"aisling" poems
I hate you, I wish you were Dead
**** me
**** me, please
**** me
You have something to live for, I
Do Not.
**** me!
Put a pillow over my face and smother me
It would be so easy
cries
Please. Please, **** me.
Do you have any heroine?
You will never be enough
You will never be enough to
make me happy
No one will.
A girlfriend who's doing way better who he'll lose or end up sponging off of
No Friends
Can't Die
Nothing
I could stand in the street and punch myself until everything bleeds, you wouldn't stop me
I could invite you over and stab myself
You would do nothing.
You popular *****
How are you going to last
without alcohol?
Didn't realise I was that far down the list
Nice.
You will never understand
You will never understand how
it feels to be alone with your
thoughts
All alone.
I just want someone to care
for me.
I could slit my wrists in front of you,
I don't think you'd care. I don't think
you'd do a thing.
If I died, you'd probably move on in
a couple of days.
You will always find someone to care
for you
Nobody cares for me.
Die.
Remember this conversation.
**** you.
Have a ******* good time
I hate you.
I wish I were ******* dead
And I wish you would
******* die.
Aisling.
I'm done.
I'm going to slit my wrists
I'm going to hang myself
I'm going to walk into the sea
I'm going to overdose
Hopefully suffer a heart attack and explode
It doesn't matter
I don't believe you
I'm going to **** them
I'm going to **** them all
Stab them
Shoot them
Beat them to death
Nothing you can do
I just want it all to end
I'm going to make them disappear,
I've done it before.
Have you ****** someone else? It
felt like there was more room in
there.
I feel like you don't want me to
touch you anymore.
I don't want you to touch me.
You only get Freshers' flu if you've
been ******* someone.
You want a hug?
Sure you don't need a safe word?
Do you hate me
Do you hate me
Do you hate me
I bet you hate me
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
Take a ****** joke
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
You aren't the same
I want you to be with me
Not like this.
Sorry I've been angry
I can't really stand talking
to you
I didn't mean it;
I was high
I was drunk
I was angry
I wasn't me
I'm a horrible person
I'm a ****
I'm a ****
I'm a liar
I'm an idiot
You're going to leave me
Do you want me to leave?
Shall I leave?
Hold me
Spoon me
Give me a hug
I love you
I love you too
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Rua
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Rua
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
An saol na hóige
Deirtear go bhfúil se go hiontach
Go hállain, fiú.
Agus tá sé easca, an-easca dúinn
Á... na bréaga
Dearmadtar iad.
An brú, an strús
Na oícheanta nach bhídis ablata titeann ina chloadh
Agus an craoí-bhriste
Tá a lán uaillmhian ann.
Smaoite, aislingí, mianta
Ach táimid coisuil leis an ngarsúir beaga
Lan d'aisling ach nil linn fédir...
Nuair a fágaimid an deagorí
Deirimid go iniseoidh an fírinne dúinn
Ach tiocfaidh siad
Agus dearmadfar arís agus arís
Tá na glúnta milte
Agus ní thugimid faoi deara.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 10:13 PM UTC
Rua
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Rua
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:57 AM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
(sonnet)
.
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 11:25 PM UTC
When senses run together, dull in the rack
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC