Curving upward as you spoke,
As you listened to my stories
About a land far away,
With your blue eyes locked on mine.
I rambled and you smiled.
You couldn’t understand my love for the city,
But you were glad I chose Dublin that night.
You asked questions and I didn’t understand
The implications until
The morning when I was sober.
The more I drank the more I wanted you,
But they closed down the bar
And your friends disappeared
And my mouth grew dry as we spoke.
The last ones in,
I’d lost track of time and we were out on the street.
I waited for you to ask me along
But they took me by the arm
And I slept in the bathtub of my hotel room,
Never knowing more than your name,
Never remembering more than your charming drunken smile
And the heat of your breath on my neck,
Inches away,
But never touching.

Did i ever tell you, about the boy with bigger hopes?
With a bright past, a dull present, and a Forever hopeful return to the kindling ember His past still bears?
With memories of fields. Luscious, slick,
Irish-green summer grass; under a diagonal orange flare of happiness only sweet summer would gift.
"Ahh, those were the days!" he would joke, Trying to conceal his heartbreak at how far He'd fallen in the chart of happiness.
He forever lies now,
Upon his worn-out mattress;
With a crowded head of thoughts and memories,
Looking out the window-
With a forever-dream of those joyful summers,
Under an Irish heaven.

My little redheaded cousin
Still in elementary school
Or whatever it's called in Belfast

The news just came in
From the other side of the pool
The Brexit movement has passed

Will little Aoife still be
Able to travel freely southward
To see the rest of her family in Ireland?

I'll have to wait and see
If North Ireland's change will be hard
I have no idea what's being planned