The stream (all workshops)
While wrestling with a wriggling muse
I sit and look out rear glass door
and try to write of sylvan views
which have washed up on creative shore
Pen in hand and butt in chair
spiral notebook in my lap
snatching rhymes from the thin air
ink flows slowly as spring sap
Reckon I'm so deep in thought
that at first I do not realize
that my attention's being sought
by someone with emerald eyes
dawn crawls up the floor
to my room
my echoed chamber
full of you
I can feel my pockets full
the soft sweet dampness
hanging on straining
wire with shoulders slumped
we wore lives in radiant expulsion
transfiixed and fickle
while radiator spoke her
murmur messages throughout the
past
and snowflakes ticked against our
glass
Sometimes I feel the flames
surrounding the form around,
make me dwell in moments of ecstasy
then devour me
as in consummation
Life’s just a flickering flame
worth seconds only
ere the flame blows
wow,
all is lost in the moment
of once having been
a being,
like a scorching feeling
petals or wings of butterflies feel
ere they are consumed…
Oxen of the sun
birthing canal
Wilde on his rock
colouring banal
Bram stoking fires
Behan's door ajar
Kavanagh with kindling
hailing Synge from afar
Yeats in Ithicabra
polishing his horse
Beckett in Bray
waiting in morse
Joyce yet awanders
ash thatched to hand
plitting a plot, plotting a plan
TESOURO
O homem quem gasta a vida
Procurando um tesouro
Perde aquêle que deixou
Atrás
Não sabendo
Eu sou os raios dourados
do sol
meus olhos lapis lazuli
e meus labios rubis de sangue vermelho
meu coração opalas puros
brilhando reflexões na luz
da minha malancolia
TREASURE
The man who spends a lifetime
Looking for a treasure,
Loses the true one he left behind
not knowing.
there is more to loving than having sex
so much more to hugging than french kissing
in passion I cry, be my love always
not just my lover
make me rain in the late hours of midnight
let my heart sing bump bump tonight my love
the pressure builds inside my limp body
listen to bones crack in my inner tighs
feel joint slip out of place welcoming you
stand up as flood gates burst open suddenly
The hot steamy masses flow freely from
passion bellowing everytime we make love
in passion I cry, be my love always
There he goes again
the defiant determined
young fighter pilot
Racking up kills
never getting enough
scanning the skies
for the infamous Red Baron
A bright red plane
with iron crosses
on the ends of its wings
Constantly thinking how if only
he could shoot him down
the amount of fame and glory
he would receive
How he would be the one
who shot down the Red Baron
this infamous German fighter ace
Sitting on the edge
of the railroad tracks
watching the trains
going by
Thinking about
the woman
I left behind
Closing my eyes
she is in my arms
I can feel
her shoulder length black hair
blowing in the wind
brushing against my chest
As the hem
Of the dress she wears
Flutters in the gusts
Created by the passing trains
This sweet perfume
of an aroma
emanates from her into my nostrils
bottling up inside my nose
so I can carry it with me
where ever I go
The flickering light of fireflies
in the dark
are no match
for the sparkle
in her eyes
They are pools of water
of which I never
want to come out of
so cool and comforting
Two constellations in the sea
we call life
always calling and
leading me home
Beacons of light
in the darkest of times
leading me away from
the deadly rocks of disgust
keeping me in calmer seas
The rock on which I foundered
has rollen down the hill
to rest upon the Styx dark bank
where the waters yet run still
The coal-shell chain
that cloaked my face
lays shattered in the moss
gathered by my tortured hand
to pay the fare across
The silent sighs that echo
from the endless night below
strap themselves to my shame
as He begins to row
Hooded in a rosewood mist
from crown to rotten sole
he points a leaden finger
toward a swooping, lifeless crow
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