Long-Distance Telephone

She comes again, bubbling her way through the long-distance telephone at four in the morning local time. She asks me what time it is and I tell her, and she apologises through her crazy laughter. Even at four in the morning I thought it was cute.

Feminine Life

Life I think is more feminine than male in the way that it likes to change its mind about you

Magical Miserly Hands

Constantly the hands are plumbed into the pockets and stand outstretched. When you give they take, and they seem to tacitly ask for more..........

Legendary Love

Legendary love dreaming my dream for me in the morning. I get up and come to life, life is the present moment and the dream subsides into memory. Legendary love, just who do you think that you are trying to fool anyway?

Outcast Gypsy Ladies

This city moves to the rapping of a drum. It is yet, full of strangers, and some who claim to be hungry. The outcast Gypsy ladies from India, refuse to allow it all to be. They dance to a jingle dream and their lives are mysterious lies.

My Today

Today a change is in the world as I perceive it. John Garfield, did you have something to do with it? Spirit is in the process of being reclaimed and the eyes are hot and the soul growing richer. Music is in the background and the sun is haunting the mind

Woman

Woman is deceptive, the mistress of disguise, beauty fakery, in her physical appearance. But if, in her heart there is love and truth, then woman is beautiful

Who Are You?

I ask you who you are, and you tell me your name, even though it is probably not exclusive to you. So you pile all of your existance into the nearest label available, because you have no answer to my question and I wonder who knows who you are?

Today

I have nothing in my head and I am gazing at the past, cursing its anger and pleading to today, to let me in.

Intensity

Dark desire and the secrets of the soul

Sarah Ferguson and the 'Access Fee.'

Seems like they marched the Grand old Duchess of York up to the top of the hill and took the greatest of pleasure in seeing her march right down again

In the Moment

She was dancing inside her head to the music that she was creating. It was like a new art form, but she didn't call it anything. She was just there. And she was living it.

The Yo-Yo Murders

'Sometimes the words arrive, sometimes there is emptiness.' I said; 'but who is in control of you?' She looked out of the window, raising her head to the sky. It had neen a tougth day for Valerie Marlett, there was red around her eyes and her hair was less together than was usual. I decided to say no more as I watched her come from the window back to the armchair that she had been occupying before my question. She picked up again the book she had been writing in.

I decided that I would go out walking for a while to ease the atmosphere that had developed between us and to get some much needed air and excercise. Dun Carrig had known better times. With a population of about 2,500 and a high rate of unemployment in the area. Years previously the town had been noted for its weaving industry and in particular for its own Duncarrig Tweed. But now it was 2010 and things had changed dramatically. There was no weaving industry, and no longer was there Duncarrig Tweed.

I left the cottage and proceeded up the hill to the town. It was abjout six o'clock in the evening and there were quite a few people around. I passed a couple of people that I was familiar with and we exchnged greetings, as was normal, at least around here in Dun Carrig. I decided I would walk further up the hill and have a pint in Mooney's. It was January and the temperature was about -1 Celsius. I was dressed in my usual Jeans and Denin jacket and beacause of the time of year had my hat and gloves on.

As I was approaching the pub I could hear the sound of music. Mooney's was the local music pub and some of the local trad musicians made a point of meeting there for a session on certain nights of the week. Tonight was Friday and although it was fairly early in the evening there were a few customers and musicians in the bar. I approached the bar and ordered a pint of lager from Jack, the old barman. After receiving and paying for this I took a seat beside an old friend of mine from my schooldays, Michael Harkness. We engaged in some easy conversation about the town the county and the politicians.

After a few minutes when our easy conversation had run its course we both sat and listened to the music that was being played. there were three players on fiddle, guitar and bodhran and at this time the guitarist had broken into song with the musical version of Yeats' poem 'Down by the Sally Gardens.'

Valerie sat with her sister Susan in the Kylemore cafe on O'Connell Street, going through several coffees and tales from the heart. She gazed out of the window, thinking of Sean Og and wondering how things were since she had left Dun Carrig. Now she was staying for the time being at least, with her sister Susan at her place in Drumcondra. She was still busy writing her third novel, as yet untitled and although Drumcondra didn't hold quite the same tranquility as Dun Carrig, she was progressing with her current writing nonetheless.

