Boardwalk beach goers
Strolled in ball caps
And in wide-brimmed hats
And in flip flops
And in cover-ups casually tied over low-slung bikinis
Lining the railing of the weathered pier
Eyes half closed, hands folded, heads atilt
Shoulders squared to a fading sun
A familiar form among the silhouettes
Twenty years hence
A cascade of raven hair
A billowing summer dress
My single breath
Then across rutted planks
To finally slake the thirst for another and
Be free of the malfeased heart
The lilt of perfume
Light, breathless, familiar
Transported back through time
To burn white hot again
Only to blanch at the precipice
Before the gray water
Silent

UNCLE MICHAEL - ALIAS GOD!

His hands(tobacco stained)
twisted & gnarled
knotted like an alive

piece of wood
scrawled gestures
across my mind

as the sick calf
bucked in his arms
& his quiet strength

- calmed:
'Shhhhhh...
shhhhhhh...****...****! '

he crooned
& the sound
soothed

and the veins
(line vines)
ran up & down

his arms
pumping crude life
like a sudden sketch

to suggest the gist of
rather than
the meaning of things.

and he walked
(& I ran)
towards Granny's garden

(like God tending Eden)
& the gate(a little hoarse)
sighed at his hand and

the leaves murmured
(like worshippers
in a church congregation)

& the sunlight
genuflected through the trees
and the trees wore socks & apples

a tablecloth
was laid
on a logan berry bush

and the young tree
gave herself to him
broke tenderly in his hand

and, the knife whistled &
out of the branch
came a man

and he told me
(& I believed him
'cos he was good as God & strong)

that the little wooden man
(the silent statue)
had been waiting

(all the time all ready made)
waiting to be released
from his prison of wood.

'All things...'he whispered
'all things are waiting
for youto call them.'

'Call them to come out...'
'Awake them...'
'Create them...! '

the rhododendrons
were blue with amazement
- at this revelation

a dragonfly
walked
upon the water

a butterfly became
infatuated
with a flower

me...?
I watched as
his hands talked...

...explaining things
that
could not be...said

and he took
my hand in his
and I understood

flowed
like a little stream
into his big river

felt God(close)
near at hand
and...smiling

Sometimes
Give the poems in your head
Some rest.

Don't write them on,
Write them off.

Internally arrange a funeral
Bid them farewell
Give them an unceremonious burial.

The rising poem won't complain
They know well your anguish and pain.

The labour you go through birthing them
Shape their body, give a name
They would understand.

Failed poems are not as arrogant
As the birthed ones.

They too are weary pounding your head
Making holes in your soul
They would rather rest than be born.

Sometimes
They deserve rest.

Let them float away to a place
Where they find peace
And will not be missed.

i wish the world was happy and never ever sad
where everything was good and never ever bad
it would be so peaceful loving and so kind
to have a world so friendly with trouble left behind

it would be like heaven way up high above
a happy place to live in filled with so much love
just world of peace with a life thats free
united all together like its meant to be

WHAT THE BARBER THINKS...
(for that lovely little devil of a barber Anthony Kelly in the town of Fermoy)

Snip...snip. . .snip
goes his mind

cutting through thought
with the voice of the scissors

his hands
two sparrows

dancing with Time

each head
a changing field

now flowing wheat
now bare stubble

his mind
taking flight

taking off
the too much there

dealing with
the not enough here

the making beautiful
the altering appearances

the human touch
the kindest cut

but where
( you want to know )

where does the barber's mind go
& what are his thinkings?

Ahhhh my friends
sure that would be

telling you. .

Like a pack of yowling feral cats
Fighting in a ghetto alley
We snarl and hiss and arch our backs
Baring claws at one another.

We wound our spirits and our souls
In endless rounds of recrimination
That swings like a giant pendulum
But never moves the clock hands.

There’d be catnip enough for everyone
If the fat cats didn’t hoard it.
There’d be beds for all of us to sleep in
If the slumlords didn’t lock them up.

Maybe we need to band together,
The Tabbies and the Calicos,
The Tomcats and the *******
And see if we can find a way
To build a world we all can live in.
ljm

BODY AND SOUL

our cigarette smoke
built up
a spiral staircase

upon which
our conversation climbed
word by word

becoming now
a hieroglyph
blown away by the saxophone

our calligraphy  
of thought
written upon the air

the jazz making it
illegible
as a doctor's signature

words our words
collecting
upon the ceiling

like out of reach
cobwebs
or escaped Christmas balloons

our words looking down
upon us at all that was still left
unsaid

Cleanse me from
the dust of
the night, and
the apocalyptic
visions of my
slumber.
Fish guts, ****, or
insomnia may have
conjured these rotting
skin nightmares,
these mosquitoes from
hell.
I struggled to wake up,
but couldn't, and finally,
while I was flying in
a gray land of desolation,
and killers,
of nighthawks and harpies.
I soared through a
hazy wasteland, and arrived
safely back home
in my serene, August Sabbath.