Pneumatic

Well endowed is not the word for it

Like barrage balloons blown together in a sudden gale

Held together in a struggling brassiere

Itself a wonder of engineering

Loose enough to give a little movement

Yet keeping everything where it’s supposed to be

Promoting motion sickness in those watching

And they will watch

Hard not to

Because well endowed is not the word for it.

Graduating

Dressed in robes of scarlet red

Swimming notions in your head

Graduating PhD

Surely is a sight to see

The Ten Thousand

In Poznan they all came to fore

From Dublin street and Wexford shore

 Not knowing what they had in store

Came the ten thousand

#

Great hopes they had these crowds in green

A victory that they could gleam

In an epic, glorious scene

Came the ten thousand

#

No inn or tavern spared from it

That irrepressible Irish wit

Shouting irish quite a bit

Came the ten thousand

#

Alas the team failed to bring

Victory or anything

But oh how the fans did sing

All the ten thousand

#

In all three games they came to naught

Though not dejected as they ought

A nation’s pride instead was sought

So sang the ten thousand

#

Green shirts and flags were packed away

To wait again for the day

Were once again we come and say

Here come the ten thousand

Words

Words can never hurt me

That is true, physically at least

Words don’t cut or stab

Beat or flay

Words can’t hurt the body

But they can hurt the mind

Bring out fear or sadness

Scar the soul

More so, words can provoke

Bring to the fore the inner darkness

Ignite rage, promote cruelty

Words can never harm me

But who is to say that they won’t make me harm you?

Here

Everything to do

And no desire to do it

Rather read, or sleep

Or lie here, my lover beside me

Not happy, not really

The certain knowledge of what is coming precludes that

But unwilling to let it end

Though I should be elsewhere

All I can be is here.

Lone Rose

A lone rose

Lying on the bed

Left in offering

Left in hope

Left in vain

Two Junkies

Two junkies

A man and a woman

Unkempt, filthy hands and faces

Eyes sunk, teeth missing

Shuffling in uneasy steps

Their voices, low and drawn out

As if forced through the haze in their heads

#

Two junkies

Walking along the street

Asking for pennies, pounds, all you can spare

For a hostel, for a cup of coffee, for bus fare

For everything but their true goal

Mostly ignored, given contemptuous looks

Invisible stains on society

#

Two junkies

Balance almost gone

The woman falls

The man helps her up

Gives her his last cigarette, arms around each other

Then they continue on

Towards oblivion, together

The Big Man

You always have to do what the Big Man says

Why? because you shouldn’t ask questions

Just agree, nod your head and comply

For that is the secret of happiness

Doing as the Big Man says

Obeying his will

He knows better after all

That is why he is the Big Man

And you are not.

Mountain forests

Mountain forests

Swimming in the clouds

Isolated islands of green

As if adrift on a sea of cream

Peaceful in their elevation

Calmly ignoring

The raging torrents of rain

Falling down on all below.

Ferret in his trousers

There’s a ferret in his trousers

Explain it I cannot

There’s a ferret in his trousers

And he cares not a jot

“The little fella’s all alone”

He says when asked at pain

“This way I keep him nice and warm

And in out from the rain”

When asked at length if it were safe

He said the guy won’t bite

And just to prove the salient point

Stayed calmly for the night

There’s a ferret in his trousers

And yet he seems okay

There’s a ferret in his trousers

What more can I say?