Sailing to Dover
floating to death on water
we hadn’t a chance.
Screaming for life
for breath, a hand to hold me
swallowing silence.
Sinking and drowning,
a cold wet graveyard for home.
I hoped for better.
Wake up with life in mind – blank verse in dust
It’s never been an easy ride to place
a photograph exactly where it ought to be.
Opinions clash, hypotheses contest the wind
before the taste of breakfast turns to memory,
and dust.
Witness the ease that trickles through your base
and turns a little sour, as morning drifts
apart. Is there not spice to whet your appetite
for war and peace? Is there no more sunshine
around the sound of jays and rooks and doves,
and dust?
Behold English Setter on banks prepared for fish
that jump before lunchtime for flies not moths,
a dog that saved my life with eyes he fixed so firm,
until compelled to sit and drools, and I to smile
through dust.
There’s no ending in sight or sound, no door
locked down, nor ice too cold to strip a breath of air
from lungs on fire. Who cut the brambles back,
murdered the blackberries, and left the path undressed?
Awake with life in mind, unheart me now before the rain,
you gods of sleep, come do your best, sustain
this chimera of dust.
THE MASTER IS YOU
I’ve heard the master say
He had a favourite shot
the best one in his bag.
He dares to whisper the name
Toastmasters for Golf.
_________________________
We are Toastmasters of today
we are Toastmasters for tomorrow.
I’ve heard the master say.
____________________
I have landed in the bunker
my ball’s gone out of bounds
My buggy has a broken wheel
My swing’s gone off the boil,
my ground’s under repair.
There’s a fairway somewhere,
it lies in greener grass.
I’m terrified of shanking,
I’m sure I’ll top the ball.
because I’m an ordinary leader
who stands upon the tee
out there every day.
in your community,
I’ve heard the master say.
I’m no more afraid of public speaking
than of playing a fresh-air shot.
I’ll feast my eye upon the ball
upon my words in flight
“It’s all a game of golf”,
I hear the Toastmaster say
– from concrete fears to metaphors
– from nightmares to the promised land.
I’ll practise my swing
until the rainbow’s end.
I’ll practise my voice
in solidarity with friends.
_____________
Let’s not squander time in fear,
let’s not hide away our talents,
let me be my best.
I heard the master say.
Ralph C Smedley used his wedge,
and built a club house fair.
Ralph C had days he missed his cup
Of this you can be sure,
but he never, ever, gave up.
___________________
Your leader in the zone,
on the eighteenth hole
he knew he’d done his best
he smiled to friends all round the course.
Ralph knew the putt was long,
from when he wore short trousers,
he dreamt of saving lives
he dreamt of players growing strong.
He’d dreamt there would be a hole-in-one
for YOU.
His inner core
Integrity
His outer layer
Respect
His clubs were called to
Service
In the dream of
Excellence.
I’ve heard the master say.
THE MASTER IS YOU
MANIFESTO
You don’t have to agree
You don’t have to agree with me,
or your father.
You don’t even have to agree
with the gods.
The proof lies in your rebellion
against the power of the authority
that would lord over you
– if you let it.
You don’t have to agree with these few words
or what you imagine they mean
for your own good
– the only good you’ll ever have.
You don’t have to accept
You don’t have to accept
the sun in the morning.
You don’t have to accept
the stars at night.
You don’t have to accept
the scars of words
uttered in your direction.
You don’t even have to attend
the funeral of hopes you used to embrace,
nor love the company
of those who profess to love you,
of those who crave to care,
of those that breathe your name.
You don’t have to accept.
You don’t have to pay
You don’t have to pay attention
to wagtails, butterflies and magpies
in your garden
nor the song of newts, frogs and moths
– symphonic bedfellows.
You don’t have to pay attention
to the call of those who claim
to need your time,
nor the screech of mates, pals and kin
– major keys, minor discords.
You don’t have to attend,
to be present,
to what matters most
to you.
You have your way
You have the power to forget,
the right to deny.
You have the honour to refuse,
the right to be blind.
You have the breath to be echt,
the right to find
your way.
