It was like a perfect storm
All the ingredients were there
It was like all the pieces had fallen into place
Taylor Swift was coming to Dublin for some gigs
My niece was a big fan of hers
I was a bit of a fan myself, she had some great songs and videos
She had just put out a new album and it was called
"The Tortured Poets Department"
Now I'd once written a funny poem (Electric funeral) and mentioned Taylor in it.

So my niece comes down to visit
And she asks "What have you been up to Uncle, I haven't seen you in awhile ?"
I looked at her a bit weirdly and then said real mysterious like
"It happened !"
"What happened ?" she asks a bit concerned,
"Taylor Swift happened".
"What! You mean you were at the concerts".
"Well, not quite... kind of".
"What do you mean ?"
So I explain "I once wrote this funny poem and Taylor Swift was in it, I posted it online
It has a lot of views"
Then I say "She must have read my poem and then read my other poems. Y'know she has a new album out, you know what she's called it ?"
"Yes! she replies "it's called... isn't it called The Tortured Poets Department"
"You see!" I say as if it's self evident, "my poems they inspired her new album. So of course when she came to Dublin she wanted to meet me...  I was summoned... to go up and see her backstage
I was ushered into her presence
She had this lovely friendly welcoming smile just for me
And I could feel straightaway there was this... this chemistry, this spark there between the two of us
So I said to her "Careful now Taylor, if you ever fell in love with me girl
You'd start writing even better songs".

Vintage Chanel lives rent free in my mind
the colors are deep, subtle and magical.
Over time, the originally soft textures,
become luscious, like a lover's caressing touch.

In college, you dress down,
you want to blend in, not stand out
gods forbid you flag entitlement
and draw envy's barbed compliments.

The simple styles bear the twin burdens
of camouflage and practicality.

In Paris, fashion can be capricious,
but elegance is a silent conversation,
with its own intricate vocabulary in drape,
line, fabric and in painstaking choice.

In places where fashion matters - Paris, Manhattan, the Hamptons,
it can signal position, the way uniforms signal authority everywhere.

A splash of fashion can not only have a fabulous effect
on how its wearer feels, it can tell important stories.

I’m told that, in back rooms, where fortunes are awarded or lost,
fashion can announce arrival, rank, and intent.
It can whisper new wealth, in upstart display
or a threadbare, silent duel with mounting debt
.
.
Songs for this:
The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Read Between the Lines by The Bingtones

Asia was a word that came one Summer as a child
While looking at a huge map of the World spread out in all these amazing colours
And then
Then someone said ...someone said the word Asia... Asia
Was like an enchantment, a magic spell...Asia !

And there was a book of flags
Again so many wonderful colours  
And all these magical sounding names
Arabia, Morocco, Syria, Egypt.....
You'd go off to sleep with lovely turquoise blues and crescent moons dancing around in your head
And the smell of the lilacs in the vase in the window
The world it was so magical, it was so enchanting.

And in our books there were stories of Japan and Genghis Khan... of the Picts in Scotland... and the Romans
And the Great Wall of China...

                        2

Asia was a girl that came smiling one Summer long ago
Out of a book with pictures
A Persian princess, she came in a caravan from the East
Smiling and giggling to herself
Like a mischievous little kitten
In the mirror of her face I saw my own
"My world is fun", she seemed to be saying, "and I want you to come, come and be my Prince, my Prince Charming"
She seemed to be reaching out to me as if for to dance
And with her lovely rosy lips that wanted to kiss mine.

                              3

Asia was a light wind that blew through empty Summer rooms
With the sunbeams coming in through the white lace curtains
And a lonely kid just wandering there
A small boy perplexed.... not knowing
In a world that said it knew
Told to be quiet, that you were small...that you were stupid
Struggling between the beauty and the ugliness of it all.

How fine it is to see
these waves roll
upon my beach,
To watch the sun dance
and play its light on
the water, like a vast
array of precious gems.

What a joy to feel the cool
power of the tide curling
around my legs.

These same waves perhaps
have embraced a thousand
other beaches, and have
belonged to strangers unknown,

But today these waves, this beach,
this moment belongs to me alone.

The path strewn with hurdles and gravels
40 years is a long way to travel
Two souls sewn with love and peace
Two hearts dipped in bliss
Two minds not always in same strength
But determined within to walk the length.

40 years of building the nest
Patience and endurance put to hard test
Before one day the saplings become a tree
Heart upon heart two becomes three
Through fall and rise and sun downpour
Years flew as the three becomes four.

It's no easy work to raise a family
In all sadness live strong and happily
Blocks are thrown doubts are cast
Moments of life try to break the trust
But we didn't bow continued the thrive
A grownup family now, we number five.

Hobbled by the
sun, and laid
prostrate by
days of
degenerate
behavior.
Days of
nothingness,
and worse.
Only writing
could save me.

Poor and lonely.
No warm woman to
hold.
No *****.
No home.
But, I had my
writing.
It let the light in,
and buffered me from
the crowds of
scarecrows with sewn
on smiles.

Writing keeps me
immortal and kills
the pain.
It soothes the
mice lost in
the maze, and
brings the stray cat
home to a house where
he's safe.
Writing is the
pillow that keeps
my head up, and
my heart engaged.

As wee kittens she and her brother
were gifted to us from a neighboring
farm up the hill, a pair from a litter of
feral felines, welcomed on our place
as mousers and ratters.

Mostly they lived around the barn,
strolled and policed the property as
their domain. The male was always
by his disposition aloof, had no need
of close human contact, content to be
independent and on his own.

His sister was more inclined to draw
nearer, curious and at times amenable
to a pat on the head, or a small dish of
cat food. And the bearer of gifts in the
form of parts of the remains of her kills
deposited on my porch door threshold.
Proof I suppose of her doing her job,
or in gratitude for my feeding her.

One day her brother was predator taken,
though she stayed on her job, she became
a more frequent visitor to my porch, with
her litter mate gone perhaps she had become
lonely and needed companionship.

It has been a few years since the loss of
her brother and now she comes everyday
morning and evening, or whenever I call
her in. Running full speed to eagerly rub
against my legs, or flop down atop my feet,
wanting a belly rub, purring and ever so
glad to see me. For all her given affection,
she is not a fan of being picked up and held.
It offends, maybe threatens her half wild nature.

No where to be seen, yet when I go out to the
road to get the mail, to the barn or orchard
before I walk 30 feet, there she is running close
behind me, as if she had been waiting just for
that very occasion.

She is over ten now getting old like me,
she is around my inner yard or the porch
most of the time, I even let her inside the
house from time to time, she and my inside
cat, get along fine. Drink from the same
water bowl, eat side by side. They enjoy
playing together, I think he is smitten by
her as only a neutered male cat can be.

But always at some point, as if she hears
a distant calling, she goes to the door and
let's me know she is ready to return to her
life outside. Instincts are difficult to ignore.