Waves beating the rugged rocks of the coast,
Rapidly eroding the soft susceptible sand,
Engulfing homes children have long since deserted,
Drowning a man eternally asleep, and
Neatly knocking down a carefully built wall.
Barrage after barrage attacking weekend achievements,
But it is Monday now and school beckons.
Nobody is here to remember the dead.
Alone, nature watches the sand funeral instead.

The weather outside is indeed frightful
Despite this the window is left ajar
To stop condensation engulfing
The already icy bathroom.
I disappear behind the curtain
Dressed in a much bigger version of my birthday suit.
Leaves are glued to that open window by ice.
I shiver, shaking until I have the courage
To turn the taps on-
OUCH!
An agonisingly cold burst burns my feet,
My right arm twists desperately
Until my skin starts to suffer a different type of burning,
My left arm mimics the dance my right performed just moments ago-
PHEW!
Finally the water overpowers my goosebumps
And perfection is created.
I can now unleash heaven out of the shower head.
I am being kissed by Niagara Falls.
Steam shrouds the room
And the music begins.
If only life were as perfect as this,
As perfect as a warm winter shower.

I know it was the right decision,
Because one doesn't make
painful decisions lightly,
But ever since,
I have never quite been able
To sleep as well,
As when I did with someone
Lying beside me.
Even though I am almost two metres tall
And my feet hang out at the best of times.

Saoirse wanted motivation
Before the new year celebration.
I bid to write her a poem I'd parsed
But on her acceptance I couldn't be arsed

She's the finest, perfectly sweet gelato that Italy has to offer, but even once you have tasted her you're still susceptible to brain freeze

I've been a nomad oft to roam
For what seems like an endless time,
But meeting you, of all girls, here,
And strolling down Dun Laoghaire pier
Against the full moon's ghostly shine
Whilst French kissing and holding hands;
Debating life's endless demands -
You made me feel like I was home.

Dead, burnt alive.
Your face crushed by brute metal force,
Smashed, black eyes look like they’re crying,
Innards vomited out on impact- corpses,
****** through your shattered forehead,
Turned to pulp by the asphalts grisly smile.
A curb has never been so twisted.
Teeth and bones show that these were once people,
Instead of just the red tape left behind.
Now you’re stopped by the feeble yellow kind,
Sunshine yellow that scars a grey sky-
Teeth and bones last longer
And teeth and bones are stronger
But not as strong as a boy,
Going faster than control.
All he needed was one hand too far,
And Satins red and black sprayed their clothes,
Igniting more than petrol when it explodes,
Killing you- his life, his love, his car.

"Turn off the television set"
"Switch off the films in your head"
"Disconnect the internet"
"Put away the books you haven't read"

"Wake up and go outside and see,
And stop all this hiding from the truth -
See the world as how it's meant to be,
Sunbathe in the garden; on the roof."

I think I'd rather live in fantasy
(Even if my eyes melt down my face)
From watching films, to escape reality,
Than wake up to the horrors of this place.

When I was a child, on Grafton Street,
My brother and I used to pop bubbles.
We also built great cities and bases,
Arenas of Jenga, where soldiers did battle.

These creations were places of retreat
To escape from childhood pain and troubles.
Now we wear our masks instead of our faces
And herd ourselves onto trains like cattle.

It's hard to pinpoint when the dream truly dies -
The suicide rates will not be televised,
But be assured that your job is distracting
You from your lack of power, hope, and truth.

We live in our own little bubbles of lies,
And now know that life's not as advertised.
You might think that I'm overreacting
Until you have lost all sight of your youth

And all that is left are dogs chasing bones -
Are we anything more than just monkeys with phones
Searching for comfort and love in our loneliness?

The false excitement is over now.
I am at home, without work; without friends.
Trapped in the prison called life,
And dying in the slowest way possible.
****** into solitary confinement,
I am eternally confused.
I should be happy but I am frustrated.
Frustrated at myself for wasting time.
Shackled in chains of boredom,
My routine has changed.
While I welcome the lie-ins I have never welcomed change.
The school holiday is over now,
And again I am unhappy.
It is books that chain me now,
And my teachers, the wardens who harass me.
Life is back to how it should be-
We all hate it, but enjoy the company.

Eve's crime was not biting the apple, but accepting the idea that she was to blame for man's fall.

That, in my experience, was inevitable.

Regularly I'm a master of oration,
But when it comes to
Deep feelings of affection
can't I just bury my head
and hand her a poem instead?

