The fault-line of our society
is the dehumanization by power
that we are statistics
described by the inheritance of our appearances
and not the generosity of our spirit, empathy
intelligence
uninfected by the arrogance of the search for immortality
nor the delusions and cruelty of a god made in our image
we rise above the false virtues of willful ignorance
distilled deference to our insecurities
arrogant pride
to stand in front of our mirror
and know a deep truth
that we are so much more than a surface reflection
made by a narrow frequency of artificial light
we are the faces of each other
in a fractal shell
arisen from an unimaginably old deep well

we live in each other’s shelter
like ya would
a soulful Celtic tune in low D
penny whistle and fiddle
my Anam Cara friends
speak to me
of a home far away
but near in memory and dreams
leave some of the black stuff
in the bottom of your pint
for the Ancestors tonight
Peter’s stories and Mary’s smile
the craic ‘ll be grand
at the Toby Jug in Cappoquin, all right
so long as Cuckoo doesn’t set another caravan alight
forgetting there was petrol in the tank
blowing a flaming jacks through the dark sky
reality being funnier
than a scene from Killinaskully
a head nod to the left and a tip of the hat to Pat

siftware loves mythology
pegasus dark arts poetry
you’re a walking air tag
for some lightening crow folly
Uncle Aleister would have been delighted
by his digital twin
***** country hoovering
your life’s detritus
spooky action at a distance
cyber footprints on a moonless sandy beach
hears the ocean near
the waves draw ever closer
unseen vectors
1 step ahead of the phage

let her light
live through your memory and love
may the warmth of her hand
never feel cold in your dreams
the feathers fall at your feet
i hope you wear them as a cloak
and sing the songs she loved to hear
she may be just out of sight
but nearest your heart she’ll always be
i don’t know why you’re gone
i really miss you  
if I call your name will you be with me
no regrets
no bad memories
there is us
as we were
together

ghosts are in the rooms
inside our minds
time and tide
spent on the intersection of the crux i find
a vague awareness in the dark
where the ghosts wander
yet the smoored spark
persists
a window of wonder
to motivate curiosity
the fire of mind
never seeking water
let the light and heat align

i am the salted weaver
of an unfinished rug
i am the salted potter
of an unfinished jug
a child with a salmon in my hands
the burnt thumb within my mouth
the scars of initiation upon my arms
the wounds of tribulations within my heart
born out of this world
a blessing of the separation
the salt of the seas and oceans
flowing in my blood
wisdom is birthed through the wounds
waypoints of the journey
back to myself
bringing me home

burning bridges
does not a new path create
harry learnt this too late
self immolation
a charred damaged reprobate
smouldering on the funerary pyre
of waning interest
whatever happened to him wanting
to disappear from the public eye?
what’s next after the millions
divorce and self regicide