Mona Lisa

Haunting and beguiling, alluring Mona Lisa. Shy reticent mouth and ravishing seductive eyes. She is man and she is woman. She is bisexuality. Not the most feminine and not the least feminine. Hands that hold onto herself, bidding to confirm her reality. Posing for Da Vinci in the midst of a fantasy island.

Leila

Questionable beauty, physical deception, cosmetic appeal, enchanted by a lie. Accepting of my own foolishness, not really wondering why.

Again and again, she walks that studied walk, and again and again, I am taken.

Somehow I refuse the truth of my real opinion. The truth this time, seems bland and unexciting and dull. She seems vibrant and living and sensual. Her motion turns to me for my approval, which it readily gains.

And I know that I mustn't get too close, nor gaze through the veneer. There is feeling within distance and not a sound to my ear. And ultimately I kissed her, and I saw her face arrange.

With her arm around my waist, I wished her well, and I have never seen her again.

Do You Remember When You Died?

Do you remember when you died?
Was it like you pictured it might be?
Or did death control you and show its strength over yours?
Were you ready for the moment?
Did you think that this could happen to you?
Did you feel that tang of freedom,
Of a certain kind of beauty?
Did you embrace it?
Was it a friend?
And are you pleased with the outcome?
Do you think that you can progress from here?
And how has your form changed?
Are you yet a physical body?
Do you need for anything?
Is there something you would like a little more?
Do you think of that lifetime?
Do you evaluate it, or do you ignore it?
Was it just an illusion?
Was there significance in it?
Was it was it seemed to be?
Or was it just something that had to be done?
Do you remember when you died and how that will happen to everyone?

The Miser

The Miser, is a thief, a cheat, and a liar. His love is sealed within an uncaring heart. He must look to only himself, he will not reveal himself to others. He is alone when he is with anyone, even someone he may profess to love. If a gift is given to him, he will accept it gladly and he will accept all the more gifts that you should care to bring his way.

The miser has a heart of rust. His smile is not a smile and his truth is not a truth, and his friendship is not a friendship. He has no need for embrace. He sees things clearly in his dullness. he is a bore and he is a fool. He has not breathed in the beauty of the things around him. He has no purpose and his eyes are dark and unknowing. He walks in his darkness until something or someone will awaken him. The miser doesn't care and poverty will be his crown.

Eyes

Wild expectation in the swirling wonderland, where the night is on fire, and the world is at hand. A song sings. The radio levitates. The room a forever changing coloured spiral. I walk inside, try to step aboard, the conductor he waves to me, says 'Are you supposed to be here?' I look him strongly in the eye and throw his hat to the ground. I dance my way through his hat and into the vortex.

The moon reads seven o'clock and the stars are playing football with a puffy, frothy cloud, and all that I can think of is Canada. But Canada appeals to me, and says: 'I am not here, concentrate!' I work to try to forget about Canada and the world as I have known it, and it comes to me that I should take another turning (well Canada suggested it anyway).

I gaze again at the moon and wonder if he will reveal his secrets to me. I think again of a new direction and I meditate on the moment. I open my eyes to find myself in the arms of a beautiful woman, and in her eyes, there is Moon.

And as I beheld her, I thought not of her name or where she had come from, but of the familiarity I felt with her, and the warmth she had brought to me that made me feel that I had made it home.

And we walked in a world of mystery remaining close to one another, and I beheld her beauty once again, and I sensed that her beauty was real, and I wondered if she would remain or she was just a part of a fleeting fantasy, a phantom, that I could have no control over, and perhaps had little right to be with.

And in her eyes the moon had turned to sea, and wave after wave of imagining washed over me. And I was in a pleasant garden and I mingled with the quietude, and my heart was at ease, and flowers danced in agreement, of how the day had become, and I wondered if I could take this day with me, and into tomorrow, although I knew in my heart that today could never be tomorrow and that perhaps tomorrow might hold some fear for me that I wasn't fully aware of in today.

The sun had gone in and had taken its love away. She told me that I had to focus on the clouds in the sky. So I lay down on the earth and I gazed at the sky and I pictured myself as in a cloud till I pictured myself as a cloud and I turned and asked the sun 'Are you satisfied with me now?' and she smiled upon me on a summer's day and she was radiant and she was beautiful.