It started with a touch -
Nothing and everything special,
A gentle hand on the arm
As a sort of comforting reassurance
In a friendly-stranger-sort-of-way.
A way of saying everything is fine -
I'm talking to you because I want to
Not because I feel obliged to.
It was that simple gesture
That made me fall in love with you.
And there, senoras y senores,
Is your answer.
I fall in love too easily.
Poets fall in love too easily,
And each for different reasons -
All with a psychological deficiency,
Or maybe psychological necessity.
Mine, it becomes clear to me now,
Is the desperate desire to be held
In any meaningful way
For as long as possible.
And that acknowledgement
Brings forth logic and reason:
I know very few things about her
And always will.
She is a passing poet's love...
Just red hair and a sense of humour
Caught in a fortnight's daydream.

Electricity is in the air.
Life without a care
Or stress heaved upon your feet?
One week.
A blur of late nights, early mornings
Moving, moving, rushing.
Drinking, lots of drinking,
Sleeping and overthinking,
Excitings mixed with borings,
Sweat and cider gushing.
Meeting loads of people,
Different lives and races,
(Forgetting countless faces.)
Continuous lack of sleep will
Bring about more madness!
Eyes and head are burning,
Difficulties with learning.
The blood inside is churning
As you find it hard to learn again.
Nostalgia brings about more sadness
And body's close to death
As you lie, trapped, with blood and pen,
Out of breath.

I'm writing with my tool right now,
And although it sounds hard and fun,
Unless one plays with metaphors,
The words are not going to come...

When she doesn't have a voice, and she shies from the written word, you can only imagine the cruel ways she's tearing your heart in her head

My eyes gaze through the stuttered blinds,
And cast a pan across the place
Of golden, hazy meadow days
As smoke chokes from the fireplace,
And I behold a sea of gold
As it competes with emerald grass,
A sea of frosty emerald-gold
That casts itself against the mass
Of endless, dimming Christmas lights
As mid-'noon soon comes fading in
To dim winter's late-'noon delights,
But not before, with golden grin,
The sun sprays wonders through the land,
Wonders atop the chimney stacks,
The grass, the houses, and the blinds
As golden tears go gleaming back.

I leave the comfort of the school,
I drift down to Dun Laoghaire pier,
And pass the lovers holding hands,
Or sneaking sips of bargain beer,
And I approach my destined ship -
The station always holds the key,
To get a train so I can start
The journey home to Delgany.

It soon creeps forward from the dark -
A worm emerging from a peach,
Gliding past the moonlit sea
Stroking the shores of Killiney beach.
It misses the seals in Sandycove,
Tunnelling through the Dalkey hill,
Approaching Greystones but not before
Bray, Killiney and Shankill.

It chunders through the tunnels vast,
The sea breeze freezing up the carriage.
The light shines brightest when I leave -
The moon and grass make quite a marriage,
And the stars do wonders to the trees,
Who stand bare, posing, just for me,
While I crunch through their pile of leaves
On my way home to Delgany.

For some, it's fireworks and kisses,
For some, it's an ambulance and a fire truck.
I guess for a new year's wishes
Some get all the luck...

‪The world is a confusing place‬
‪And uniting those lost souls‬
‪Is left to poor Sofia,‬
‪And the pink underwear‬
‪That comforts Scarlett's cheeks...‬

Now there's a fine thing.
I looked out my window
And there was the sun,
And it had a fine glow
That made the land sing
As it went to sleep.
It struck the distant sea,
As it was made to do
Before the stars awake,
And the moon began to make
The beauty of the blue
Bring out the best in me,
Reminding me of you.

When I am out enjoying life's remit,
And wander into some department store,
I find that I am often cruelly hit
With nauseous scents of which I must endure.

Aromas of the various perfumes
That famous folk oft peddle to the masses
Affect my asthma clogging up the rooms
Until I'm far away and then it passes.

But when a lovely lady passes by -
Perfume mixed with a human factor,
And the scent wafts, floating, past my eye
I have to carry on and play the actor.

For that sweet odour smacks me in the face -
Envelopes my nose and then my heart,
For first it seems to stop and then to race
As brain is tricked by nature's work of art.

My senses dwell on that sweet love's decree
That smell that leaves me in pure ecstasy.

She swears in multiple languages.
But in such an adorable way.
While I just sit there stunned by beauty
Without knowing what the **** to say

A text that demands an answer
And thought.
I see your loving smile,
And that overwhelming friendliness
That you bestow on everyone.
I see that you are one hundred percent crazy
Yet so smart and sensible,
And I love how you can balance them both so well.
I see that you are one of the most fun people I know
And funniest – a day doesn’t pass
Without you making me laugh.
I see that you make me feel warm
(And you know I get cold very easily.)
I see the first time we met:
How I laughed at you for sounding American.
How I felt like I’d known you forever
And had enjoyed every second.
How you didn’t know me
Yet offered me cake.
How could I not fall head over heels?
I see how you always play with your hair
(And was secretly mesmerised by it in every class
Long before I had the courage to kiss you.)
I see how we have so much in common.
I see how you make me feel:
Like I’ve just been hit
By a cooling breeze on a hot summers day.
But if you needed another reason –
If you fail to believe all that was said before
I give you my all and proclaim:
I love your glorious, adorable, wonderfully unique laugh
And I love that you hate that I love it.

