Poetry from a Dublin Scientist

Month: October, 2011


Most think the mask hides my face,

The plastic and cardboard shielding from the outside world,

But that is definitely not the case. 

The mask, is rather, the canvas for the soul.

An infinitely malleable, changeable, sheet for self-expression.

What the heart wants, the soul desires, is better displayed

with the mask-makers art than with a restricted face.

To see into a mans soul, look not at the face he chooses to hide

But at the mask he wears proudly.


Behold the hallowed witching hour

When evil sprites begin to flower

When devil’s fancies rise on up

And on mens souls greedily sup

The time when sane men stay at rest

And nutter’s ranting’s at their best

When girls and boys both start to scream

Happy, happy Halloween.

Decision Time

Decision time for one and all

For whom we think is on the ball

Who deserves the zoo-side gaff

Who is the wheat in all this chaff

Which man (or woman) gets the vote

Who will the people cast afloat

This day democracy comes through

I’ve done my bit, I ask, have you?


To be caught unawares

With your proverbial pants down

To be had by the unknowable unknowns

Your calm equilibrium unsettled by an unprovoked, unforeseen assault

Who’s fault is it?

Can a man prepare for all, no matter how unlikely?

Can you be on guard for all the monsters that can conceivably come out in the night?

What about those that are inconceivable?

A man can only prepare for the road ahead that he sees

It is difficult to keep the out of sight in your mind

Do not punish those who failed to see the invisible.

To voters

Seldom though we search so long

We find a man who’s never wrong

A man who really takes the goat

Ones who wears a teflon coat

A man who it is plain to see

Runs rings around the likes of me

Regardless of the lie or crime

Those who vote don’t see the grime.

Elect them in more times the not

So he can act the little snot.

But can we blame the man you see

Who takes the opportunity

I’d rather blame the sullen fool

Deluded ones who think it’s cool

To see the villain as a hero

To make a saint from moral zero

And when this crook is in the dock

To give another voting stock

And find themselves back at square one

fleeced untill they are done

The lessons clear, don’t blame the top

Blame those who vote yet don’t say stop.



An echoing gulf of non-talk fills the space between us

It is a straining, awkward pause, and I can’t stand it.

It has to be subdued

I try my damnedest

Talk as much nonsense as I can

Unload a truck full of minute

It is a losing battle,

The silence is victorious.

But all is not lost,

As I look in her eye, I see a faint smile, 

A confirmation of all I need to know

Speaking what words never could

The hidden meaning of the silence.


The dark grey clouds fill the sky

As if painted on in child-like lumps

They take on an orange hue, reflected sodium light from the never sleeping city

It looks more menacing, as if the sky was on fire

But it also looks more beautiful, barely moving like an artwork of the gods.

From time to time the clouds part and the moon shines through

casting is pale light onto the pale canvas

The scene takes on two tones

It is a magical scene, all to be gained simply by looking up

From crawling city living

To the wonderous scenes above.


Behold the chattering classes

Spinning false lines, regurgitating old truths to each other.

They speak in hushed tones,

Like their wisdom is from on high

From the mouth of the gods.

They speak in knowledgable tones about the issues of the day

Of life, love and reason.

Often clouded through a haze of alcohol.

They have no theses, these bar stool philosophers, no direction to the meanderings

But therein is their strength,

The great questions of our day, solved in the space of an evening.


I’m happy that I’m back to black

I’m happy that I’m coming back

It is so good to be out again

To get the freedom of the plain

To find that life is back anew

Fresh from so long it was eschew

To be back on my lifetimes route

Is some relief, that is the truth.


I have slept for eons,

Isolated from the onwards march of time, of destiny.

Insulated from the magic of life

Kept away from the best of what life offers

I find myself more alone

Held in by my quarantine

For my own good, forced to live as a hermit

Away from my others.

This is my want.

To keep in this distant citadel

Protected and protecting

Until the magic of health has returned

To my germ assaulted form.