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Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
In a little pub in London,
Moriarty drank his beer,
Night came, a ***** black night with rain.
Mid-December, nineteen hundred and thirty nine,
Just a few months before ****** turned London's
sky black with lead.
But for now,
Moriarty drank his beer,
Sat solemnly in the candle-lit corner.
He gazed ruefully into his drink,
Like a haggard old grey ghost.
He was tired and felt strange and lost
in this faraway disgusting place.
The whorey smell of the city.
He felt a million and one miles away
from his home.
He was born in a little white cottage,
straw roof, on a small tragic island
off the West of Ireland;
Just a few stone-trows away from
the sleepy fishing village of the
village of Kinsheenlan.
Moriarty had often written letters to
his lonesome mother dearest,
but instead of tossing the letters
into gloomy London post-boxes,
he would post them into
the pub's fireplace.
Fuel for his shame.
Alas, the curse of drink had taken
over his soul and mind.
The sweet poison was now
his only pleasure,
his only softness.

So there he sat, drinking the Devil's drop,
like a mop soaks up spills on the counter-top.
And blowing out sliver smoke rings
all through those long winter nights.
Give to Moriarty to drink mandragora,
until he becomes muddied and slow.
Those rose colored glasses that he had
on for so long now,
they were not going to shield him forever.
As he transfixed his eyes on his beer,
he heard a voice,
a wondrous voice,
at first he thought it lay alone in his mind,
but it was coming from down the hallway,
the sounds of a young maiden's song,
wild and free.
It made his heart feel the substance of his life.
That fabulous blue center-light delight of song.
Sounding so alike to his sister Betty.
It shook him to his core.

Moriarty, the poor lost soul,
had not seen his sister in twenty odd years.
He recalled their last meeting.

The ship has set sail into an ocean, black and calm.
Just that morning, Moriarty got the letter from his mother,
Handwritten in felt tip, slightly stained with a tear,
Telling him to keep warm and stay safe,
To fill his stomach and fill his pockets.

As his sister stood on Dublin's docks to see him off and wish him well
She shrinks with the distance growing between and
She looks twelve and three quarter years younger than she did that day,
The little girl who Moriarty fought with all the live long day over nothing.
Now, she was the women who put up a fight over his sailing away.
Sometimes, brothers and sisters never change.

She knew that this was for the best, but she would never admit that,
Not with words,
She felt her words, weightless would have just sailed right away with him.
Moriarty wondered what she will look like if he seen her again,
Will she have received wrinkles from worrying about mother?
Will her chestnut hair have turned white as the snow burying her bare feet?
And now
Betty was all Moriarty's mother had, after Moriarty's father,
a fisherman, drowned that awful November night.

Then, just as Moriarty thought of his ghostling past,
there came the question
'Are you going home for Christmas, dear?'
Asked the barmaid,
Her words dripping like honey into Moriarty's half-empty-glass.
'Sure, I have not been to Ireland in an age, but I know for certain
that my mother is waiting for me with arms open' Moriarty answered.
But he was unsure if his own poor mother would recognize him
for it had been so long.
But just then, Moriarty heard the Christmas-bell-like-voice of
the women standing, singing in the hallway.
The past came into consciousness like a flood.
And in the corner of his eye,
there glazed, the starting of a tear.
Moriarty pushed aside his beer glass-half-full and
said to himself
'I shall be home for Christmas day'.

After two weeks, long weeks
Gone drink nor smoke,
Moriarty have sharped up enough pounds and pennies
to bring him to his home of Ireland.
And while on that train through the lands, green and beautiful,
The deeper into the West Moriarty went
the stronger he felt it,
a beat, beat, beat that thumped and rang out in his chest.
Night fell by the time Moriarty set foot in Kinsheelan,
The church bells rang true and strong sixfold.
Moriarty was unrecognized by the sailor Tomas Bawn,
As he climbed into the little white boat
to sail home across the calm, blue, winter-waters,
to that same white cottage.
Tomas Bawn heard Moriarty as he said to himself
in little more then a whisper
'Thank God above, I shall be home for Christmas day'.


In a little pub in London,
Moriarty's abode,
By the hallway door,
A letter, unread,
Laid upon the floor, It read-

'Oh dear Danny,
Our poor mother has passed.
The funeral will take place
In Kinsheelan church
After mass
On Christmas day'.




-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
That's not an anklet,
It's a ball and chain,
It might look pretty,
But it has you trapped.

The longer you wear it,
The deeper the scar,
The darker the bruise,
Just remember, in your hand,
You have the key.

It's never too late to get out.

-Jamie F. Nugent.
Jamie F Nugent May 2016
The South African sun caused my
Eleven year old eyes to squint.
Sat in the stadium, my father and I,
Sweated and watched rugby;
A father - daughter tradition.
That Saturday afternoon was the final,
The stands were crowded and full,
Like a fish-tank ready to burst
At any moment.
In front of my father and I,
There sat a dark-haired woman
In a lose fitting jersey.
About forty minutes in,
She bent down, sudden and quick,
Her head, hitting her kneecaps,
She screamed her intense screams;
Muffled in her own bent body,
Some spectators thought her crazy,
She continued her whails, and soon
A small crowd grew in front of us,
One man pulled her straight in her seat,
Her hands, her face, her her legs and stomach
Were all drenched red with blood.
No one ever heard the gunshot;
They traced it back to its origin,
Two hundred meters away,
Fired from a building by the stadium.
The bullet just happened to land where it did,
And the game went on.


- Jamie F. Nugent
David Nelson Jun 2010
Slashers Defined

In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of  Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
        
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.

Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm

Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but,  what could have been

Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot

Steve Howe –  Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –

Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo

Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure

Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman

Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock

Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen

Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow

Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)

Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz

Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock

Goerge Benson – Jazz

Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock

Marc Farner -  Grand Funk Railroad

Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo

Joe Satriani - New age – solo

Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo

Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo

Chet Atkins – jazz, country

John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo

Neal Schon – Journey

Steve Lukather – Toto

Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo

Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo

Leslie West -  Mountain, West  Bruce & Laing

Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)

Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's

Phil Keaggy – New age Christian

Robin Trower – Procul Harem

Brian May – Queen

Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan

Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues

Carlos Santana – Santana

Ronnie Montrose – Montrose

Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion

Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age

Gomer LePoet...
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
Oh what a band of brothers we were,
The fantastic fraternal eternal gang.

Long sun-soaked summer daze,
The bunch of us, sometimes
Sitting legs folded under a parasol,
Telling stories and jokes
Beyond our years;

And then water fights,
We, the little soldier boys,
Armed with plastic pistols,
Rainbow coloured balloons,
Or super soakers,
Nobody ever won because
Nobody ever gave in,
Everyone was soaked,
Right to the bone.

Near endless evenings,
We played on the green,
Football, tag, 42, curbs,
We played on the green,
Even when the cold stung us,
Even when our skin glowed blue,
We played on the green,
Only until our mothers
Called for us to come in,
Time for tea,
Then time for bed and
A Bo Peep.

Oh what a band of brothers we were,
The fantastic fraternal eternal gang.

-Jamie F. Nugent
“You must be Donny?”

asks a tall, thin man with olive-green skin.  He must be Italian, but then again, I’m not exactly sure. For Heaven’s sake - judging by his handshake, Justin Timberlake could break him into two. Distracted by the shiny pennies in his brown penny loafers, I don’t want to come across as rude, but I suddenly don’t care to know this dude. Then he says to me,  

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, my name is Donny. I’m bored, so I would like to give my self a lobotomy, but first I have to feed the monster that’s inside of me, so I must pick out the green mold in my expired salami.

“Instead of doing important things, I enjoy jumping up and down on my mattress that is made of squeaky springs while flapping my arms, pretending I have wings.

“Sometimes I get fidgety when this alcoholic, legless ****** stands too close to me, but then I feel guilty cause he’s blind and homeless and reeks likes ***, so I tell him he can lean on me.

“When I go to the dollar store I like to be a **** and drive the clerk berserk by asking him to do a price check on every item I’ve dropped on the floor. The manager grabs my collar and throws me out the door.

“I still ask my mother if I can please wear her skis when I climb trees only using my knees. She says, ‘Grow up! You’re 33, quit bothering me.’  I did!!! I’m 5’10… now what am I suppose to do then??

“I like to play the air fiddle and stand in the middle of the street in my bare feet with a mouth full of skittles, trying not to dribble, telling lots of riddles.
  
“Sometimes when I’m drinking I like to wear a black top-hat like Abe Lincoln then I get to thinking, while squawking like a chicken, how long I can keep my eyes open without blinking.
  
“‘Four score and seven years ago’ seems to be a mathematical equation that can be breaking down to zero. Oh, oh, oh! Did I ever tell you who my hero is??”

“donny”---“dooonny” “Doooonny” “DONNY!!
It’s time to leave and return to your room.”

“Room? What room?”

“Your room - there’s someone there to see you.”

“Who?”

“Your hero.”

I feel a gentle hand rest on my back and guide me to an unfamiliar door.  I enter into this mysterious room and hear the door shut and quickly lock behind me.  

Where is he?  “WHERE IS HE?!”   I hear my voice echo down the hallway.  I know they can hear me.  “TED NUGENT!!  MY HERO!  SWEATY UNCLE TEDDY!  WHERE IS MY HERRROOOOOO?!?!?!”

A large, olive-green plant stands proudly in the corner by the window.  How did my psychiatrist sneak in here?  

“You must be Donny?”
I don't like Ted Nugent.
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
When this Bonnie Parker
And Clyde Chestnut Barrow romance
Had its shootouts,
We'd run for cover,
I was the gunman and
You, the getaway driver.

We'd drive until the sun had set
(If the gas haven't run out first)

The next day,
The next town,
A different time,
A different place,

My same sweet Bonnie.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
I

Bright blues and youthful yellows induce a daze of derealization,
Heavy haptic perfumes fill the nose,
All that is heard is soft music and softer chatter,
Standing among the spring dresses,
Feeling like an odd hallow mannequin,
As pretty girls and ugly women pass by,
The dumb blonde fakely smiles to my aunt;
Who holds up a spring dress.

II

It it Ireland's biggest lingerie section I understand,
I read that....somewhere...



-Jamie F. Nugent
David Nelson Jun 2010
Slashers

I grew up when rock bands were first here
from out of nowhere they would apprear
long haired, bearded hippies makin noise

some were quite good once you figured them out
others were bad, couldnt sing a lick, only shout
wondered where they got the money to buy the toys

one thing they featured, were loud out of tune guitars
made more weird sounds, then the race track cars
but some of them knew or actually learned how to play

these were the slashers who knew more than 3 chords
spine tingling sounds, from electric wires on boards
the sounds were so new I would listen all day

now I'm gonna name a few who made an impression on me
I'm sure your opinions will differ and you won't agree
but mostly I'm talking bout the early days of underground rock

there are new ones I know who are slicker than snot
but these are the ones that I never forgot
I can still listen to them now around the clock

ok here we go, hold on to your hat, you can reply to me
if I left off  your favorite, and I'm sure I did;
  
clapton, page, Hendrix, Holdsworth and howe
Bill Nelson, Kath, nugent, krueger, Van Halen
blackmore, knopfler, doucette and Eric johnson
gambale, benson, carlton, farner, frampton
satriani, Johnny A., Gatton, atkins, mayer
schon, lukather, takanaka, ritnour and west
monty montgomery, wes montgomery, keaggy
trower, may, derringer and ford
santana, montrose, morse and Trevor rabin

Gomer LePoet...
Jamie F Nugent May 2016
Kids count kisses in Liverpool,
Romancing their way through school,
Boys whispering to the liars by streetlight,
Softly dancing with the girls tonight.

Sixteen rooms fall into place,
All the boys, they grab at Grace,
Louise can't hold on to her hair;
She touches a cigarette,
Smokes a pair.

Necklaces taking gently,
I stop to taste the smiles,
Frowning skeleton resents me,
She should stop for a while.

