#1980
We are the last generation,
A couple of years, we will be extinction.
We never wore helmet,
Riding bicycles with whole heart.
We played outside without fear,
Knowing none will bother.
We never drank from plastic bottles,
A gulp anywhere, as it wasn't fatal.
Drinking water from water springs,
Without worrying with playful flings.
Shared our toys with others,
As all were our sisters and brothers.
No Security fences,
Not knowing what was offences.
We never had medicine cabinets,
Healthy eating, our regular habits.
Stalking our crushes,
Sending them unknown wishes.
True love was like a heaven,
Generations will miss those haven.
Eating all the chocolates & sweets
Not bothered about obesity, as it was treats.
No brand shoes, walking with bare foot,
playing, jumping & running, always cute.
Ate real and healthy food,
Each chosen by parents for our good.
Never knew what supplements were,
Even doctors medicine was rare.
Made our playing things,
With scarps, mud, sand and all things.
Gliding through the slides,
in playground, no security nor guards.
No phones, computers, Nor PlayStation
Had real friends, our plays, full of action.
The only tablet we had, when were sick,
We had many things to play, with no logic.
Going to school with backpacks,
Carrying the load of notebooks,
Getting beaten with cane sticks,
Escaping from teachers, were real tricks.
No calling or prior texting,
Surprise for friends, us visiting.
Relatives lived closely,
With love & bonding, made ties, as a family.
Photos were in Black and white,
We were always looking bright.
But the memories, were colorful,
Each moment we spent was cheerful.
Not worried about colors nor looks,
By age and numbers we were hooked,
We shall be remembered, as the last generation,
Who were filled with real human emotion.
We gave keen attention to our elders,
Whom we considered our life ladders,
Listening to flashback stories,
With grandparents, our memories.
An unmatched generation,
Which makes us responsible,
In sharing all things wonderful in life,
As the next don't spend theirs in grief.
Lets return to the basics,
To teach old ways of life and to fix.
Stop wasting time, for tv's and screens,
Care and love others, is what life means.
Put them gadgets down, and rise,
Start to look in each others eyes.
Take off your shoes, don't get spoiled,
Step your foot out, feel the soil.
Often, Use Thank You,
as a gratitude, make it a habit, new.
Involve with people, say I love you,
You will not regret, even if you have a few.
We the peoples,
born during 1950's to 90's,
We aren't special,
but a limited edition models.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 12:41 AM UTC
Cold and clinging
Kind of evening
At the steps of
The Dakota archway
Are you banging your head
against a wall, Holden Caulfield?
Beautiful boy
(Darling boy)
But the limousine was waiting
Annie Leibovitz had the final image
"And I'm standing on the edge
of some crazy cliff.
That's all I do all day.
I'd just be
the catcher in the rye and all."
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 11:19 PM UTC
I see the orange sun
sink below the hills,
said Netanya,
it sinks slowly beyond
the evening sky.
I stand by
the bedroom window
gazing at the departing day,
a thin sliver of blue
slips from sight.
Benny has gone;
I have no idea where;
his sister said she thinks
he went to London
from where he came.
The bed behind is empty;
he will no longer sleep
beside me there;
I must sleep alone.
The sky darkens
to a navy blue
and like a silver coin
the moon evolves.
Tears fill my eyes;
the scenery blurs.
The smell of evening
enters the room;
a slight breeze
touches my hair.
I wonder where he is
and the last time
I watched him
walk up the road
this morning
unaware he was
leaving me for good.
I draw the curtains
to close the day
and gaze at the bed
where once we lay.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
Netanya is downstairs
vacuuming, says Benny,
and I lay in bed
thinking of my escape.
It has to be today:
tomorrow I return to work
and the chance
of a clean break
will have gone.
I get out of bed
and go wash
and dress.
I listen to her downstairs,
still busy.
I gather some
of my things
and money,
and my work uniform
in a bag,
under which I have
other clothes
for a few days.
I leave it by the bed
and go downstairs
and have breakfast and tea.
She is hanging washing
on the line,
and I eat and drink,
then go upstairs
for my things.
I come downstairs
and she is there
at the foot of the stairs.
She asks
where I am going
and I tell her
to take my uniform
to be cleaned
and that we
can pick it up
later together.
She nods her head
and watches me off
up the road.
I do not turn back
and wave,
but carry on
with my escape.
I buy a ticket
and board the train.
I watch other passengers
as the train pulls away,
and wonder what she is doing
and what she will think
when I do not return
from town.
I look out the window
at the passing view
of fields and trees
and sheep and cows
and cottages
and the blue blue sky,
and her thinking later
in the day:
Why? Why? Why?
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
It began so simply.