The Appropriate one and I

The Appropriate one. The yin to my yang. The other half of the Two of Cups, comes running down the stairs as i am running up the stairs. Simultaneous same words. Mutuality of care. A shared look, a book we both have read, a place we both belong. A place called 'Love.' A single warmth radiates singleness of feeling. No touch is required and touch is required. Nowhere is abroad and no-one is a stranger. The world is singular and the clock has no time. There is no past, no future. Now is fully here. This is the only moment there has ever been and need ever be. Abandonment of care. Dreams suddenly have meaning, have a reason why, in the mystical world of the appropriate one and I.

Climate Change

She in the Ice-House, heart in a sling, mouth like desire, touch like the wind, sending me fire, playing my strings, giving her all to me, shedding her wings. Breathing her life to me, making me sing, her eyes burn me with their magical sting, the time has no gauge, the moment no mind, the place is unknown and the world is behind. Dancing her way into me, keeping in time, sharing her rythmm with this rythmm of mine. Angry for love, drawing no lines, loving her loving with this loving of mine.

She flies in the nighttime, long hair flowing, the gown of indeterminate shape and style. Her eyes are for no-one, she is alone with herself, her very breath is beauty, and her song is of desire fulfilled. There are wide open spaces upon which she dances her dance to an unheard melody, within a lovers' trance. She rests beside a rock and closes her eyes to dream. She focuses on the feeling that is inside of her. It speaks to her of understanding outwith her simple understanding, knowledge outside of her knowledge, truth outsisde of her truth. She will return to the Ice-House no more, she will go where she is taken, by the feeling inside of her. Love will determine the future.

Love will determine the future.

The Gift of the Gift

A gift to the outcast which he must recognise and acknowledge with honesty and selflessness, and gift back to where it came from. The gift cannot be from within and he must decide for himself from whom the presentation is from. A gift from within love and caring. An implantation freom a higher power, and the greater the soul of the gift, the greater the quality of it, then the greater the gift of the gift.

Real Life

Real life is in my eyes. There is no cowardice, no fear and no strangeness. If I believe that people are imperfect, then how could I love someone? I then could love only with an imperfect love. Could this be a part of the cowardice or the fear that I see is not in real life? Real life is living without a clock, without having to rush to another place, away from the place that I already am in. There is no drug to take its place, and it's not somewhere you can find in drunkeness. It is right there in the truth of the heart in the honesty of the eyes and the feeling of the touch. Real life is alone and has no companion, it gives its reward commensurate with the quality of your truth.

Life 'as it Happens' on Facebook

Documenting Life as it Happens on Facebook. I'm beginning to wonder about this commentating on ourselves. Seems so Un-Buddhist somehow

At One With the Silence

I looked out of my window, the birds were feasting on my bread, and the Spring was in action. Little sound was in the air and the immediate world was one of calm and loving natuere. I looked at the repetition of my thoughts and wondered why. It seems that some things can never be left behind, that they have no past, or they dwell in a lengthy presence. I wonder what makes these 'some things' so different, so enduring and what makes them seem to possess a different quality of life. The gloves are off and I am at one with the silence.

Easter 1916

Rembering Connolly and Pearse and McDermott and Plunkett and Clarke and Ceannt and McDonagh and Easter 1916. Spent a poignant moment outside the GPO reading the note on a wreath that read: 'For Those Who Died in Vain, for our Freedom, Now Lost.' I thought of the tens of thousands of people now living in this city and calling it home who were oblivious to its past, and I thought of betrayal, but I also thought of hope and of change and how, well, that was nearly a hundred years ago now, and I also thought if the Union flag was still flying above the GPO in 2010 would things be much different by the sacrifice of these brave men.

Drunken Dreams

Drunken dreams make me suspicious of me, and I wake up into the day trying not to deny myself, I walk out in the open hoping that the truth will guide me and I can operate as the one I was before and the one that I am most used to.

Unity

The day is full of the nighttime and the nighttime is full of the light. The night and the day have no distinction. One looks with the eyes of the other and blushes. There is suggestion of eternity, but eternity hides its head behind the curtain. The Two of Cups and The Emperor and The Empress question themselves and one another, until they each arrive at the understanding that they each must give themselves to unity. Diversity goes to sleep. A shared breath gives life to this little world within the world.

Refusing the Past

Walking into my head, she remains the same, even though she swears to have added weight. The cornucopia she sends to me, the question mark she blows to me, her hair, those eyes, the darkness of them and the spirit. The writing is on the wall, but I needn't read it, she is outside of my care, my memory will take care of me. There was flying in the air a brief conversation with an Asian, she was headed for the north but the vixen was got the details wrong, and the sugar gave her fat and sweetness. The night was restless, it wouldn't let me sleep, like it had more important things to give to me. I questioned how this could be so, I awoke more tired that I had been when i had retired, and i had retired very early.

The Difference in Dream

The Psychic and the psychical dream. The subliminal and the semi-conscious it seems. What can be 'known' and what must remain its mystery, except perhaps, unto the soul

Look Into my Eyes, Life

Look into my eyes life. Tell me what it is that is going on with you? Have you no conscience at all? and are you working on delusion? Remember when I promised to be true to you and obey your very wishes? Well, it seems that there was confusion in the air at the time, there was a kind of sleep and sleep is no beholder of time, and I wonder if time really is a beholder of Life.

Kaleidescopic Dream

Kaleidescopic dream, merging colours, asking for understanding, clarity, sanity. The crazy ship riding the horse around the edge of the crescent moon, life is given to someone who's awareness is not of me. The guilt is eased by the mysterious fantasy. The outskirts or inskirts of my life I wonder selfishly? Understanding is open ended. I smile a smile for the dreamer in the way that he is usually so real for me. We are as one, the dreamer and I, but a space exists somehow between us. The mind explodes/implodes. Unity is beguiling, challenging. The picture isn't understood or even seen fully. My vision shall increase as I increase the strength of my search.

Boomerang Girl

Boomerang girl, in the hurricane wind, magnetised and alive, daring and obsolete. Boomerang girl, who are you trying to fool? Didn't you read the news? haven't you noticed the years? Am I the picture of one who needs replaced? Am I the dream of the reality you saw in me? Are you yet in a dream? Has life made you empty, has it stolen away your heart? When you smile do you smile? and when you love do you love? Or the cold I see in you, the coldness of indifference and unlonging? How are you today Boomerang Girl and who have you become? Are you your own nightmare come true? Has your idea of love proved to be an idea of deception and spite? Deluded Boomering Girl and your nose in the air......

The Pussy-Whipped Marionette

The Pussy-Whipped Marionette, manipulated within his imprisonment, until the tugs at his person, that once could be felt can no longer be perceived. The soft and golden of her voice are demonic in their perversity. She has become the Goddess of her soul, although to perhaps deny this however unconsiously, she may look to a greater God, to a popular God in an apparently unselfish way. The Pussy-Whipped Marionette wears the haunted eyes of the moribund, his life, barely in touch with living, and his heart can no longer feel. There is no longer, longing, he is frozen in his lifetime, and goes ignored by the eyes of love, which he is unable to recognise anyway. The Pussy-Whipped Marionette, this morning is the same new day.

The Mind and the Outernet

what kind of diet is required for getting weight off of your mind? Superficiality? On the subject of which I think I will further pursue The Outernet.

Martha and the Vandellas

Dear Martha, Would you like to tell me in my perplexity, who or what, was/is a Vandella?

Sincerely Jimmy Mack

Bright Start to a Sunday

So I ask the Polish assistant in Tesco's this morning: 'Do you have a collander?' and she says 'No, but you will get one in Easons' (which is a book shop) and I stop and think and say: 'Its a Collander I want not a Calendar. A bright start to Sunday.....

Silence and Understanding

I think that silence knows understanding when it is at peace with itself. But silence does not necessarily know peace, but knows an easier way to peace. So understanding I think can be found within silence, a certain kind of silence. I guess silence has to be manipulated and interpreted, perhaps questioned. Perhaps silence is a suspicious thing.....

