prose
I held your hand and we stared into the universe together, back through time, sharing a small glimpse of how heartbreakingly beautiful this fragile life can be. I felt you leave,laughing,filled with light,your shadow embracing me.You belong to the earth now,shake off your atoms and the burden of being, go on to other places; you're absorbed into the debris of creation, parts of a remarkable gentleman, and my soul weeps, for this part of the universe has been robbed of an entire world. Existence is a tiny sliver of light between two eternities of darkness.That’s all. But my God what a fantastic light it is.
Belfast
Another poem based on my Dad's memoirsIn the stony grey soil of my homeland,dead friends lay in wait for me.hard ghosts speak her name in lonely verses,cleverness concealing the lies of history,the blood they spilled for freedom now worth no more than a single tear on the streets of my beloved Belfast.
Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde...not everyone likes him, but he's always been one of my passions.The Ballad Of Reading GaolOscar Wilde wrote The Ballad of Reading Gaol whilst serving a two years sentence in that prison.This is just a small part of it...my favourite verses.Yet each man kills the thing he loves,By each let this be heard,Some do it with a bitter look,Some with a flattering word,The coward does it with a kiss,The brave man with a sword!Some kill their love when they are young,And some when they are old;Some strangle with the hands of Lust,Some with the hands of Gold:The kindest use a knife, becauseThe dead so soon grow cold.Some love too little, some too long,Some sell, and others buy;Some do the deed with many tears,And some without a sigh:For each man kills the thing he loves,Yet each man does not die.
warm hands, cold heart
The lonely tease of hopingshivered in the darkness.I wanted to find the light,stepped out and the coldrain exploded on my face,doused the flame that still flickered,rinsed romance cleanand washed it awayin the guise of liberation.