Sometimes
It's nice to let
The silence of life
Trickle in through
Your ears

BECOMING THE MAN MY FATHER ALWAYS WAS
(for Brian D)

Each night
I would follow you

through the rituals
of what you had to do

being Daddy.

I wanted to be Daddy too.

Mimicking your gait
becoming an exact

copy
of you

trailing along
in your footsteps

like a lone seagull
following in the wake

of some great ship
of state

watching the water
burn

'til it was all bubbles

then letting it
calm down

before filling my mother's
hot water bottle

carrying it to her side
like a lover's gift.

I was
your little shadow.  

She'd always smile:
"Thank you Danny! "

"That's alright love"
was always the answer.

These the ritualistic words
in the hot water bottle ceremony.

Then he'd teach the clock
to ****

adjusting it with his hands
and wind up Time

so that it spit tick & tocks
all through the night

then go lock doors
turn keys
draw bolts.

"That's it, son!"

I used to imagine
being you

and now I am
my own man

winding up Time

bringing my missus
the gift of a hot water bottle

(the gift of me)  

both equally
heart warming.

'Thank you Donall! '
she always smiles.

'That's all right love! '
I always answer.

Me the man
I am

because of you.

Riding high on crests
Whispers hidden 'neath the waves,
Our desire to drown

X. TO APHRODITE (6 lines)

(ll. 1-3) Of Cytherea, born in Cyprus, I will sing.  She gives
kindly gifts to men: smiles are ever on her lovely face, and
lovely is the brightness that plays over it.

(ll. 4-6) Hail, goddess, queen of well-built Salamis and sea-girt
Cyprus; grant me a cheerful song.  And now I will remember you
and another song also.

I am very passionate about the object of my heart's affection
I try to get the message over that I am enamoured of your flame
But often I get slapped down for going my passion's direction
For having loved I have nevertheless been made ashamed
Thinking, ruminating on the ******* form of Beauty
At least that's how you have always appeared to me
You and your sermon are my spirit's entreaty
That beseeches, implores my mind mesmerisingly
The perfect opportunity of Love I often destroy
For ignorance of how to give perfect care
In my moods I fall and fall, like Troy
Attesting to my spirit's shame and the poverty there
    But still I'd love to love and love again
    With one who can teach me how to make amends