We met
and talked at work.
You unburdened yourself
in conversations
in between hours
caring for others.
I was younger then,
less aware how
the world worked,
how feelings can
carry away, how long
a simple day.
We started meeting
outside of work:
you making excuses
to your husband then,
meeting in a park
or some night-time cafe,
far far away.
Then came
the weekends
away in London
or at that seaside town
sitting on the beach,
watching the sea
with simple chat,
watching gulls in flight,
walking the streets
until night.
It began so simply:
evolved into
something larger
and in the end,
beyond our scope,
like some leaking vessel,
let in water of reason
or doubt,
and seeing it sinking,
wanted it over,
wanted out.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
You'd picked a fight
with the best man
and it was only
you being a woman
that it didn't turn nasty.
You stormed up the road
for the bus
and I and your children
followed.
It had been
at your niece's
wedding reception
and after the speeches
and toasts.
I had pulled you
away from him
thinking it some
misunderstanding.
A mouthful of abuse
hit the air
and him standing there.
You'd had a few drinks
and something was said
and off you went at him
like a barking dog.
Take her home, Mate,
the best man said.
We waited
by the bus stop
in the evening air
and you fumed
and the children stood
in silence
giving you the stare.
I said nothing
of any consequence
just a few words
of calming you down
but it didn't work
and you moaned
the more.
I had been drinking
and talking to the bride
now newly married
to the drip in a suit.
I missed
the row' s beginning
only caught
the language in the air
and you waving your arms
and I went to sort out
and calm it down.
The bus came
and we boarded
and sat down.
You were silent
but still fuming.
I sat wondering
if the bride was a ******
or if the drip
had been at it before
or some other.
The children were quiet
and gazed at their mother.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
He stood on the shore
gazing across the Solent.
He was smoking
thinking of her
and what she was doing
and what she made
of the turn of events.
He'd left her the day before
and had come to the abbey.
She had no idea
where he was
and that was how
he wanted it.
A car ferry
passed his sight
with holiday-makers
filled with joy
and excitement.
The abbey
was his sanctuary
and he had told
one of the monks
the evening before
of his exile.
Across the Solent
yachts were in sail
their whiteness in contrast
to the blue and green
of the sea.
After the office of Sext
and lunch
he would go
to the public house
over the side and wall.
He went yesterday
and played bar billiards
on his own.
But what after this?
And the day after?
This was the abbey's
private beach
and behind the woods
leading up to the church.
He flicked the cigarette stub
out to sea and stood
watching gulls in flight.
He lit another cigarette.
He would
he mused
sleep alone
again tonight.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
They were not expecting him.
He rang to ask for a room
for a few days.
Then he rang his mother
to say he had arrived ok
and would be staying
at the abbey.
He went by taxi
as it was quicker than the bus
and he just couldn't cope
with the crowds
in his state of mind.
He arrived about twelve.
A monk showed him the room
and he unpacked
what little he had managed
to bring with him.
He sat in a chair
by the window
and looked at the roof
of the church.
What now?
He mused.
He wondered what she
would be thinking.
She'd be wondering
where he was
and why he'd not returned
from the town
as he said he would.
Would it dawn on her
that he'd left her?
Other thoughts would go
through her mind.
Had he had an accident?
But it would gradually
dawn on her that he'd left.
He had an hour to ****
before lunch.
He left the room
and went for a walk
in the abbey grounds
down to the sea shore
through the woods.
Standing there
he lit up a cigarette
and watched the sea.
He thought to himself
what will become of me?
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
She was vacuuming downstairs.
He could her as he lay in bed.
It would have to be today he left
her as there was no days left.
He had been planning to leave
for some weeks but the time
never seemed right. It had to
be today. He could hear her
vacuuming with the old radio
churning out the pop music.
He got out of bed and went
and washed in the bathroom.
His last abulutions in this room.
He listened out for her. He got
dressed and arranged his
uniform in a bag with a suit
beneath to take to the dry-
cleaners. He'd take it down town.
She'd not suspect he wouldn't
be back. He went downstairs
and ate breakfast. She went
to vacuum upstairs. He sipped
his tea and ate toast. He went
upstairs and said he was going
into town to take his uniform
to the cleaners. They could go
down to town later and pick it
up and shop. He took his bag
and she walked with him to
the door. He walked down
the road and waved then walked
on and out of sight. She went
inside and closed the door.
She'd not see him that night.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
It was the week before
you left her. That seaside
town you both used to
frequent 5 years before.
But it had lost its glamour,
lost the romantic mystery
it had back then. That day
you went through the motions,
ate at one of the restaurants
you used to go to years before;
sat on the beach watching
other lovers do what you
used to do, but didn't that day.
