Dying Breath
POEM
I'm on the brink of sincerity
but all i can say is myself
I was brought up in brambles, in blackthorns
I'm skinny to the point of singing
big fuckin' man hands on me
climbing cliffs, carrying coal
back-handing bushes, I've got ecsema
for fuck sake
now these bold hands are wiping arse
and a fart shot out of me like a dying breath
Reason
POEM
I seen a face in the shadow of rubbed suede
Throne to a smelly hole
Bed to the drunk
In a TV-lit slumber
It is peaceful,
Theres no lying in the light
No opinions
No held-by-accident breaths
Its reason after the words
Are burned in turf fire
Or dissolved in bins juice
Its reason when the flies harmonise
With wings and no voice
Ah what a lifeful buzzing!
01.02.26
POEM
Stressed out cross-maker at dawn of spring
Mine so ugly sun hides after glimpse
But yesterday was the day
I hadn't done it
Today the day I done it
Today the day I done it
Homes
POEM
Slug-born, sweet between, the great confusion
And now; the fun slog
With wet trail only in mind
I am banging incessantly at a zebra crossing
greengreengreengreen,
Then green.
Tiring times these
The constant shuffle
Ever-rising tides
Homes are sinking boats
The dragging, in fear of drowning
Inhale, deep breath in through the nose
Cant smell nothing
Like Flies
POEM
They've put poison in the Shannon
And a fish floats to the top
And birds start to drop
Like flies
And the ones left alive
Sing to the white streetlights
I see the moon, the moon sees me,
God loves the moon, God loves me
Seagulls
POEM
Seagulls are wandering about field-ponds
Aimlessly piercing the marsh
I wonder how their feet feel,
The warm-wet soil,
Is it similar to the sand?
They all take off together,
Only to fly a measly yard
Back picking in a starved inland
Beak-to-beak with the mirror on the ground
They are scavengers, stripped of song
Ignorant,
And aimlessly piercing the marsh
Castleconnell ONE
POEM
A collective of boys hanged a swan in my river
A collective of boys stand by the swan
They hung in my river
A hoard of insects jumping sideways
Pales in comparison to the rubber giant
Pales in comparison to the metal giant
A pigeon quivers crossing concrete
It knows all too well the stories
Two greyhounds rest at the end of their run
Necks intertwined, they breathe.
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