A Kind of Suicide

Its like a kind of suicide. You need someone to represent you, one to say the things you wouldn't think, one to act on your behalf, be the bold you, hold your hand for you, make you smile for you. Decide for you, be your guide for you, be the singer that you are, the poet that you could be, helping you to breathe easily without responsibility, live your life for you, by killing the life that is within you, and you are the one with the dagger at your throat.

Does Life Work?

The Strobe puffing its light into the darkness of the room. A world in tears can become a dream, that haunting feeling overwhelmed by fantastical simplicity, the dark colours of life, obscured, life working on the outskirts of its own life, wearing its blinkers, transferring them to me, looking for my innocent embrace, for my niave compliance. Ultimately though, I can only deal in the truth of my mind and heart and I ask 'Does Life Work?'

Hate

If I hate you then I hate a part of life, my life. And if I love you then...... All of heaven breaks loose, the heaven of the most righteous part of me. The heaven of life's love... Our love: Love seems to be the connection between the soul and the creator, the bright and the dark side of me (us). And I don't want to live in a place that doesn't exist, although a place that exists can be surprisingly pleasing and interesting, with you who are my dream. And you don't know who you are and I ask myself should she really be the one? And I tell myself she is who she is and she there in my picture, and I like to gaze upon my picture in her aspect. And when I look at her and find that I want to look at her, I need to know the place that I have for her, that is suitable and appropriate for as regards her, remembering that there is love in friendship and that it needn't be romanticised or sexualised.

The Power of the Lady 1 (or was it 11?

The power of the lady, when she assumes , she can overwhelm, she has no need to touch or even to look. She's been working on her relationship with herself. She is able to create beauty, albeit a very shallow one, but man is frail and so suggestible and will look upon her as she wishes him to.

The Power of the Lady

The Power of the Lady is her personal assumption, she doesn't have to touch or even to look, her strength is in her relationship with herself, she will assume a kind of beauty and attractiveness, even if it is a very shallow one, but man is frail and indeed she knows this and almost loves him in his frailty, in his suggestibility.

(almost) Renata

In the style of an older time
long before I was young
the day unfolds itself
like a morning that't reborn
and in the mist of its mystery
without threat and without home
I see you walking now
and you're walking all alone

I've tried defining the look of you
and the look you've given to me
and what you say in your European way
when the words do not appear
and then you walk out for the world to see
and for a world that has eyes
You are so beautiful inside and out

In the style of an older time
long before I was young
the day unfolds itself
like a morning that't reborn
and in the mist of its mystery
without threat and without home
I see you walking now
and you're walking all alone

I Wonder

I wonder where our love is gone,
must 'this' linger on when its dead and buried
and that summer when the whole world loved,
when it was making love and getting married

I wonder where the summer went
the summer we were in the love we spent
is each one gone away
to where another love
shines on
another summer's day,
I wonder

I wonder where the love is gone
the love that lingered on
through all the ages
and the music
and the words in books
and the soulfull looks that love engages

I wonder where the summer went
the summer we were in the love we spent
is each one gone away
to where another love
shines on
another summer's day,
I wonder

I wonder where the summer went
the summer we were in
that gave us love to share
but it faded
until it was gone
and then when it was gone
was it anywhere

I wonder where the summer went
the summer we were in the love we spent
is each one gone away
to where another love
shines on
another summer's day,
I wonder

Angie, Vincent, the Teddy Bear and Me

The Teddy Bear sat there with me and a bottle of wine
the day it was dying and stars were beginning to shine
the music had died about a quarter to five
there was nothing or nobody looking alive
and the Teddy Bear thought to himself
'what a waste of a day.'

I answered the door to an outgoing girl from abroad
I'd been feeling so low but now my troubles began to unload
I said 'I'm glad you could come, I've been all along,
there are times when I don't feel so good on my own
I hope you stay for a while' and she smiled as I brought in some tea
for Angie and me.

It was coming on twelve when we went up to bed
the Teddy Bear didn't let on what went on in its head
but I was quite sure when she walked through the door
that this would be different from ever before
and with gentle surprise I gazed at the sky in her eyes
when they didn't surmise

It was almost three when she said to me I must be gone
she asked me to show her my love for her in a song
I said 'I'm tired you know, and anyway you've got to go
and love is not an easy thing for me to show
but I'm glad you could come and I hope that I've not done you wrong,
and I'll work on a song.'