The sky was pale blue with
white clouds, and the sea did
what seas do, came in and went
out making that ******* noise
it does. You wanted her to say
something about the day, but
she didn't, she went through
the motions with you, like two
ham actors, knowing the scenes
and lines, but having no belief
anymore in the drama. At the
railway station she said about
having a photo taken together
as you used to do. So you went
into the photo booth together,
and sat, and the flashes came,
but this time, no giggles or
smiles, just you and her sitting
there, looking at the camera,
staring into a lost cause, in front
of no audience and no applause.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 2:11 AM UTC
She sleeps.
There is exhaustion.
Exhaustion of mind,
of body.
L'épuisement
de l'esprit.
Too tired to undress,
she sleeps in the clothes
he wore the night before.
Smell of apples,
fresh picked after rain.
Scent of her God given,
day worn.
Wonder if she dreams of me
or another
or of castle towers,
and knight rescues
after dragon slaying.
Maybe we made love
or else did other.
Contented sleep
looks like,
that well indulged
featured look
while sleeping
in some god's keeping.
Sommeil réparateur.
Bird song outside,
dawn chorus,
traffic far off.
Her hands
which once touched mine,
rest in their sleep.
Her lips just open,
once mine to kiss,
await kisses
in her dreams.
I lay and watch
dawn's light play
upon the ceiling.
I lay awake with that
marooned on a desert island
depressing feeling.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
The convent
was quiet
but Susan
couldn't sleep
she thought of
Jude and how
she left him
standing on
the platform
while she was
on the train
should have said
I didn't
agree to
marry him
should have said
I was off
to Paris
to be an
enclosed nun
I didn't
I just said
was off to
think awhile
she stared at
the small cross
on the wall
a bell rang
off somewhere
she was cold
she could smell
starch and bread
and Jude's scent
lingered there
in her head.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
We arrive
in Scotland
(Edinburgh)
and find the
old guest house
and book in
and settle
in our room
with one bed
(a double)
a tall boy
chest of drawers
and a small
old dressing
table near
the window
well we're here
Rachel says
here alone
just us two
I watch her
standing there
our parents
(her father
my mother)
back at home
wondering
where we were
five hours long
train journey
I utter
wanting to
undress her
and get her
into bed
but stand there
waiting for
her to say
do you think
they will know
where we are?
she asks me
of course not
how could they?
she's unsure
and anxious
Daddy'll be
mad at us
going off
like we have
I hold her
close to me
kiss her neck
we're here now
as we planned
in Scotland
us alone
in this room
us lovers
she turns round
and we kiss
the best kiss
that we have
ever had
and we're free
to kiss now
and make love
in the bed
without fear
our parents
will see us
and she is
probably
thinking of
her father
the doctor
and I think
of Mother
the staff nurse
suspecting
she was right
when she said
to me when
I came out
of Rachel's
room last night
and she said
I don't want
you in her
room ever
again do
you hear me?
we are here
in our room
now Mother
and we will
get undressed
into bed
and make love
not just once
but maybe
more than that
it's raining
Rachel says
can't go out
and we look
at the bed
then undress
and we're there
together
stark naked
listening
to rain fall
while back home
the echo
of parents
and their call.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:17 AM UTC
Susan finds
the convent
just outside
the city
of Paris.
She pulls on
a bell rope
and a nun
dressed in white
opens up
a small grid
and peers out.
Are you our
girl Susan?
The nun asks
in her French.
Yes, I am,
Susan says.
The nun's key
unlocks the
black gate
and Susan
enters in
and the nun
locks the gate.
Goodbye, Jude,
she says in
her tired mind,
following
the old nun.
She ought to
have told him,
not left him
at the train
station like
she had and
not told him
about her
becoming
a nun in
a convent.
He had asked
her if she
would marry him
and she had
not said no,
but left him
thinking she
might in time.
He had waved
her off not
knowing she
was going
off from him
forever.
She follows
the old nun
down cloisters
white and sparse
and chilly.
She passes
a statue
with flowers
and tickets
with requests
for prayers.
She wonders
about Jude,
and what he
is doing,
what he thinks.
A bell tolls.
There is a
square of sky
visible
above her.
A bird sings.
Another bell
from somewhere
gently rings.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
Rachel's there
beside me
on the train;
she's looking
at the scene
passing by.
Her blond hair
flows over
her shoulders
like water;
it catches
my vision
as she turns.
On our way
eloping
from our home
and parents:
her father
my mother;
step brother
step sister.
When will they
realize
we have gone?
Rachel asks.
I ponder,
thinking of
yesterday
when Mother
told me off
coming out
of Rachel's
pink bedroom.
