you are not the pant of promises the night dances me, you
are not the dream my day would sleep for, you are
not the dusk cloying my day into stumbles into trees and over trikes
and I am not the dawn pulling night’s ******* back down.

     I
am
  the ladybug
              in wind upon a stem planet-lit,
      earnest are my chandelierwings.
I am the Blackbird ardent on melting snow. I, the am, the              

             moonwhorler pouring pale blueberry sunshine I slurry
          the rare earth of your core




.

As I set out
To jot down this poem
I had no earthly idea
Of what would transpose

And who all would be
Joining along
I'm as surprised as you
To these goings on

I don't recollect
Any of this being nearby
All the glimmer and glamor
Catching my eye

With my mind letting loose
In the wondering why
All of these characters
Are invading my rhymes

There are seals riding trikes
Uniformed Taiwanese
Clowns and their like
With smiley faced knees

Lepords in tights
Like we need more of these
A Kardashian or  two
To put our minds at ease

Daryl Hall and John Oates
Singing loud 80's tunes
And what would be a poem
Without a cow jumping over the moon

Or a chimpanzee
Swinging through the stanzas with ease
Using the tails of snakes
Like a flying trapeze

There's even a racoon
By the name of Rocky we know
Using his Boogaloo
To sweep dust from the poem

And look it's Bob Hope
Selling soap on a rope
To keep it all clean
With a rated "G" tone

With so much going on
Inside of this poem
Guess it's best I stop here
As this has gotten rather long...

Pathway

Providing an edge to tarry or toil open pathways to anywhere

Like brooks connecting streams that flow into bigger rivers

Their history limitless as they connect footsteps, unite people or disconnect them mystery laid upon each square

Corner to corner varies widely whether local or foreign, goal of each walker differs

Walkways perpetually taking second place to a street that carries the name, standing as middle ground between the house and a thoroughfare

Gates can say OH WAIT or come on in bordered by fence of all flavors, always friendly with the footpath while adding totality to a structure

Tykes on trikes in training, Rises or falls caused many a bicycle blunder, either is fulfilling leaves lasting memory whether experienced or beginners

So many Hellos to neighbors or strangers a nod in passing payment to them for an unknown cause opening a chance to give a dull day a little luster R.C.

There are days so dark I can’t see light anywhere
There are  days that no grass grows from the ground
There are days that seem hopeless
Days that I watch the black sky rise above me
I don’t want to do anything
I just want it to swallow me
To end me
As l lie down in this barren ground
I just want to stop existing
Because I see no meaning in it in humans
There is no meaning in anything that could fill this dark void
this dark sky
This dark misery
And so I hear them come
Those dark horses
They circle round me
Their mane made of dark clouds
Their body out of fear
I can’t stand this
I hope a lightning trikes me
I silently beg for the strike that will end my misery
But it doesn’t happen
And so the horses crush my bones with their hoofs
Endless pain
Endless suffering
That’s life
Endless hurt
For a moment of happiness
So that is  the worth of the human world

THE NOW AND THEN OF A DÓNALL BECOMING THE THIS AND THAT OF NEW NOW

me master of the trike
my own time machine
dashing from the past to a future

still always me
despite time gone
the time to come

still only me
with just a bit of time
added here...subtracted there

playing chicken
with the arcs of
my life's narrative

crashing into who I was
colliding with who
l will or. . . might be

*

Me dashing across the road at No. 31 O'Higgins Rd., on my trike and wearing my Dad's army hat. Les girls are sitting on the grass facing THE BATHS. My Dad has just probably come home and is inside kissing my Mam. I used to wait for cars to come and then dash across the road in a Russian roulette with my little life. But my trike and I were fast and survived these dare devil antics. The Military police were informed and asked me to desist in my trike thrills. I love the pile of bikes lounging around at the gate. That was the known mode of transport at the time...bikes and bikes and trikes!

They are sitting on the bank just across from the baths...me....I laugh death in the face....I think I'm untouchable...100 cars and counting....and I'm still not dead...I must be immortal!

As you can see although I was an immortal little boy...I didn't have a big head....that cap is nearly bigger than me.

I had a big mind and a small head back then...now...I've got a small mind and a big head!

The Maddens lived next door...Pete Madden was a lovely guy and ran the baths and only got slightly mad when we put a football through a window. Mrs. Madden was gorgeous and even as a little boy I was madly in love with her.

I love( still )the crusts off bread and she would cut all the crusts off her bread and give me a bag of crusts. I was in heaven and went around with a crust sticking out of my gob pretending it was a cigarette and I was a wise guy like Bogey making wisecracks and smoking crust-of-bread cigarettes.

Here's looking at me kid!

At least we'll always have the Curragh.

Here trikes are children’s 3 wheeled bikes. For me a sweet memory. I had one until it broke…

I do not know about lottery tickets though at work I am in the lottery club. Someone else deals with that.

Last year I won £8 so I bought plants.

The meadow grass here is now higher than the oxe eye daisies, and sorrel turns dark in the wayside. Birds like the seeds. I watch them,

Yesterday I sat among the yellow spike flowers and watched the butterflies and a red kite flew overhead.

I will stay mainly at home today as it is hot and there will be lots of folks about. I see I have a few brambles to cut and areas to clear. As the heat rises, I will be in the studio to paint of rain and other incidents.

I hope your new saddle proves comfortable.

Yes, I wonder about the world, whilst wondering at the world.

My friend  died, fell out of bed and died. I like her, a gentle soul, never real well.

Enjoy your day . It is hot and still. I hear the lorries on the road. Mansel Davies.