Full Stop
[dedicated to the revival of writing]
When your pen’s been dry and paper blank,
when the ashes of your fire refused to light,
when you smelled the blossom and found no fragrance,
when you walked the streets and hummed no melody of thought,
when the Virus left you cold, too safe to care,
you’ve been doing research.
You’ve let the song of birds sink in.
You’ve let the sight of butterflies thrill your garden.
You’ve let the taste of tepid tea touch you.
When the temperature of conversations escapes your notice,
your pen is standing by, your paper clean
Full stop.
Twixt Sleep and Sleep
In hours twixt sleep and sleep
the breakfast
the lunch,
the dinner
and tea.
The dressing-gown, cereal, coffee, shower, shave, conditioner, moisturiser, deodorant, and socks.
From grumpy eyes to Elysian whim…
From walking the dog to stroking the cat,
and back again…
From negotiations with housework to a ceasefire over washing-up…
Labour without laughter
Marketing without melody.
Did the postman deserve that bark?
Did the car drink too much petrol, on the road to Moanbaun Woods?
The family, the family, the family
the WhatsApp…
Where have all the contracts gone?
Remember the Burning Bush?
Commandments
Agony in the garden
Resurrections and assumptions
Ablutions…
And all in the twinkling
twixt sleep and sleep.
Abducted Child
“I was an abducted child
driven to exhibit wild.
They tied me up in knots,
secured my love in lots
until the ice cream melted
all over my childhood.”
Reading’s for Dunces
“Take you head out of that book
and come in here and watch Netflix with us.
I’m fed up with you wasting your time reading.”
“I have the right to read”.
“See, there you are with your empty head
full of drivel.
There’s a lot more education in Love Island
than in your Pride & Prejudice.
It’s time you took in more love than that high falutin sex
in carriages and grand houses.”
“I want to learn to read.”
“Tis how to slouch proper on a sofa you need young lady.”
“Why do I have to watch all those stupid serials on Amazon Prime?”
“Because it’s good preparation for life. Imagine what sort of a life you’d have
if you did nothing but read. You’d be company for no one.”
“But I love books.”
“Will you cop yourself on child.
Disney Plus is the future.
Reading is for writers.
Television is for interesting people.”
“Like you Mam?”
“Why not. At least it got me a couch … “
The Haystack in the Kitchen
When you eat sponge cake at ten minutes to midnight,
and rain clatters on the roof above your dinner table,
and the French mustard pot seems wrapt in conversation with black peppercorns and pink salt,
you might as well drink the mug of tea while it’s hot enough to warm your tummy.
Otherwise those pens on the counter, alongside the scribbled page of names you meant to invite to Clubhouse, might accuse you of neglect.
I ran out of drinking water.
Thirst, dry mouth, swallowing hard against the draining of the light,
that used to support my fetish for
mammy’s food before bed.
There’s a learning opportunity in a haystack, even when you can’t find a pitchfork
and your calling is to notice things out of place.
Titles are recommended
I met a poet on my way to the toilet,
a stubbly fellow on his way to the kitchen.
He looked as if he’d seen a tiger upstairs
in the master bedroom.
I wasn’t long sitting down, staring at wallpaper,
when a knock came to the door.
‘Is there anyone there?’
There was a blink in one eye
while I ruminated.
You can imagine whatever you like.
It was the poet’s voice that disturbed me.
The fingers stained with verse turned off the light
and it was dark as pitch.
You can imagine the tiger at work,
minding his business.
Quirk
Come quirk your path
into the shape of night
and breathe in time with light
Listen
It’s never too late to close your mouth,
rest those vocal chords,
and swallow your children
before they are born.
Short month
Draught under the door
to stars too cold to burn
on a short month
Glowing embers
Glowing embers
Warmth fading
Like melting ice.
Hiccups in Japan
(in memory & gratitude to Liz Strauss)
I got the hiccups in Japan
over an eggplant
on the sofa.
There was a Toast Master in the kitchen
filleting tuna on a cutting board
made from an olive tree.
The dry Martini drinker from next door
scratching his stubble
with the point of a lead pencil.