I don't know
what you were
doing there
in Rachel's
pink bedroom,
Mother said,
but I don't
want to see
you in there.
I look at
Rachel's eyes
at how they
stare at me.
I don't know
when they'll know
that we've gone,
but we're here
together
and they're there
without us.
We almost
went further
last evening
than kissing
and holding,
but held back.
But maybe
tonight when
we're alone
in Scotland
in some room,
we'll make love.
The odd man
opposite
Rachel on
the train stares
at us both,
as if he
knew about
our love flight.
I stare at
him until
his dark eyes
look away
and my eyes
meet Rachel's,
and see there
two small men
gazing back
and it's me
in those eyes
which are deep
like wild seas.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC
The train is moving as far
from Sheila as fast it can;
her image still stuck in my mind;
her there on the platform
saying she found it hard to cope
when I wasn't there
and how long
will you be, Eric?
she said,
as long as the job requires,
I said,
hoping the train
would soon come
and when it did I jumped
on board as soon
as the train stopped.
Now she is miles away,
walking back home,
head down,
crying no doubt,
one of her heads
coming on.
In Paris I'll meet Patsy
and we'll settle in the hotel
and get down to ***
almost straight away;
last month it was in Bournemouth
in some seedy hotel.
Ring me,
Sheila said,
when you get there;
just to hear your voice.
I said,
of course I will,
I always do;
even that time
in Bournemouth
when I was in bed with Patsy
ringing her with Patsy
naked beside me,
laying there making
faces at me,
me trying hard
not to laugh.
Eric,
Sheila said on the platform,
I will miss you tonight,
got to sleep on my own,
hope the children
don't play up
as they often do
when you're away.
The train rushes past stations,
past trees, fields,
houses and I look
around the train carriage
at the other passengers
and wonder where they
are going and if they too
are hiding or have
secrets like me.
Whether the woman opposite
who is mouthing words
to herself is quite right
in the head.
I look away
at the passing view,
trying to keep Sheila
out of my head
and look forward
to having Patsy
in Paris
in the bed.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
Susan had found the ferry trip
over the Channel,
harder than she thought:
she'd felt sick
and couldn't eat or drink,
but sat downstairs
in the lounge,
either pretending
to be asleep,
or gazing at passing people
and wondering where
they were going or doing.
Jude was on her mind
most of the time,
how he was or
where he'd gone
after leaving her
on the platform
and seeing the train
off out of sight.
She had looked
from the train window
until he was a mere blot
on the far off landscape.
Now as she was on a train to Paris
she found she couldn't stop
thinking of him,
how she should have told him
about being a nun
on the outskirts of Paris,
but she hadn't,
just let him kiss her,
full of hope that
when she returned
from her journey
she'd say yes to his
marriage proposal
and that life would proceed
as he had thought.
And there was those
odd couples on the train
each of them escaping
like she was from someone
or something
to go somewhere
as if to escape.
She looks out the window
of the train to Paris
watching the scenery change,
hearing people around her
speak French and smile
and laugh,
only vague thoughts
of the convent
she was going to,
what would she have there,
what she would feel like
when the convent doors
closed behind her.
And her parents
they had not wanted her
to enter the convent at all;
Mother with her you'll
be dead to us and Father
saying I never thought
a daughter of mine
would waste their life
amongst lonely old woman
and making her feel
a traitor other than
a possible future saint.
The rush
of the French train
makes her feel
slightly giddy
and lowly faint.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
Mr McParland;
our Primary 4 teacher lived in Newry,
Northern Ireland.
Not a City in those days,
but a dangerous border town.
He had wiry hair like a blonde Afro.
Pat Jennings;
world class goalkeeper for his country,
was also born in Newry.
Our man claimed to know him,
and went to school with the green giant.
We believed without reproach.
Yours truly;
age 6 & 7, in the years of the Hunger Strikes,
born in Belfast.
I was enthralled because Pat was of another
world to kids reared in our divided times.
A symbol of hope on an island of doubt.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
remember who you was
and remember who you wouldn't
remember if you Should'ave
and remember if you Couldn't
the things that happened Yesteryear
are gone like yesterday
the things that will
tomorrow
you could drink in a Frappe
ask the happy What Not
he was gone, like yesterday
the things that will tomorrow
are now gone
like Ice Capades
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
If I met you 20 years ago
I would not even lay my eyes on you
But I could
Picture the younger you with me
Easily
I frown on
Your 80's acid shirt, Kenny G hair
But I can still trace the image of you between your brows
Unswerving eyes and lips
If I met you 20 years ago
You would had fallen for me
I am so sure, because your eyes tell me
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC