I stared, stupidly, at his head
and the pool of red he bled
from the brass rail down onto
the barroom floor.

Had it been a half an hour
He, so cocksure of his power,
had first set foot
inside the barroom door?

I'd been alone but for the Doc
a Presbyterian Scott
who just come from
a hard delivery.

Mom and child were doing well
but the Doctor looked like hell
so I sat him down
and gave the man some tea.

I 'm the Pub man's assistant
and my job that Winter's morning
was cleaning up the place
for this day's trade.

Had I been out in the snug
I'd have never met this lug
who is lying on the floor
fit for the grave.

I am Irish from Tyrone,
He was from Lancaster-shire.
To his thinking I was
a blight on English soil.

He was spoiling for a fight
which he started with a right
that sent me sprawling
on the barroom floor.

He said "Get off the floor,
and I'll treat you to some more."
"You stupid ****!"
His boon companion smiled.

I'm not one to shun a fight
when I'm firmly in the right
and these arms were toned
by years of quarrying stone.

Was it surprise I saw
when He learned I'm a southpaw.
Satisfying was the sound
of fist on chin.

As he commenced his trip to earth
It was the foot rail caught him first
He cracked his skull
and then he was no more.

His friend ran for the police
as his pulse and breathing ceased
Doc looked up at me and said
"This won't go well"

" Take my bicycle and flee
Off to Scotland , listen to me,
unless you fancy
dancing on the wind."

So I rode like one possessed
on the narrow winding roads
Early winter darkness
coming down.

After, I worked on dairy farms
and spent three years in the mines.
Eventually, the case grew cold
and went away.

I emigrated to the States
where they too have
their loves and hates
but the Irish are accepted in a way.

Cold rigid steel ****** its way inside
My Skin; Quarrying away drops of blood.
I wonder where it all went wrong
Was I not kind? Not generous?
Did I not make you smile
Is it fair
That the ones closest to you
Can hurt you the most.
I trusted you alone
And you stabbed me in the back

in a state of disuse
the old gold mine stood  
as the cost of retrieving it
twas not financially viable
miners back in the days
of the gold rush
had abandoned
their panning sites
skeletons of gold cradles
lain by the creek edge
the flecks of gold
had become a dream
the grandest of illusions

with the advent
of modern mining techniques
the old mine had life giving oxygen
put back into it again
a company from Sydney
commenced quarrying
along the creek's ore vein
good quality gold  
twas retrieved
a bounty of abundance
which shone so vividly

if the old miners
of yesterday
were around
to-day
they'd be quoting
these words
in a most affirming way...
thought nothing can bring back the hour of splendor
in the grass of glory in the flower

Each day is it passes,
life becomes a little bit stranger,
little bit more discernible,
But everyday life also gets you closer to a truth,
which it may sound to be little cynical, is called death.
Again one might object to the above thought as being too negative,
and yes possibly a one off feeling,
but I think again.

Everyday I feel farther away,
from people in general;
people whom I cared about or who cared about me,
but I can genuinely feel getting closer to some one or something inexplicable.

It's almost as if each day I lose an ol' friends called life,
cause each day in getting closer and closer to my true love named death.

It is almost as if I'm having to deal with a mid life crises in my quarter life only.
I've come to question every thing I ever believed in
Causing the ones around me to possibly question my very reason of thought or the clarity of my decisions,
Some have gone ahead and even labeled me as weak and messed up.

I only feel myself to be crazy,
Crazy enough to wonder
whether all the quarrying for happiness is possibly being done in the wrong fields of sand,
that is,
happiness does not spring from your actions trying live better while you're here, but it rather is cradled by working each day towards a better end,
so to speak.

Still while this feels like it just might be right at the moment,
tomorrow might bring a stranger, or different flow of mind waves with it,
to dip my feet in its cold yet steady flow.

Sorry for feeling this today.

I
Vast hollow scraped
from land by the
slow cadence of some
retreating glacier.

Melt from high flows
larvic to fill the void.

Quiet invasion of
waters forming
stone quarrying
rivers until,
overfilled the
crystal clears

Overspills and
streams to ocean
lapping at milk-
white cliffs,
hungry as cats.

II
Quiet invasion
walking on
continental drift

Wattle and daub
blue-dyed men
lakeside.

III
Hush now the
quiet priest
hands out leaf
to cover the fig
fruit of fecundity

IV
Without sound
quiet bands move
always move and
increase until

Around the fire in
moonlit waters shown
the tom toms open
relentless beat

V
Too late
too late the quiet
invaders imitate
and mock

Then ****-

Nations at war
within

You are not together,
          and we are not apart.
Call me home,

Think of me as a juxtaposition of jumbled giant words/Feeding monstrously in (where and how,in) I please,
      And please me darling,
For this is the last night we get until
You
      Give
             Up
                  That
       Mask. (A circled mess) quarrying deeply
From the plush seas of bed.

Leave go my hands, let me catch breath and see;
Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;
    Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon
Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;
    And God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.
Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,
    I turn to thee as some green afternoon
Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,
Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,
    Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;
The pleasure lives there when the sense has died,
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:
It is not sweeter than a foolish kiss?
    Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,
My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire
Dividing my delight and my desire,
    The crescent life and love the plenilune,
Love me though dusk begin and dark retire;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,
When life runs over, life is near to go;
    And with the slain of love love’s ways are strewn,
And with their blood, if love will have it so;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;
There is no building now the walls are built,
    No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,
No drinking now the vine’s whole blood is spilt;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;
Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,
    Break down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,
Slay me ere day can slay desire again;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea
Take life and all, for I will die, I say;
    Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?
For sweet night’s sake I will not live till day;
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know
    Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;
Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it soon.
    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.