The atmosphere thickened and guilt hung itself in the air
I piced up the book that she'd read when she'd sat on the chair
and as I patiently waited for the day to begin
I picked up a pen and started writing
and I dedicate this song to Angie and Vincent Van Gogh
and physical so-called love, that's not nearly enough

Elvis

He was there at the corner, a foreigner
at the wrong side of town,
so quietly singing a country song
he never made a sound
then the crowd heard him singing
and shaking and swinging
he looked just like a dream
that rocked and rolled
full of gospel soul
in the age of Jimmy Dean

Elvis, Elvis
a duck's ass for your hair
was it you were a hound dog
or just a Teddy Bear
Elvis, Elvis
and where you anywhere
and all the love that you gave for free
was it love that didn't care

They really made their mark on you
when you showed them all around
singing your golden rock and roll
with a style that you had found
and then they took you to Hollywood
in the mindless USA
where your innocent heart #
played out its part
for MGM and RCA

Elvis, Elvis
I remember when you died,
some wanted to die with you
but they just died inside for a day or two (maybe a week)
Elvis, Elvis, your money and your fame
cost the life that you bought them with
when life had gone insane

Elvis, Elvis
a duck's ass for your hair
was it you were a hound dog
or just a Teddy Bear?

To Sylvia, for the Breeze and the Wildfire (an extract)

Nine years old and tuned into the sounds of Italia, in the place where Victoriana encompassed a later time. They were all there, the man the woman the girl the boy, and why yes, of course, the razor belt. At times I saw a holy angel in private frustration vowing to leave it all behind, but love was the dam.. It was modern then, it was new, one of the visitors vibrated to the sounds of the sea and one of the visitors guests was none other than Narcissus himself. There was scary laughter concerning me and the Italian prince but I was too young to care, I just flipped the Lira over until the sad news came 'September sees a prince change his tune' I wasn't so much hurt but concerned, I believed now in sharing someone elses wife, I wasn't so innocent after all and I knew it.

Looking Back on Yesterday

You were there,
I recall,
milk shaking to the beat
brown hair held by ribbons
when the rhythms tapped your feet
nine o'clock Friday, schoolhall social evening
talking with your hero from a hundred miles away
you walked a narrow road you surely would be leaving
looking back on yesterday

back in the pinball cafe where you sipped your coca cola
slower than I have ever seen again
life is such a mystery when you refuse to look it over
but life looked over you just like a friend
and there you were with your face painted and smiling
talking with another evening idol of the men
all the ones around you had found that they had found some new messiah
in the fire of a newfound friend


You stopped a while beside the stage,
and looked around in wonder,
I couldn't understand exactly what you meant,
and when you saw me I was screaming words of thunder,
all about a movie and a tent,
the old blue resting place had taken its toll of spaceman,
I had to tell myself there was nothing there for me
old men from the phoney opera house
getting by on buried treasure,
getting high on LSD

I returned again, to the memories friend,
that was in a palace sighing,
I was taken aback when I couldn't hear your name,
a torn worn out uniform hung from a coatstand
where had the nervous traveller from the city in the slacks gone?
where were all the people who took shelter from the rain?
i caught a glimpse of a mortal sin and then I turned my back on
looking back on yesterday

What's it all about anyway?
seems I look from all the awkward angles
was it so contemptible
lying under where the dagger dangled?
and if I could only get to you
I'd take you till tomorrow
and you could see the changes that were coming around yourself
and then before you turned me off
I'd give you something you could borrow
a page, a book, or a library shelf.

The Force of Love (for my mother)

I was so very bound to you, my heart was like a rock, that when gravity was ended was still in the same old spot, and I don't need gravity to speak to me, about the force of the force of love.

Memories of Twinkling Feelings

Brightening spirit within the dancing coloured lights where the words will not reveal their mystery in their memories of twinkling feelings.

