71. Wild Flowers

71.
Wild Flowers

Give me wild flowers any day, 
Instead of fancy blooms for which you have to pay,
A bluebell or a daisy to me has more to say,
Far more than hybrid plants in a big bouquet, 

Give me wild flowers any day, 
Buttercups and clover where i kneel to pray,
Woodbine, poppies and dandelions to me say,
God is in his heaven and everything's okay, 

Give me wild flowers any day, 
They don't need your compost throw the watering can away, 
Let forget me not's, heather and snowdrops mark your way, 
They'll bring a smile to your dark days as in your mind they stay,

You can keep your Chelsea flower show and Alan Titchmarsh to,
I'm sending cherry blossom and this poem from me to you.

70. Break Out

70.
Break Out

My voice broke at the same time as my heart.
I left childhood things behind, let song and music start!
Oh, where is love and where are girls and what am I for?
Am I meant to kiss a girl or go to die in war?
Must I be brave and ask a girl, can I have this dance?
I have itchy feet and hands, what’s that in my pants?
Why am I in this world?
Where is the perfect girl?
Loving, fighting, laughing, joking, talking, holding hands and smoking.
Pursuing, wooing, making a mistake.
Lots of talking over, music at the wake.
Drinking, thinking, laughing, crying, loving living, fearing dying, always hoping, sometimes trying.
Life will be the death of me.
I was born to be free.
Do I ever get it right?
Am I too old to fight?
May I say one word here?
Love.
I whisper in your ear!

69. They Say

69.

They Say People say I’m not a poet, I only write a rhyme. I write in the language of my life, I write for all time. I was young and I am old, transmute base metals into gold. Such was the goal of the alchemist, his work is shrouded in the mist. Who am I sorry for? The girls I never kissed!

68. Manifesto

68.
Manifesto

I hate you because you don’t love me, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you’re not like me, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you ignore me, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you’re happy and I’m not, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you’re indifferent to me, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you exclude me, so I’m going to kill you.
I hate you because you don’t love me so I hate you so I will kill you.
Hate kills.
I hate you because you disprove my theory that hate is best.
I love me. You don’t love me.
Self love kills. I kill.
Ignore me at your peril.
Love turns to hate.
I hate.
Self love is the seed from which hate grows.
Love others and your love is returned.
So said my neighbour, him I burned.
I love myself, that is the cause.
Because, because, because, because.
I don’t believe in loving, except from you.
That’s why I’m going to kill you.
That’s what I plan to do.
I hate you.
If you were like me, you would hate me too.
The problem is, you do.
Me too.

67. Moon

67.
Moon

You give me the truth.
I love it.
Others say, shove it.

Dare I mention war and hate,
people who won’t pay,
those who torture children
when they don’t get their way?

Oh God, I don’t know what to do,
I only know that I love you.
Truth is God and so is love,
Hell below, Heaven above.

This from a misbegotten poet
who knows the truth but does not know it.

The truth is all around, that is where it may be found.
Look around, speak from the heart, that’s a start.

I wish to write the perfect poem and to be one.
Do you know a poet when you see one?

66. Imperfect Poet

66.
Imperfect Poet

Sqeezed from me by pain and sorrow comes the truth.
Eternal essence, joy of my youth!
Will there be a glad tomorrow?
I lie on my torture rack, will you knife me in the back?
Oh thou, oh greatest One of these, who lives in rivers, flowers, trees, in the smile of a young child, 
am I by the other one beguiled?
Who may free me from this Hell except myself, oh well, oh well.
Oh well of water, fresh and pure, I bathe in thee, may thou endure.
My tears I cry. Before I die may I not be a living lie.
I ask myself, I wonder why, oh who and what and where am I?
Reunite once more with truth. Joy of joys, come hither youth!
A passing glance, a girl, a dance, oh innocence, oh chance, my chance!
May I choose life, choose love, choose hope, this life is my rescue rope.
I take a step, I stumble, falter, oh truth, my truth, you are my altar.
You are my one, my only goal, you are the truth, you make me whole.
Tomorrow and today be one! Be not like me, eternal son!
You may laugh and you may sneer, I say, I sing, the truth is here!
This is at once a plea, a prayer to the man who isn’t there.
The man is me, the man is you, let us pray, be true, be true!
True for you, they say in Cork, and so I say, in talk, just talk.
The truth is buried deep inside, in this life I laugh, I cried.
So may the truth be born again and once more walk among men.
Man embraces woman, the word, the thing, must I say that, must I sing?
I love music, birds and flowers, I enjoy happy hours.
Jesus Christ, must I spell it out?
We were born, without a doubt.
I’m not much good, I know that too.
Should I say, the same to you?
Good is all, oh let it be! Who said the truth shall set you free?
It wasn’t me.
I will say it one more time.
Love is no crime.
It is against man’s law to love.
Heaven’s above!
Should I say, Hell below?
Goodbye, I really have to go.
However, I am always here.
Enjoy your beer.
I am the man who doesn’t know.
I told you so.

65. Fuck Politeness

65.
Fuck Politeness

Politeness is fake feeling.
Hypocrisy.
It has no meaning.
It’s not the real thing.
Would you like a polite kiss?
Give it a miss.
Get real.
Feel.
Feelings are true.
They are you.
Laughter, fun, love, these are real.
Unless perverted.
So is a smile.
Be real.
Be true.
Be you.

64. Wonderful

64.
Wonderful

A woman goes to a dying soldier’s side, facing down a man with bloodied hands, a knife, a gun. Why?
Why did he have to die?
Why did she go?
I know.
Hate and love met on that street.
Who do you want to meet?
People forget.
I don’t.
I won’t.
They met.

63. Perfecting A Poem

63.
Perfecting A Poem

I look, I say, does that feel right? No, not quite.
Does it say exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it too?
Would you like it if I was you?
Should that word be changed or those lines rearranged?
Move them around, move them back.
I cannot say white is black.
When there’s nothing even slightly strange I say, that’s it, no change.
It may take a day or two, sometimes much less,
you think its right, you say yes,
but no, a nagging doubt remains,
genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains.
Does it sound right when I speak?
I always know a line is weak.
Sometimes, just remove or change a word,
simplify, a thought occurred.
Here a comma, make that end there,
above all, care, care, care.
Feeling is right, thinking wrong,
last the singer, first the song.
Do the words feel right in my mouth?
Oh poem, glass of the warm south!
Like wine, a poem must mature.
Else, the lines do not endure.
A poem is a growing thing, responding to tender, loving care.
It must feel and be as free as air.

Art is of the heart.
The end is the hard part.

Nothing is ever about anything, it’s about everything, do you know what I’m trying to say?
Should I say it another way?

Broken heart!
When will love start?

Caring and sharing is what it’s all about.

I’ve said it all.
I’ve nothing else to say, at all, at all, at all.

62. Words And Numbers

62.
Words And Numbers

Numbers are words but words are not numbers.
When we realise this we may awake from our slumbers.

What do I mean? Exactly what I say.
Should I mean anything else on this, or any day?

You may say I make a joke.
Am I sorry I spoke?

Not half. Laugh.

Cry and you cry alone, the saying goes.
There sure is a lot of crying, and it shows.

Pardon, I must blow my nose.

So, okay, back to square one again.
What does it all mean, then?

This numbers thing, words, you know the ropes.
Please don’t treat us like silly dopes.

Yeah, well, okay, numbers count things, words are names of things, numbers are not, so which counts most?
The Father the Son or the Holy Ghost?

There you have me, I hear you say, as you turn to go away.

Numbers don’t count, that’s what I’m saying to you.
That, for what it’s worth, is my point of view.

Numbers don’t count sounds funny.
Things are worth more than money.

What of life and love and happiness?
Are they worth everything or more or less?

Don’t guess.
Say yes.

