Friday, 25 March 2011

Poetry up to 1998


Donovan the melancholy
sings his true songs
by age sorrow memory or happiness
amongst pictures and walls
amongst ears

wishing for his comeback
to the present
but all are going back to their past
a memory brought forward
remembered not lost
time cruel and final as ever

Strawberry Ladies  

- O! it’s fantastic wonderful superb marvellous-
not sure what
the new gallery? -marvellous wonderful fantastic-
the light? -superb wonderful fantastic-
the hotel? -wonderful superb marvellous-
lost my mind goes blank
our sense of ourselves goes out the window
across the sea we ignore

the view? -superb wonderful
a picture you could paint-
indolent insolent angry board
I become a child
the day? -marvellous fantastic superb
no one paints like that any more
shame shocking sad
each to their own -

The Child 

Have a child
for sentimental reasons
those soft sensitive
demanding creatures

We are shadows next to them
ourselves driven out
we become sentiment
hidden behind closed doors

The Crying Woman 

The dead have arisen
because they were never laid to rest
soulless and spiritless
children who never grew up
she is mad
backing down and bowing out
she cannot be upset

Hard done by lazy
you fantasise
your reality doesn’t exist
tact prevail play the game
whatever you say
absolutely only you could know
don’t antagonise be silent
the crying woman


Greenberg and Ortega still fresh in the air
-its a stitch up- we both agree
and sneaking from the baby to our bed
in the afternoon of a Good Friday

walking the streets of Cork
with the forgotten taste of you in my mouth
you talk to the air
saying things which will not come about

the fog horns like whales
calling to each other through the mist
with the steel works grinding
in the back ground

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