Isn't it Strange?

Isn't it strange when something happens when nothing happens and when the silence speaks to you disturbing you to understanding?

Nighttime Love and the Time that Never Ends

nighttime love and the time that never ends, there is hunger in the eyes and the feet can't stand still. A cool wind blows and the heat is getting soft. Rainbow dancers swing to the rhythms of esoterica and I in my memories of telepathic nightmares am gazing in the window of my soul. A dog barks, the candle burns out, there is a feeling of complicity, how many times must there be a return to the same story? And in the mind, are thoughts of strangers, and wonderings of the times which are to be, or not to be. Someone came close and looked me completely in the eye, I don't know whether to suspect her or not, and she waltzed into the eyes and she sang into the lamplight of a song, and the song turned its head away wondered to itself in the restless nighttime. And the nighttime was non-committal and just stood there looking at the moon, and all around the stars were on fire and birds escape to the comfort of new found tales of ancient history. and the rhymms can't let go and dig the beat as only rhythms can. And the music stands on edge, checking itself on every note, not being easy, not letting go of itself. looking into its own eyes for comfort, and I walk away with eyes turned back to the action, and reckon that I might have somewhere new to turn on.

The Fade-Out Cannot Erase the Introduction

there is death in every moment and perhaps that particular moment is gone and has died. Today you walked right there beside me when you were nowhere to be seen, and I held you close to me but I knew somehow that we couldn't be apart like this forever. And I wondered if it would be correct of me in perhaps my selfishness, to say goodbye to you and our time, our not quite connecting in the conventional way. And your song was singing inside of me and I couldn't keep the beat any more. There was brightness still. I knew that there could never be tears between us and that picture that we made together could not disappear completly and the fade-out cannot erase the introduction.

Pat Ingoldsby

Pat Ingoldsby is still alive and selling his books in the city centre. I saw him other day and he saved himself yet another Euro by remembering my name (the blaggard) So he still hasn't published the book that he mentioned me in. And he has been warned that I will sue for libel if there is anything less than wonderful about me in it. So should I remember him in a song? or a Short story? Or one of those little philosophical things that I write? Hmm I am kept on edge. One of the most famous of the present day poets and he is a truly nice and gentle man and his wit and his kindness when I have not always been receptive to these things spurs me to the point where I feel I should recognise him in print also, but alas, it is my own personal snobbery that makes me turn from him and walk into myself again. He said that he wants my accent when I die, and I asked him if we could perhaps come to a pre-death arrangement and all he ever wants to do is smile. I missed the man for the few months he hawked his wares in Howth. And why Howth of all places? Isn't that the place where Gay Byrne dwells? And I guess he would like to be in Barra once again and frightening the sheep with his version of the Rocky Road to Dublin. God Bless him.

Celtic Football Club

Even if you care nothing for the game of Association Football here you have the chance to check out the passion and devotion of the most dedicated and devoted football fans in the world whose club is not just an ordinary football club but is the club which represents the people and their decendents from Ireland who initially came to Scotland from Ireland to escape the ravages of famine torn Ireland and suffered much antipathy and hatred in doing so from the native Scots' population. This is not the support for a mere football team it is the support for a heritage and a love from where it came.

The Real Thing

The beautiful prejudice which is love, magnetising and spiritualising. And I walk to you always, I cannot divert my feelings for you and I find your feelings for me difficult to accept. And I have had you very close to me and loved the comfort of your physical self when I have loved you so much that I am almost oblivious to the way you physically are

The Master and I

Wine in the evening corrupting dream in the morning my feet need walking and my stomach bread am thinking of names of places I may have heard of but have never really known or have visited the day stands out before me it is Sunday and life has quietened itself somehow and I changed my shoes to the shoes that I had fallen on doing myself a little physical damage and being grateful to the master for letting me away so easily and the master is the master of the gift the gift that can never be mine because I can't bestow on myself I just have to take it as far as I can take it and hand it back to the master

Feeling of the Music

The music disturbs somewhat changing the easy place I might have found myself in, somewhere, an unintentional destination, a place that just happened to come to me when I wasn't looking, and I settle into this moment through this particular sound and my eyes feel and I tighten, and the music is in me once again.