61. The Beggar Boy

61.
The Beggar Boy

“Spare a thought, as you go on your way
for the one in front of you today.
Every day, you spend a penny,
spare one, for one who hasn’t any.”

Craig sat outside Drury Street car park, a cardboard cup in his hand.
I spoke to him, he spoke to me, we spoke to one and other (this is like a Chuck Berry song).
He said it was his first time there, he usually sat at the Molly Malone statue, where he wrote his poems on the ground.
He recited one of his poems.
It was good, he has a good vocabulary, it was poetic.
“Don’t only write about being poor”, said I.
“I write about anything”, he said.

I asked him did he write down his poems, he said no, he has them all in his head.
I said he might forget them.

“I write poems”, I said, “but I haven’t written very many, I might write more.”
I spoke my Metaphor poem.
(He called them poems, I call them verses or rhymes). He liked my poem.

He said the rain washed his poems off the street.
(He could write a poem about that – “Written in tears and washed away by rain,” or whatever).

I said I could write a poem for him, it would be rude, and spoke the words first spoken here.
He said, did you make that up just now? I said yes.
He said he spends hours on his poems (his are longer).

“Did you like that bit about spending a penny?” I asked.
“When I was young, you used to have to spend a penny, it cost you something, now it is free.
That is one of the good things about today that is better than the old days”.

“They took them all away,” he said.
I said “The good news is they are free, the bad news is they aren’t there any more”.

“You should write your poems down and send them to The Big Issue,” I said.
“They want poems from people like you, to prove you are human beings”.

Writing his poems on the street, what could be more poetic?

60. Remember Love

60.
Remember Love

Encroaching
Fears,
Reluctant
Tears,
Question
Why,
Permissible
Cry,
Seek
Silence,
Self
Reliance,
Practice
Strong,
Like
King Kong,
Guiding
Heart,
Fresh
Start,
Moment
Anew,
Gifting
You,
Inhale
Breath,
Embrace
Death,
Relish
Being,
Eternally
Seeing,
All
Above,
Remember
Love.

59. The Choices

59.
The Choices

Once we have finished racing,
Opened our eyes to see,
That what we were once chasing ,
Was simply clarity.

The cleansing of our soul,
Releasing of our self,
Merging from the darkest hole,
Emptying our shelves.

Once we decide to calm,
Learn to navigate the flow,
Our emotions can inflict no harm,
Strength in being, something we know.

When we step away from what has been taught,
When we step away from the ‘ME’,
We start to look at life with freshness,
And create our own identity.

If we choose to be aware,
Of the world that we have created,
We can make our own adjustments,
Wondering why we ever waited.

We must not waste this gift of being,
Instead choose to find the way,
There is nobody that can guide you,
You must choose to flee the flay.

It must burn deep within you.
It must be your choice alone to take,
To wake up from the hazy sleep,
You life is yours alone to make.

Believing in your purpose,
It’s embedded in your path,
If you are unsure of what it is,
It's the universe you ask.

With the universe within you,
And you within the universe,
Eternity will continue to flow,
Your life within its verse.

Understanding total acceptance,
All whilst dancing in life's river,
Patiently awaiting,
Happiness will be delivered.

58. Why Write?

58.
Why Write?

Writing clarifies your thoughts.
That’s why its good.
Write someone a letter.
You should.
Writing keeps you in touch.
With yourself as well as your friend.
You understand better.
Write a letter.
That’s better.
Things become clear when you write.
Improving your sight.
The end.

57. Sometimes

57.
Sometimes

I write a poem.
Then I change it.
Rearrange it.
Is this as it ought to be?
Who can say but me?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Will I realise that truth before I’m older?
Is that it, will this do?
Only if its good enough for you.

56. End Point

56.
End Point

The final version is the one that’s last,
what’s gone is gone, the past is past.

It makes no difference what went before,
all that matters is, she gave you more.

Or he, as the case may be.

Who cares who comes first or last?
What matters is, the past is past.

Now is the point.
Share a joint.

55. The Darkness of My Eyes

55.
The Darkness of My Eyes

My hair has not been touched
By the golden rays of the sun,
Nor do my eyes reflect the
Blue of the bright midday sun. 

Instead my hair resembles
The dark waters under a full moon.
And my eyes are a dark mystery
Full of secrets unknown.

My eyes are not the same blue
As the ones you have looked into,
But they still see the truth and pain
And my tears falls like rain. 

54. candy from strangers

54.
candy from strangers

medium, impermanence, mode, reluctant destination.
Attraction and Repulsion. The sickly-sweet sensuality of the station
the T-Girls in their flowing, white dresses and blue satin sashes
dancing with scissors and flicking their ashes
Silver-haired jurists that melt into queens
These, just a few of my favorite things

Above us burns The Bright and Hollow sky, below,
a migration of gray and sullen acolytes
bodies in frenzied motion, bodies in restless reserve
some slip silently through the cities ripped arteries
others are fine and final, framed in their frozen glass prisons
some grasp candles meant for pillars in the provinces
everything they know is wrong you know, but
they don’t really know everything you think they do

the passenger shouts in the general direction of the driver
‘We’ve been down this path before, It’s just a circle turned round upon itself’
‘There must be a devil between us’, answer, and smile
thrusts a tight fist-full of colorful and damp candy to his reluctant partner
‘you know I love you. I loved you before I knew you,
loved you when I didn't know I would know you’
the candy is soft, sweet, merciful, melts upon her tongue, burns
‘but now I know you so well’

53. Neighbour

53.
Neighbour

The man across the road is good,
he does everything the way he should.

He is humble, honest, fair,
its good to know he’s there.

He knows a lot more than he lets on, never a show off,
he is careful, gets it right, I pause, a smoker’s cough.

He made some paths for us and now, a gate,
I always knew we needed it, why did we wait?

His work is a credit to him, as to all who choose.
Choose well. Our neighbour is good news.

52. That's It

52.
That's It

I look into the toilet and say, shit.
That’s about the size of it.

Then I tear off some paper.
Oh God, do I have to go through this caper?

Then, something best left unsaid.
At least I won’t have to do it when I’m dead.

Then I wash my hands under the tap.
That’s it! It’s a wrap!

51. I AM

51.
I AM

I am worthy
of my own love
I am worthy
deep in my heart

I am enough
No need to compete
I am enough
It's ok just to be

I am free
To be creative with life
I am free
To shine forth with might

What lies within
will emulate out
Extinguishing Fear
No room for doubts

Let love in... let love in...
Feel the soft wind
With the span of my wing
and Soar...

50. Time

50.
Time

Be of the time and all time,
do not commit a crime!

You are of the past and present, the future is your goal,
that the present may be full of hope, get out of the hole!

Crawl out of your grave, be born again, that’s true,
never give up hope, you are born to be you!

49. Acknowledge the Fall

49.
Acknowledge the Fall

Slipping and falling you drop off the path.
Hold your head high and remember to laugh.
What to do though when you disappoint your own being?
‘Try, try again’ they say … ‘It’s only you, you are fleeing.’
Get back up, acknowledge the fall.
Examine the lessons, understand the call.
Question where exactly it all went wrong.
Perhaps it was the right tune, but not the right song?
Banging your head hard, asking why this again?
You have been here before, why are you back then?
It will keep coming back – from the universe.
Until you grasp the lesson you have still not learnt.
Not need for chastising yourself, all is well, all is fine.
It’s when you are down you learn just how to refine..
Refine your own soul, your essence to bare,
Cut back to the goodness, you knew it was there.
Stumble and fall, land flat on your face,
Lying bare to the earth ain’t such a bad place.
Turn over face up, look up at the sky.
Remind yourself that you are just dust floating by.
Your time in this form, it is quick, it is fast.
Take heed of your lessons, this form, it won’t last.
Learn and then progress, find a new higher state.
Knowing yourself allows your navigation of fate.
Enjoy what you learn, never mind rocky road.
Don’t carry your baggage, it will lighten the load.
Look back over your shoulder, smile at your life’s past
Thank yourself for the lessons, thank yourself that you asked.
Life ever flows, from now to the new,
Constantly changing.. Even you, even you..
Learning to appreciate the flow,
Will sooner or later take you where you need to go.