Underneath the host’s stiletto
you’d have seen an ant
on its last legs.
In the middle of a hiccup
I dropped a bottle of whiskey
on the tail of my cat.
That saved the glass from shattering
all over Japan
and drowning the Emperor in spirit.
It’s the stories you tell yourself
that save your life
from passing by.
The Night that Covid Came
Awake with fire in my throat,
sure Gehenna had come.
Larynx burnt,
voicebox wrapt in lava,
glued to sheets in dread,
as if this was the call from Eternity.
Whenever the monster had been raised in conversation,
I whispered lowly
‘This night won’t fall on me.’
How dare this hour call out my time,
now mattered more than all the dreams:
it was the death of a Promised Land,
abandoned in Grendel’s mother’s cave.
Surely such a fall from grace
could not be vested in Santa’s wake?
How can I tell the others
Christmas has perished?
My seat on the train is booked,
the Covid carriage locked,
and no return ticket.
Mouthfuls of water from an ensuite tap,
saltless gargling,
undiluted phlegm burning.
Nightmare of Dresden, Hiroshima.
It’s no good fighting this gift.
Prometheus
Restrictions
Constrictions
Afflictions
Pending
Unending
Crescendoing
Prometheus would make a fuss – wouldn’t put up with such a nervous line.
Prometheus would make a fire – wouldn’t restrain humans from prior thought.
Prometheus would dig for clay – wouldn’t wait for authority’s say so.
Super Spreader
laying on his hands
hugging the hearts
tweeting the news
blowing the trumpet
waffling the wind
spreading infection
unmasking character
pointing the finger
firing the truth
building a wall
denying the Covid
spreading infection
calling on Christ
arming the multitude
declaring he’s godsent
claiming recovery
spitting on the House
spreading infection
never washing his feet
sneezing on Senate
claiming victory
craving the birdies
cheating with eagles
spreading infection
appointing the foolish
insulting the veterans
despising John Cain
coughing up sputum
vomiting on media
spreading infection
spouting his sins
covering his tracks
refusing confession
avoiding the penance
withdrawing the climate
proud of his life
spreading infection
welcoming contagion
crowd-sourcing the virus
never paying his debts
breaking his promises
leading the lemmings
spreading infection
never washing his hands
defending the guns
praying for fraud
accepting the bribes
offering Hell on Earth
spreading infection like wildfire.
fertilising confusion
formenting mistrust
misconstruing misery
planting the pain
persisting with insults
infecting the nation
Super-spreader of suffering.
Imagine you’re at war
Imagine you’re at war
Remember what it’s like
Imagine there’s the enemy
Bloody sacrifice
A terrifying mess.
Imagine all the dead
Remember fields of pain
Imagine parents fighting
Bloody sacrifice
A frightening mess.
Covid is friendly
She won’t bite you
Let’s all carry on
We’re sure to pull through
An alarming mess.
Victory’s coming
around the corner.
You’re free to roam
and welcome home
A terrible mess
This isn’t a war
no amputations
no one will starve
barely privations
A hideous mess.
We’re in this together
You can do what you like
Drink yourself silly
There’s a ceasefire agreed
surely Covid won’t mess
Imagine great shopping
Remember to kiss
Be sure to hug
with love in our time
A New Year mess.
Imagine we’re at peace
Remember what it was like
Imagine there’s no enemy
No self-isolation
Resurrection’s a mess.
No need to fear
The vaccine’s here
Careless, Carefree
A seismic shift
Such a bloody mess.
Let’s open the pubs
the churches and all
All Ireland Abú
Feck off you virus
Don’t mess with us.
You do not have to be Maggie
You do not have to be Maggie
You do not have to serve humanity
with the same energy
that resurrects the spirit of many
– as mana fed the wandering people.
You do not have to co-operate
with those who share your values
as Maggie has shown in her way
for all our glory.
You can be the better part of you.
You can reach deep
into your childlike love of loving families
and draw from your well.
Let Maggie live in your heart today,
and let the rising sun
bring your talent over the horizon.