Sitting slowly,
The velvet petticoat sings,
Running underground,
Wineglass without wings
Cheap windows feel the high heels,
Dancefloor crawling, we're made of steel.

Necklaces taking gently,
Stop to taste the smiles,
Frowning skeleton resents me,
She should caress me for a while.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
So polite and shy,
She's lived with me a week now,
I still know nothing.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Jun 2016
Physically falling apart
Like pound shop Barbies do
After a touch too much -
Love letter paper cuts
Juxtaposed between
Some sordid sore fingers,
The scarlet blood that gushes
Brilliant like a sun-set,
Twitching and gloaming
In, our and around
Consciousness like it is
Revolving door,
Spinning,
Spinning,
Spinning
On ballerina feet,
Turned pink to scarlet,
Made misshapen
By dances
Of rapture
And grace-

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
Moments of surpassing loveliness,
That you compose like a symphony,
That are twice as gorgeous,
And threefold as complex.

You have fire with in yourself,
Pretty little flames.
You contain this beat,beat, beat!
Tribal percussion,
Drumming all through the night.

With the grace of your wrist,you throw
These pink paper airplanes,
With inviting invitation on the inside,
They glide through the winter air,
Until they fall upon my doorstep

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
Our anxious eyes fade,blue and calm
As I attentively close the door in our wake
You glow in darkness,
Smouldering inferno,
Eternal vertigo,
Holding a kiss until the cramping muscles
In our lips overpower and subdue us both,
Bite my heart,
Gnaw on my soul,
As I Shakespeareanly
Nail down your hands and
Pin your wrists,
Triumphant Crucifixion,
Your instant flushing cheeks,
Blushing with blood,
Brooding with ardour,
Warmth, warmth, warmth.

Jamie F. Nugent
Kaeru Jun 2014
PARODY OF "IF I ONLY HAD A BRAIN" FROM "THE WIZARD OF OZ"

(Scarecrow)
I could scare away the haters
Who ain't nuthin' but traitors
and not Ameri-cuns.
And my clip I'd be loadiin'
Fill the ******* with forebodin'
If I only had a gun

The body would be riddled
of any individ'le
Who ever hurt someone

(Dorothy)
With the shots you'd be shootin'
You could be another Nugent
If you only had a gun

(Scarecrow)
Oh, I would tell you of
The second amendment
I could shoot at people like the President
And then I'd sit and do a stint.

It would not be just a trifle
to ban my assault rifle
and ruin all my fun.
I would ***** and then I'd gripe
And shoot you in the windpipe
If I only had a gun.
It's a joke, folks. Just a joke.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Willie wrote to Santa requesting
a Waterman™ for Christmas.
When he woke on the morning
of the 25th, there was a man
in a canoe dressed in red outside
his upstairs window. It suddenly
dawned on him, that Mickey Nugent
the Fireman, was also Santa Claus!
Willie Eaton and Mickey Nugent are real characters.
Mickey was the Fire and Flood man in Mallow for
40 years. Perhaps, Santa also, not sure about that.
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
Famous in War,
Famous in Bloodshed,
Famous in Heartbreak.

Stitch my scars,
Feel my heart sink,
Watch me fall and
Drown in memories.

How do you remember me?
Is it how I remember you?
The way the room lit up,
When you entered it.

Bright as a summer's day,
Bright as a winter's city night,
Christmas lights,
Covered in snow.

Never lacking in lustier,
Inseparable frozen hands,
Not wanting to let go,
Never wanting to give in.

That burn I get,
In the back of my throat,
From licking your flame.

I still see you the same way,
But in different places,
The bachelorette who
Drives past in her car,
In my opposite direction.

For a short moment in those
Shy girls, who glance out at life,
Through the same big,
Thick-rimmed glasses.

In the songs we once song
To one another,
All seeming like
A lifetime ago.

I hope that these days,
You are overjoyed,
Never again
To be so destroyed.

Destroyed by War,
Destroyed by Bloodshed,
Destroyed by Heartbreak.

- Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent May 2016
In the brisk night air of the city,
The crowd in the bar and the music
Spill out into the street like stale beer.

Sharing drinks and discussions
With Swedes and rock n' rollers,
Surprisingly found delightful.

No lack of slumber will slow us,
The nighthawks flying close over
The gulls swimming in the grimy river,

And on a second stolen glance,
Sometimes the world is so small,
So pleasurable, so far and so good.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
January is a serial killer,

January is a climbing pillar,

January is a ****** stain,

January is a crashing train,

January is a spider bite,

January is a sleepless night,

January is Eliot's contradiction,

January is an infinite affliction,

January is a lacerated heart,

January is the very worst part,

January is a poison potion,

January is death in slow motion,

January is a *****,

January nevermore.



-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent May 2016
It is 10 am,
My curtains are drawn,
Blinds shut,
All light shut out.
We fell apart,
I am falling apart,
But everything will,
Given time,
Even the Mona Lisa
Is falling apart
Her smile, like mine
Is slowly fading now
But is anything truly beautiful
If it lasts forever?

- Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
We died of old age at age seventeen,
With a thousand years worth of dust in our eyes,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

Submerged in the deep in our submarine,
Without fear of a wreck or a capsize,
We died of old age at age seventeen.

You look the same as when we met by the marine,
You kept your fear of spiders and butterflies,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

You have always cut straight to the point like a guillotine,
You would indulge in love songs as I tried to harmonise,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

Stretch out those arms and let me crawl between,
And improvise a half-dozen lullabies that will paralyze.
We died of old age at age seventeen.
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Jul 2016
Sitting on the floor cross-legged,
Leaning against the radiator,
We looked at one another fervently
Through opposite ends of the telescope,
Are you seeing craters on the moon?
Or just the cracked pours of my skin?
When I took my turn I looked down,
Peering into your wishing-well eyes,
That glared through the gloom, like
A kerosene fed Victorian chandelier.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
Dancing on the drink stained tables
Because there's no more room
Out on the crowded flimsy floor,
That is uneven and *****,
Drinks are spilled, then replaced
And smoke lingers in the air,
But what does it matter anyway?
There's music filling the old room,
Music that's frightening to the old,
But still too much for the young.
In here,there is no snowstorm,
In here, God is alive and it's 1955.
The fiddles don't sing, they howl.
The storytellers don't speak, they rave.
A hiding place to wish away anything.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Jun 2016
You are the Dove,
My thing with clipped wings,
I cannot soothe you from confines
That are interposed around you and I,
I surrender and crumble at your feet,
Under love and love's weight,
This avalanche falling into place,
Creature that can't leave -

You are the Swan,
Fleshy feather-breasted thing,
My crept-up companion,
Tired and ridiculous,
That badly mistook my nature,
That chewed me to the bone,
And stopped when I became bitter,
Creature I left -

You are the Hummingbird,
Gorgeous and fragile,
My unfamiliar hand when yours gripped,
Graciously showed me up the staircase,
At the foot, we stood on the flight,
And subsided to where we'd not be seen,
I could quite touch you from where you where,
Creature perched atop this heart -

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
Girl with the gray eyes,
Girl who trips over her words,
her pretty dead stare-

Blue eyed boy, shy, coy,
he grabs her when she stumbles,
he loves when she stares-

Nice weird nervousness,
strange electricity pours,
static, when they touch.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Jun 2016
All I have to do is dream -
You sang in quivering vibrato ,
By the sparse light of a lamp
That shone phosphorescent
Onto your anatomy
All wrapped up loosely
In a black buttoned-up sweater,
Knee high socks and
Uncovered thighs,
Tender and shaking -
And if there is only -This-
Here, and now,
It is more then enough for me,
The fortress for two,
The cornerstone and
The dancer.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
These boots,
Black and dusty,
Cracked leather, like
The face that smokes
Forty cigarettes a day.
A ripped soul,
From a previous life.
Looks, that cut me,
Under my ankle;
But I will wear you
Anyway, and
I will let you
Wear me out,
Regardless