48. Torture

48.
Torture

The torturer is sorry when you die,
no longer can he make you cry.
He wishes to prolong the agony, keep you alive,
that is his aim, from nine to five.
Hurting you, causing you pain, kicking you around is his fun.
He may not be called a torturer, he is one.
He is indifferent to your plight.
If this is you, goodnight.

47. Right Here And Now

47.
Right Here And Now

I want an earnest man
Who speaks cynically
I want an alpha female
Who knows how to kneel
I want duality
Right here and now
I want a chameleon and a shape shifter
I want the dramatic, understated 
I want a silent tear and a screaming hard on
I want perfect timing of recycled ideas
I want individuality
Right here and now
The only sin that's left is to be a bore
I'm sorry to break it to you, but low self esteem has been done
You'll have to leave that one at the curb
It's far past time
For you to be

46. 3 In 1

46.
3 In 1

Slowly

When my sister reads a poem, she reads it far too quick.
If it’s not real, is this a trick?
Read it slowly, there, that’s better.
Now go off and write a letter.

Ain’t That A Shame

It ain’t no bed of roses when your English ain’t no good,
snobs turn up their noses and say you don’t know a thing.
They treat you as an ignoramus when you don’t use no big words,
double negatives notwithstanding, this is what I heard.

Triple Decker

Three for the price of one, what more do you want?
Print this out in your choice of font.
Art should contain its own commentary and require no explanation.
Vote for this, without hesitation.

45. Whatcha-May-Call-It

45.
Whatcha-May-Call-It

I’m only more or less alive,
I never married,
I could jive.
I have no children,
that I know,
I am a proper so-and-so.
I have been drunk,
I drank too much,
I kissed girls,
I danced, and such.
Life goes on,
I wonder why,
we come and go,
and then, we die.
I have great fun,
I have great pain,
life goes on,
more of the same.
I love it all,
the good and bad,
I’m sometimes sane
and sometimes mad.
Did I learn anything at all?
Life is a door and not a wall.
I told you that, I tell you this,
wait, be still, here comes the kiss.

44. Cry

44.
Cry

Irony, satire, spoofs, send ups, do they do any good at all?
If I talk with tongue in cheek, am I heading for a fall?

Do you hear me, do you see, am I talking straight?
Must we treat the false as true, must we wait, wait, wait?

We laugh that we may not weep, the Roman said.
Are we awake, are we asleep, are we alive or dead?

Laugh at values, laugh at none, cry, they don’t exist!
For what is lost and must be found, for what is sadly missed.

A cry is true, oh I love you, oh love, where are you now?
In simple words, not twisted ones, will no one tell us how?

43. Drink

43.
Drink

Is this true?
I ask you.
If you have to be told a thing is good, it isn't.
Or worse still, why.
Generally speaking, I would say that is so.
Free us from bores who say they know.
People love saying what's good and bad.
Generally speaking, they drive us mad.
Telling me what to think.
I'll have a drink.

42. Vista

42.
Vista

Suppose the politicians said, okay, we give up, you do it. The mob takes over. What then?

Look at Italy, look at Greece.
Where is peace?

Are we responsible for how we are? The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars but in ourselves said Shakespeare, a poet.
Did he know it?

What little can you do?
Be true.

That’s all.
The writing’s on the wall.

Everyone a self serving creep.
What are we, sheep?

Serving others, serving sisters, serving brothers.
We all had mothers.

My brother is all mankind.
Never mind.

It’s not as if you didn’t know.
I told you so.

You told yourself this story, many times.
I have not run out of rhymes.

Maybe you have forgotten, or give up.
Drink the loving cup!

Okay, I’ll shut up and go away, as I’ve been told many times before.
Walk through the open door.

The choice is yours.
Love endures.