A Sports' Jacket on Parnell Street

Sports' jacketed, with the leather patched elbows, looking all set for the academic life, perhaps a little beard and a couple of pens in the upper pocket, it is Parnell Street and the weather is winter, and I catch a glimpse of the past in an unforseen moment. And there is a different person in the garb, and I remember the glasses and the gait and the way I was affected then, and I am looking on the sixties in the numbers of the years. I think of now and I think of then and the space between made greater by the succeeding years, life becoming mistier by the thought and the time and the discomfort of uncertainty.

A Matter of Towns (A Tale of Two Cities)

I walked by the Guinness river
my dream was a ship forever,
taking me slowly to the place
where I was born
and she was right here inside me
using her love to guide me
singing a song about the place
where i belong

I was there in the festival city
drinking in all kinds of beauty
I walked in the gardens
when summer was warm
and I was in love and music
flowed through the streets
and into beauty
and there was my son
and the one o'clock gun

And so I was home in Dublin
so peaceful
with all the loving
living inside me
taking me on
but the summer was turning colder
and I'd grown ten years older
in a couple of moments
in a matter of towns

Truth in the Night and in the Day

Even the night,
has the memory of light,
as the day believes the dark
will return
truth is not given freely
except when truth and I are one.

Summertime Rain

The Summertime has been full of rain,
like a beautiful woman crying,
like a promise broken,
by the one you love.

Eternal Song

I don't know how it happened,
how the picture got in place,
the summertime had faded
while the sun was still engaged
and I saw a new direction
I'd never seen before
and I quickly recognised something
and I wanted it somemore

and I'm closing to the eyes
for the beauty of their soul
it smiles for me familiarly
and it makes me want to know
and I don't know about knowing
but I seek to understand
to sense another feeling
to hold it in my hand

the orphan oriental from the ether of the mind
refuses to be known to me and floats along in time
dancing to the music of the words that know no rhyme

and I'm closing to the eyes
for the beauty of their soul
it smiles for me familiarly
and it makes me want to know
and I don't know about knowing
but I seek to understand
to sense another feeling
to hold it in my hand

there's something in the area
of the riches of the soul
emerging from within silence
when the night has grown old
and it reaches and it touches
and it warms you with a kiss
I think that only lovers
can have recourse to this

and I'm closing to the eyes
for the beauty of their soul
it smiles for me familiarly
and it makes me want to know
and I don't know about knowing
but I seek to understand
to sense another feeling
to hold it in my hand

the universe is changing
in this little world of mine
the stars are rearranging
there is nothing that is defined
I have heard some whispered wisdom
but I've never read the signs

and I'm closing to the eyes
for the beauty of their soul
it smiles for me familiarly
and it makes me want to know
and I don't know about knowing
but I seek to understand
to sense another feeling
to hold it in my hand

Nature, the Devious Beauty

The feeling is: That I've arrived at the place that I might have been at a long time ago, and that things are put in the way, as forms of experience and trials and obstacles, before permission is granted to let us be at ease and at peace with a situation that is pleasing to both ourselves and to the people around us. Nature, you seem to be a devious beauty.

A Particular Universal Truth

Outside of my head a world is in motion, forever suggesting and gazing its gaze, looking for a move to be made, asking its tacit questions, from its conscience to mine, and I can only turn my head inside for so long, away from this particular universal truth.

The House of Mystery

It seemed like a house of mystery, the atmosphere was of death and winter, it made me uncomfortable, I had not to stay, and then I had to think of what might have been going on there, and I am still thinking about it, it seemed to be a place devoid of feeling.........

Australia and Me

Just when I thought that the world had become an empty place I received a call from her and the winter had left the world and I recalled the picture and the place and the touch and the movements in the places. Australia you are a cruel interceder.

Songs of Love

The songs of love that live inside of you and speak to you about people you've been honoured to hold and gain feeling for and contain the feeling that they transmit to you.

Stillness

the reclaiming and the calming of the spirit, the looking at the thief in the eye in defiance, and screaming at it, how worthless it really is, in true reality, meditating on the natural way, on life itself and no more

There's an Eye on us

something called fate can intervene, not with the wishes of either, some kind of misunderstanding intrudes upon the peace of the situation, leaving you to search for similarity in another place at a future time, but the heart that has hurt can be the heart that projects a greater strength and perhaps then a greater and more real love

Personal Change

I just wonder what really effects a personal change, I think it can be quite mysterious and instantaneous thing, like there is some kind of outside assistance! And I am certainly feeling 'positively' different right now!