Jamie F. Nugent
Sam Temple Feb 2015
ranked out ****
on drugs
lovin lady hugs hatin bugs
cuz
I smash em
like a hammer nailin
combine bailin
fire line trailin cuz I be sailin
distant shores
sunblocked pores
drinkin Coors
rollin with the movers
do her
then leave in the compost
heave her on the fence post
go coast to coast
roast that ***
like the muthafukkin
*** roast
almost coasted into the trap line
caught my behind
shot em from the tree line
try to unwind
blowin my mind
try to find
some kind
buds on the street
beatin calloused feet
greetin hip grannies
with my fly *** beats
eatin meat
shooting to killa
thrilla the hunt
act like Ted Nugent
‘cept I still be shootin drunk
listenin to funk
***** trunk honey smells bunk
and I roll out --
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
The black cloud will shroud
The multicoloured rainbows -
A hard rain is going to fall -
The honey bear won't wake
From her hibernation,
She will dream of placing
Her paws into golden beehives.

The swallows will migrate swiftly
To African shores of green and blue,
They won't be coming back soon.

Our black-cloud sky
Will be composed of ravens and crows,
Squawking tuneless nocturnes
Whilst pecking at our windowpane.

Where are our rainbows?
Where is our sunshine?
Where have our honey bears
And our swallows gone?


-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
The crab scuttles along the sand,
The tide scuttles over the shore,
A lifeless jellyfish washed up by waves,
In its seaside grave, forevermore.

Dolphins jumping out of the the water,
Over the read sun
Under blue blankets of waves,
On the bed of its horizon.

The seagulls look on and laugh,
The fishes listen and smile,
We will swim in the shallow sea,
And then walk for a while.

Watching the ships return from their voyage,
As they sail slowly into the marina,
The sailors walk by us - nodding-
Into the café brimming with sounds of a concertina.

We stay there 'till the sun's daily death,
In the crowed café under the moon,
And over the skull session, you asked in my ear;
'Shall we leave later or soon?'

It doesn't really matter much to me,
I ask you what do you think,
Taking the endmost of wealth from my pocket,
It is enough for one last drink.

Now, the sea-turtles are gone to bed,
The seagulls, away they have flown,
Drink to health and stub out that cigarette,
For it is time to go home.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
I thought I heard you cry,
From the other side of this crowded room.
Though I could not see you through the crowd,
The sound is more clear and present
Then any other in this frowzy room,
Louder than the half-dozen doltish conversations,
Louder then the raindrops crashing on the window pane
Louder than the wind, as it howls outside threateningly ,
Louder than my own thoughts in my erratic head,
They scream "I did this", and yell " this is my fault".
Your would-be tears make me doubt myself
And question my very nature.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent May 2016
Breaking glasses,
Smashing plates,
Spilling hot food across the carpet,
Chilled white wine, splashing on the tabletop,
The chef shouts and holds a knife,
The women and her children,
Seeking a hiding place
Under dinner tables and tablecloths,
The sounds of his screams are
Glossed by the smooth jazz through the walls,
His rag-time tantrum,
He was done taking orders
And all he got
Was a wine bottle
On the back of the head.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
Just give me a snow-day,
So I won't endure a slow day,
Toss me a snowball,
Resurrect me a snowman,
Anything you could do to
freeze this humdrum dullness,
And knock over the hourglass,
Anything at all.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Perig3e Dec 2010
I'm told it's vile
to pick one's teeth,
but a lodged sesame seed,
caraway, or a tad of compressed nugent,
is another matter,
yet I must confess,
barring an audience before the queen,
I've been known in polite company
to search my inner coat
for a hidden piece of faux whale bone
and merrily go at it.
All rights reserved by the author
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
She leaned back on the black couch,
we merge like gumdrops melted and gnarled;
sticky with sweat, long legs in a nightgown,
the bridal gown she wears
uncertain of whose bride she is;
she struggles at playing chess with her feet,
I struggle with my hands,
look at me, I could never win,
but if she knew the toil I was in,
would she laugh?
She has always had a nice smile.

-Jamie F. Nugent

— The End —