Poetry from a Dublin Scientist

Month: August, 2012

The cost

In bits

Strewn all over the place

Smashed into pieces

The price of a little fun

A little time in the sun

The light of social grace


In bits

Head pounding

Stomach wrenching

From excessive drink

And dodgy food on the way home


In bits

Yet under the cloud

Under the pain and nausea

Under the wish to die


For fun was had

And the cost

Simply part of the game

Games An Awdl Gywydd

We play our games
Though we’re not beat
For coin and glory
World’s at our feet

The stage is set
All take a seat
From far and wide
To see the feat

Embrace and grin
Opponents meet
Like friend’s encounters
Out on the street

Our die is cast
And luck we greet
We play our game
Though we’re not beat


About time

Time to go

Time to stay

Enough time

Need more time

Grandfather time

Old man time

Make time

Save time

Find time

Waste time

Lose time

Time back

Times gone forward

Keeping time

Telling time

Lost in time

Past time

Special time

Me time

Alone time

Sexy time

A bad time

Fun times

Good times

The best of times

The worst of times

Our time

Your time

Just in time

Pioneer, An Englyn

Pioneer weeds grow strongly on concrete
From the grey, greenery
In each crack, roots grow deeply
Single flowers scent sweetly


Infuriating acts of chemical rebellion

Refusing to mingle and react

And when they do going in the wrong way

The wrong product

The wrong side of the equilibrium

Days wasted, scarce resources

Gone in a puff of smoke, cloud of steam

Left to blow away

Lost to the breeze

Like the motivation I once had

Gone for good

Haikus 28/08/12

Drinking milk from fridge

Curious taste, have to spit out

Must have gone off so


Running out of plans

Have to think up a new scheme

Better be quite good


“Halt at the stop sign”

I ignore the driving tester

He is not calm now

Limericks 27/08/12

I once met a fellow named Sam

Who thought of himself as a sham

He went to and fro

Asking who’d know

“Just what kind of man I am?”


There was an old lady called Jill

Who left lots of booze in her will

Her eldest boy Jake

So much friends he did make

And they all came to drank up their fill


I once knew a butcher named Dave

Who was fond of a rant and a rave

He’d come out of his shop

And the people would stop

As he shouted how much more they’d save

A prayer for those printing

Gods of ink and paper, here my prayer

Guide my work safely through your clutches

Prevent tears and ink smudges

Preserve the colour of pictures

Keep the paper order intact

Every word in its place

Every figure with its caption

For thine is the inkjet and the laser

And save us from the machinations of the PDF maker

So that our careful formatting may not be undone

And my words brought to their eternal rest

Within your cellulose heaven

Far from virus and corrupting word updates



Stately procession

Dignified signs of force

Yet powered by the basic elements

At the mercy of the wind and tide

Moving with slow grandeur

No noise save for the creak of wood

And the billow of sail

Relics of a bygone age

Out of date

But not forgotten

Like a faithful old horse, or tired hunting dog

Maintained long past usefulness

A labour of love

Retained as a memory

Of a simpler time, long past

A time when sail ruled the world

Speckles on the ground

I see yet barely notice

Speckles on the grey concrete

Red, turning to dark brown

Blood, long since congealed


I wonder what was its story

What drama does it tell?

There is a large splash

Followed by a trickle

What does that mean?


Did he survive? How bad was he injured?

Was he drunk? Did he have help?

All these questions, yet no answers

Just the mystery left by the traces

The mysterious speckles on the ground