SHINE IS FREE.
16901969
These are my
holy war
Lottery numbers,
I don’t
Do the
lottery or hate.
I’m just the
son of a bastards
Son, living
him on the run.
Republicanism
cut me down
To his
narrow water vision.
Eng-ire-land
I seen beyond
You and me,
catholic/pro-
Testant kill
one another.
How many
more holy wars
Do we have
to endure, are
We just
barbarians let out
On a Good Friday
agreement.
It’s just a
matter of time un-
Less matter
really matters
Scientifically.
The big hand
in the sky is
pointing at you, Yes you!
I hope these numbers
Don’t come
up again?
CONSCIOUSNESS ATILLA JOSZEF STYLE
Armorous abstraction
I felt the cosmic
order gleam-the leaves like
tiny butterflies.
Build a bonfire,
a super-duper one to
warm the population.
No arrows, stones
or guns just a sigh of beauty-
a train whistle blows.
A BUBBLE CHAMBER
Empty space is vital
Lawrence Krauss
A pome anti-pome, negative
Capability, a prison cell of
the mind. The light from my
window shadows jail cell bars
it starts off like a blues song
with just little hope.
Science
and the blues go hand in hand.
Porridge is the texture of brain
Who is eating who? The hard-on
misspelled hadron collider goes
round and round, the
after-
Glow of the big bang theory
( stroke ). Spike Milligan said
‘We are fucked’,
accidentally
On purpose, physics,
poetry,
Cosmology, a poetic
quantum
Wave like an infinite
stanza
In a multi-verse, the poetry
of reality is the portal
of poetry.
This is an
anti-particle that
Hasn’t been discovered
yet.
There is no hatred
in my heart so-the stroke
paralyzed
MEMORISED
In a push-chair stuck in a lift
On the isle of dogs. The bridge
Parted to let the cargo boat
Go by on the Thames but me
and my mother were stuck
In the bridge lift, an infant who
Felt his mother’s panic stress.
My brother nearly losing his
Finger on galvanized steel.
Telling my mother to take
A pill to calm down.
My mother is dead and me
And brother haven’t spoke
In thirty years, he lives in
Germany.
How can I remember this?
Ubuntu and
a breath of peace
1.
As I sat down
to write this my son came into the room
He looked
into my eyes, said can I press something daddy.
I’ll tell you
what to press ok, his small face contorted to
Catch my
sight and he said please let me do it as well
I will press
the buttons you like, me and you will press
Them together,
he said, now I’ll do all the rest, ok daddy.
Within the
lines of gobbledegook created I got him to
Write his
name, brilliant Kern I said and his eyes glistened.
In that tiny
instant the whole concept became reality in the eyes
Of a little
boy who wasn’t told to go away and play with toys.
The great
poet Patrick Kavanagh said that the hardest thing
To recreate
is simplicity but Ubuntu strives to encourage
And nurture
the sparkle in the eyes of who need a break-in
Our society
and along the road of gobbledegook simplicity
Will form, Ubuntu
then for me Ubuntu, Ubuntu and lots more.
James Simmons
read and heard my gobbledegook love of poetry
And awarded
me a scholarship in poetry, creative writing the first
In my family
with an M.A. thirty years later I still can’t fathom it.
I was a
struggling writer but he seen past my unlearnt grammar.
Raymond carver
said, ‘Influences are forces circumstances,
personalities,
irresistible as the tide, it’s the kind of influence that
is as common
to us, and as natural as rainwater.
2.
This verse is for all the violent dead
who know eternal peace, united for-
ever for all the families who grieve
the slaughtered fleece.
Ulsterman rise from your knees
and feel this peaceful breeze.
Inhale this peace into your lungs
No more bullets, no more guns
And your breath will fall upon Ireland
And you will know that breath is
yours.
Death comes to us all like a bullet to
The head, life comes to us all like
The aftertaste of lead.
Take that hatred from your hearts and re-
Cognise your brother, take that
bitterness
From your throat and spit it to the
gutter.
Knowing that you have cut down
innocent
Sons and daughters, then your filth
will
Filter through these polluted Irish
waters
And your breath will fall on Ireland
And you will know that breath is
yours.
NAMELESS POME
In this hell-cell, I have created some-
Thing of purpose. Basho once said
‘My solitude shall be
my company,
And my poverty my
wealth’.
I have juxtaposed my mad room,
kitchen I am ness mantelpiece.
Into one black-hole, event horizon.
A place free from the claims of
Poetry, as Cheszlaw Milosz put
It a more spacious form. I have
Woke these last few days with
A feeling that there is something
Out there like a touchable dream.
The portal of poetry is wobbly open
The sense of Ezra Pound like a wave
Of energy gone wrong, these are
The best words in the best order,
darkness within darkness.
6/10/99 MEMORY LOST AND FOUND
A wired orange paper shade hangs
from the center of my room like
a stalactite forming falling from
the roof of my contemporary cave.
Dripping light, a subtle glow splashes
on the encrusted walls of books, posters,
poems, photos. Neolithic simple forms
of art fossilized in memory.
THE RED RUSSET TREE
The red russet tree
stands out like red
and black luxury.
Something not for free,
the vape smoke goes
up in smoke like
cloud on a sunny day.
Capitalism has ruined
humanity, beauty is in
the eye of the beholder.
Poetry like sunshine
is free, why do we think
of current sea, man made.
Nature gave us such beauty
and we throttle it.
THE CEILI HOUSE
Andy Irvine at the Ceili house.
His music lilting all around like
an intricate Celtic design.
His music lilting all around like
an intricate Celtic design.
One man and his Greek guitar:
Bouzouki-lingering through the air
Like a matured Irish whiskey.
A pint of black porter, sipping
Him and his guitar like Woddie
Guthrie’s prodigal son.
Bouzouki-lingering through the air
Like a matured Irish whiskey.
A pint of black porter, sipping
Him and his guitar like Woddie
Guthrie’s prodigal son.
NEW CITY BLUES
For twenty five years now this dwelling has stood
Just like others in the mazen rows.
Under the bridges plastered in graffiti,
The food hall is customer-less.
The job market closed, political negligence.
P ill-popping commotion in the pharmacy,
I receive the benefit of income support.
The loss of dignity stoops down in the hall,
The un-worked past creates a void presence.
Bill, uncovered by the dole cheque with
too few nought’s.
Unable to hold together