"Don't let your imagination play tricks on you."
"I'm a writer, it's what I do."
"Surely sometimes it's handy?"
"It's normally just agony.."

Staring at her beauty - that’s a sin
You were told when you were young that beauty lies within
But it’s hard to not be human
It’s hard to tell such lies
When her beauty makes you fly
And touch the mountains of the skies.

You think that I am shallow
And that’s why I am alone?
They’ll say:
“You’re like a sinking stone
When you’re sat on your throne
You’re going to hit the ground eventually.”

“And like an aeroplane
While there’s others to blame
You know it doesn’t crash naturally.”

And it hurts.
For eyes and mouth seldom operate the same.
I guess that’s down to chemistry!

My face is crammed full with food,
Stomach bursting at the seams,
I feel sick of myself and the world
But it's always been that way it seems

‪The beauty of innuendo is that as long as you don't try and force it, it will always fit wherever you like. Just make sure there is consent.‬

Surrounded by such eternal happiness, there's a soul-crushing, heart-breaking loneliness to it all. So I drink and wait for the pain to end.

I want to scream but the government doesn't care. They ignore the screams of the people. I write it down but it already feels like it's f...

We put our teachers on a pedestal,
Until we age, and mature, and stifle.

They wear cardigans and reading glasses,
While teaching spelling and grammar classes,

And have an impeccably insufferable wit -
A world of puns amidst the world's dark grit.

So who would think that life's next station
Would involve discussing punctuation?

And passing that, believe it far -
Sharing drinks in a grotty bar?!

But here I am amidst my friends
(Despite not knowing them at ends)

Discussing the art of lesbianism,
Islam, clowns, and feminism,

How men are pigs and life is ****,
And how innuendoes always fit,

How therapy would be depressing
(Despite depression being the issue pressing.)

Oh, how girls can dance whilst sitting down
With words, and lips, and laughs and frowns,

With obscene gestures with their hands,
And tongues and drinks, and stories grand,

By uplifting life to a higher beat -
A rhythm that can trap your feet
And click your fingers.

English language teachers don't
Dance how I imagined them to...
And yet, I'm sad when the music's through
And my memory of them
And that simple, yet brutally important night
Lingers...

"What's the worst that could happen?," he said, praying she wouldn't say what he had feared.
Her eyes said it all: "We could fall in love."

Her eyes said "yes" when they first met mine
Her smile said "I want to know more"
Her laugh said "this guy seems quite nice.
Who knows what the night has in store?"

My mouth said "Jesus, I'm being a bore"
My heart felt recurring themes
She walked away, and into the night
As my brain said "just in your dreams"

‪Dancing salsa in a cave‬
‪Makes it harder to behave, ‬
‪But it's easier to repeat‬
‪Your footsteps in the Cuban heat‬
‪With kisses, as I feel brave.‬

He could write endless books about the curl of her lips when she smiles but they would be futile in expressing truly how they made him feel.

Oh why must love be such a tease?
Those women are a crazy breed!
Can life not find true love with ease?
Those women toy with what I need,
Those with their passionate winks and smiles,
Those longing gazes that burn like fire –
Suggestions, nothingness or trials
Testing objects of desire.

One I love has a lover own,
But is it true or simple fun?
And would our love leave love alone,
Or is this love of mine the one?

Another, single, but I don’t know.
It’s just a hunch that I can keep.
The question’s whether I should go
And take the painful, fateful leap...

The last is one I haven’t met,
The woman who oft haunts my dreams,
A woman I might ever get?
A slim hope for a dope it seems!

We drink to 'guise our fraught depression -
A mask staging a good impression.

A drink and darkness cocktail vice,
And one that comes at quite a price:

I'm one who likes a beer or two
To take the edge off feeling blue.

She likes to douse her thoughts with cider
To fill the emptiness inside her.

When feeling down we'll have a stout
To help us force the demons out.

He takes his ale so he can feel
That different kind of numb appeal.

The girlfriends go for lots of wine
To help them say their feeling fine,

Or they sometimes call for ***** shots -
Or tequila shots, and often, lots.

The lads drink whiskey on the rocks
To knock the cotton off their socks.

