Poetry from a Dublin Scientist

Month: November, 2012

First Date: A Pantoum

Waiting silent at the door

Slightly wilting flowers in hand

Nervous over what’s in store

Here is where he makes his stand


Slightly wilted flowers in hand

Slowly great door opens wide

Here is where he makes his stand

Sees the beauty there inside


Slowly great door opens wide

Meeting father’s horrid glare

Sees the beauty there inside

Shrinking in his intense stare


Meeting father’s horrid glare

Beauty walks with radiant glow

Shrinking in his intense stare

She emerges set to go


Beauty walks with radiant glow

Nervous over what’s in store

She emerges set to go

Waiting silent at the door

To Anne

A woman of no small renown

Who proudly wears the author’s crown

Who tames the wordy beasts so wild

The incomparable Anne Schilde


 She grips the reader in her power

With her able minion Flower

Writing all about her dreams

An infinite resource it seems


Annie shows that magic skill

That makes you keep reading until

Every single word is through

A sign of how she gets to you


So go through each one of her posts

The world of Kate which she hosts

The many tales of Annie’s World

And see a unique life unfurled


Now give this woman’s blog a glance

And you will no doubt get the chance

To see a talent with no end

Here’s to you Anne Schilde, my friend


Dedicated to Anne Schilde who keeps on saying nice things about me. So I thought I’d do the same. In a very public manner.

Limericks 24/11/12

A raindrop fell from the sky
And let out a piercing cry
“I’m coming all set
To get someone wet
They’ll take quite some time till they’re dry!”
While measuring me for a tux
The tailor paused over his books
Saying “I can fit you with ease
Coat and tails if you please
But I can’t do a thing ’bout your looks
Sometimes I wish
For a wee tank of fish
That swim to and fro
With long fins that flow
And some flat and round like a dish

Not Christmas

Down on Grafton Street
My heart fills with dread
The songs they are singing
Filling my head
Santas and tinsel
Their sight causes pain
“But it ain’t fucking Christmas”
I try to explain
“It’s November you morons”
I cry and I shout
At the shoppers and carolers
All shifting about
No one pays attention
I’m just an old kook
Avoiding eye contact
So I don’t spook
“There’s a whole month remaining”
I find it obscene
We’re no closer to New Years
Than to Halloween
Yet everyone’s festive
Dragging it out
As if it won’t cheapen
When we throw it about
A guard then came over
And asked me to leave
But my rant won’t be wasted
If you just believe
Christmas is special
For those few short days
We all come together
Forget our bad ways
By all means enjoy it
Just at the right time
To have it in November
Well, that’s just a crime

The Discarded Bag

Walking home on evening
A car drives by
There is a thud
Followed by the sound of scraping
Some heavy meeting the tarmac
Stopping in an instant of violent friction
Then at rest
It is a large sportsbag
The car itself speeds on
The night haze preventing any further indentification
Apart from “It was a dark colour”
The bag remains
I stare at it for a second
Reluctant to approach
My thoughts filled with the uncertainty of the age
Images of terrorists, criminals, filled my imagination
No good can come of it I am certain
Then it moves
Slowly at first
And then more vigorously
As if groggy from waking up
Bombs don’t move that way
I move closer
I hear faint mewling
I slowly, reluctantly, undo the zipper
And am greated by a face
A kitten
Barely alive, it is so young
And its siblings, all five of them
Crying in pain
Crying for their mother
Crying for help

A Killer on the Loose

There’s a killer on the loose

Free to walk, to run, to amble

Free to sniff the roses

Free to pick daisies

Long ago were his crimes

Murders of unspeakable brutality and senselessness

And he was duly sent away

Served his time

And now he is out

Yet no remorse

No desired for redemption

A killer is on the loose

Free once again

Unwatched, unrestrained



They say freedom is a right

But may it be paid for with a life

I certainly don’t want to find out

An Ode To Flash Gordon

Quaint dated effects

Long flowing hair

Brian and his beard

They have it all there


Our Hero Flash Gordon

A.K.A Sam Jones

Blasts off to Mongo

To break all their bones


Max von Sydow

Is too good an actor for this

While Ms Muti is stunning

Killing all with a kiss


But my hero is Brian

Some man, some beard

Leader of the Hawkmen

Mongo’s most feared


“Flash Gordon’s alive!”

Prince Vultan does cry

Before sending his hoards

And all Ming’s men die


Even those on the Ajax

Brave and steadfast

But against Hawkmen

Not long did they last


This film is quite epic

Like some stoner’s dream

With one awesome soundtrack

By the awesome Queen


The plot is quite corny

The acting Jurassic

But Flash Gordon’s the best

An absolute classic!

The Devil’s Delights

Oh to list my favourite things

A young boy’s tears over his first puppy

A cheated husband’s eager rage

A priest leaning to sin

The tempted child

Corrupted Innocence

How Grotesque

How…. Delightful!


Written for Trifecta’s one X challenge Where we are asked to put “our favourite things” in 33 words exactly. Check the rest of them out.

The Whiff of Death

I try not to be judgemental

But occasionally I am in a club

Taking drinks in a pub

When I spy a woman

Pretty attractive (I have standards)

I engage her eye, full charm offensive

Approach to begin conversation

When I am assailed by a horrible stench

A rotten miasma of stale cigarettes

Permeating her clothes and hair

A  whiff of death about her

That calls up memories of fading lungs and body

Instant mood killer

The desire evaporates

And I reverse

Feeling a little foolish

But unable to go forward

Stayed by a sense of revulsion

The inner censor at play

Haikus 23/11/12

The terrible twos
Terrorist in a nappy
Pity can’t smack him
Words are filled with fire
Fanning the flames with graphite
Careful don’t get burnt
Waiting for access
Need to stay and do duty
Can be boring though