Feigntly Praising

feel I am being given good guidance from somewhere right now, like someone has an arm on my shoulder, or perhaps I am loath to praise myself!

Inside and outside of the dream

had a dream about her, I seemed to be lost and my feet were bare, there were french kisses and then an abrupt departure, (like there always is). When I awoke my mind went back to the time when I was with her, outside of dream, remembering her affection and the coldness of the climate inside of the weather. And I took h...er with me into my day, struggling to make sense of where she really was as regards me

The Lady becomes Ethereal

Got someone on my mind, and it is unlikely that I will ever see her again, but still she is invading me somehow, and I ask myself, if I should have searched her for more, should have discovered something that I do not know today, I am weary from the weight or is it the wait?

Film inside my head

there was a film inside of my head in the night, and I and we were in transit and I semi-recognised who was sitting beside me, and the the one in front turned around like she knew who was next to me, and Wicklow was given the grand treatment, and I remembered who had moved to there, and then I began to understand the nature of the movie

The Feeling is:

The feeling is: That I've arrived at the place that I might have been at a long time ago, and that things are put in the way, as forms of experience and trials and obstacles, before permission is granted to let us be at ease and at peace with a situation that is pleasing to both ourselves and to the people around us. Nature, you seem to be a devious beauty.

A House of Mystery

It seemed like a house of mystery, the atmosphere was of death and winter, it made me uncomfortable, I had not to stay, and then I had to think of what might have been going on there, and I am still thinking about it, it seemed to be a place devoid of feeling...

From a Dream

had a dream about her, I seemed to be lost and my feet were bare, there were french kisses and then an abrupt departure, (like there always is). When I awoke my mind went back to the time when I was with her, outside of dream, remembering her affection and the coldness of the climate inside of the weather. And I took h...er with me into my day, struggling to make sense of where she really was as regards me

Spiritual Writers

Why do seemingly all of spiritual writers end up speaking on behalf of God. Talk about getting too close to your subject

Acceptance

Been learning that there has to be a limit to acceptance, that one must always and also be open to further changes, at any time at any stage in the process. So I will not rest on what is here and look to see what beneficial changes there could possibly be when suggestions of them might arrive or arise.

Christmas Memories

A memory from this time of year, from so long ago, dimmed by time and perhaps betrayed to some extent through imagination and selectivity, then suddenly...... It becomes like it is almost alive and is happening over again and can hardly be called a memory......... I guess that is what the repetition that is Christmas can do......

Outside of my Head

Outside of my head a world is in motion, forever suggesting and gazing its gaze, looking for a move to be made, asking its tacit questions, from its conscience to mine, and I can only turn my head inside for so long, away from this particular universal truth.

Love

In this world of imperfect communication and then misunderstanding it must be something of a real live miracle when love succeeds.

Incident in O'Connell Street

So its O'Connell Street in this great city, and she has her practised walk in full gear, the make up and the facial expression that she believes so deeply in, I reckong she's from Foxrock, she just isn't ordinary at all, and then........... The iced path decides to bring her down...........

Ireland and the Immigrants

so mother Ireland is it to be the indigenous/immigrants= Great Dichotomy?

Peter Robinson

never thought I could ever sympathise with a Loyalist of Robinson's proportions, but I must say that I do, just wish that those guys en bloc would remember about love and the sameness of us all.

Haiti

The stark and obscene images of ravished humanity in one of the poorest of countries and yet again one of the poorest of countries or areas in our planet of these natural disasters. Is there anybody watching anyone with a governing hand or interest in this humanity, this same humanity that you and I are a part of?

Toilet Paper and the Proletariat

Am thinking of purchasing some luxury toilet paper and am wondering what the psychological implications of this might be.....

Dream Thoughts

Subconscience and then Superconscience had come into my mind and now I think I might have an idea about the kind of understanding there is to find from that point.

The Friendly Neighbourhood Store

I wonder why supermarkets don't have a sign at checkouts pronouncing ' Once served by our assistants, shift your ass and gather your things to your bag as quick possible and get out....... and please come again soon.'