While your poison always comes with lime
To prolong the certainty of time.

She takes gin with a dash of tonic
To try avoid being laconic.

You like to take your Coke with *** -
For glum is oft best paired with numb.

We start to settle down for an all-nighter
And dream that the noose grows a naggin tighter.

Poetry shouldn't be sipped with a fine wine
on a late Sunday afternoon,
It should be crunched;
Snorted off a ****** late on a Saturday morning,
Because we don't dine when we're content,
But when we desperately crave food.

Poetry should be grimy
like we feel,
Powerful, like we're not,
And stuffed to the brim with sustenance.
And love.
Love is perhaps the most important ingredient.
Love is the difference between someone
who likes pizza and has been to Italy,
And someone who read about them both once
on a takeaway menu, which happened to drop
in through the letterbox.

This isn't poetry. But she ******* is.

Waiting,
For the right time,
To tell you that I am,
Sick, sick and tired of always,
Waiting.

The day is young and I begrudgingly traipse out of the covers to check my messages.
My seventeen inches of pride lies proudly slumped across the desk - a laptop.
I lovingly push the plug, slowly, but forcefully into the socket.
The switch is turned on.
Now I use my finger to hover around the power button.
I gently rub it before pushing it in.
Electricity surges through it. Lights spring into action and it starts -
Sounds of an engine revving, purring.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes, before moving my fingers lower,
Descending towards the keys,
And place them softly down, sprawled across the keyboard
Before assuming the appropriate position.
Now, a strange thing happens.
Each button slowly starts to rise up,
Inserting and engulfing themselves in my fingers.
They burrow deeply into my fingerprints -
An abyss of identity caressed by technology.
It doesn't stop.
Meanwhile, the plug has detached,
The lights surviving on battery power alone.
It grows hotter.
The cable slithers across the floor,
Slowly working its way up the inner side of my legs.
It wraps itself around my calves and rises up between my thighs.
The chair gets thrown from beneath me across the room
As I forcefully drop to my knees.
Both my fists are now inside the machine,
Swallowed by blackness.
The cable has worked its way around my waist and up to my neck.
It caresses my ear as it tightens, before making its chiselled tips towards  my mouth -
A literal three-pronged attack.
I can only kneel motionless, and gag as it enters my mouth,
And scream silently in horror as it forces my head down,
Dragging me completely inside as I choke on its power source.
Swallowed by blackness -
An abyss of identity ***** by technology,
Standing silently on the desk, seemingly unmoved,
Until it runs out of battery and dies.

For months she made my heart beat faster, but the indifference I know she feels must be accepted, even at the cost of complete obliteration.

Maybe it's because I've been lonely for a while or maybe it's a weird side-effect of depression, or maybe I'm delirious from this course but

The water charges are coming.
Quickly, power-hose the path.
Check the water has stopped running.
Have your final bubble bath.

Don't forget to clean the cars.
Get the grime out of the gutters.
Let the bubbles fill the drains.
Wash the windows and the shutters.

Feed the plants and hide the hose.
It's strictly fruit juice from now on.
Make sure the ice machine goes,
And Billy's water gun is gone.

Turn on the TV, continue your day,
Pray that the Wi-Fi connection's the same.
Watching the news you'll stare in dismay:
An African child in an ad campaign -

"What a lucky ***!" You'll say,
"He's only been charged for his tears today."

‪I had a vague goal for 2016 to have written 100 of these tweet verses by the year's end. I imagine it'll fall short which, I suppose, is apt‬

‪I could never try to **** myself, not again. But maybe if I'm lucky, which is a different question, I'll get hit by a bus on the way to work‬

I feel like Howard Beale screaming: "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" There is a lengthy poem brewing inside me.

Several years ago I became depressed
And fled from my independence
Into the seductive arms of my home
In the hope that it would cure me of my
Chronic feelings of discomfort, angst, and misery.
In my head, it was a sanctuary,
A place I could go to free my mind
And find warmth and comfort.
Nothing has changed in my head
And I had forgotten how much of a nomad
I actually was and that home is just a myth
We tell ourselves to make ourselves feel
Warm and fuzzy and not so desperately alone
And now I'm wondering why all I found here
Was perpetual headaches and continued heartache
With the added benefit of cake.

‪Even though I fear that I'll never see you again,‬
‪That your memory of me will fade into the wind,‬
‪My determination; my love for you resists.‬

She always liked the romance of
Slow dancing in a burning room.
I did too, but now I can't imagine
Doing any of it with a dancing partner.

They used to burn, stretch, or cut you, but now, they just get a girl with a beautiful smile and soul to not use Facebook very often. Agony.