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Thursday, 7 August 2008

Living the dance.....

One
Still Standing
Holding in pain
memories of our love.
together we moved onwards
joined in matrimony
we were
two.
One
standing still
memories holding fast
refusing to move onwards
Life pushed us together
two painful beings
once again
two
Two
once again
living the dance
heartache a distant memory
2004

Living the dance.....

MIssing You.....

I miss your gentle touch, your warm breath against my cheek,
How you giggle when tickled, your cute shapely feet.

I find my self talking out loud, as if your still here,
I wish it were really true, that you were still near.

I wish I could turn back the clock, return to a gentler past,
A time when we were happy, we knew our love would last.

Alas you tell me plainly, that we can never be,
As again I hear those awful words, that "you don't love me".

Those words that strip my heart, leave it bleeding and in two,
words can never describe the pain, as you said " we were through".

But Sandy I can't stop loving you, I want to love you forever,
these feelings they won't go away, no release for me, never.


I feel the pain most nights, it doesn't get any better,
I find myself praying you'll call, hoping for a letter.

A chance to redeem myself, you'll tell me it's a silly dream,
darling I still want you home, I want to be a team.

O know we had our problems, as all couples often do,
but I need you to know, that I still love you.


People all try to give advice, but they can't know this pain,
which drives me close to madness, sometimes I fear insane.


I long so much for your smile, to feel you tender skin,
to hold you tightly in my arms, warm and safe within.

At times I feel I'm dying, sruggling against the tide,
scared for my sanity, you, no longer by my side.


I want you back at home with me, once again truly mine,
I hope one day you will return, if given enough time.

2001

In Reply....

I don't have a reason,
for the shit that I write.
But it comes from within,
so no reason to fight.
I ain't a point,
no axe to grind.
Just mixed up thoughts,
from a jumbled mind.
Don't care if you hate it!
Don't care if you rate it!
It's just my words
I just want to write,
Lay down some demons
Alive I can fight.
Don't care if you rate it!
Don't care if you hate it!
Playing with words,
not so childish a game,
tinkering with letters,
Keeping me sane.
I don't do it for you,
It's just for me,
words that I'm writing
letting me be.
2003

Saturday, 17 May 2008

A Large Single Red Rose.....

Last week I passed a graveyard
a cold and lonely place,
A man stood by a headstone
wind blown tears upon his face.
He stood there silently weeping
etched deeply in his face was pain,
why does everyone have to die
at the end only death can reign.
In his hand he held a flower
a large single red rose,
his eyes seeing old memories
of the one he once held so close.
I saw him later in a pub
alone and at the bar,
I saw the crack in the mask
I saw his deep red scar.
I know I'll always remember him
standing there silently weeping,
he frequently enters my thoughts
silent, unbidden and creeping.
1983

Late Home.....

Me Dad 'll bloody kill me,
he said "Don't be late!"
He told me "Be in for seven!"
But its already half past eight!
He'll knock me bloody head off,
He'll hit the bloomin roof,
Damn, what can I do?
Dare I tell the truth?
I'll tell I missed the bus!
No! I got talking to a mate,
helped a woman to catch her dog,
Awww Dad I said I'd be late!
Why does he never believe me?
how does he spot the lie?
"You can't kid an old kidder son"
he says, "thats the reason why!
1987

Soldier in Arms...

Amidst the streets of Belfast
the lonely soldier walks,
carrying powerful weapons
that end all the talk.
Gliding along the pavement
eyes wide with fear,
feeling for the bullet
that will end their short career.
Playing follow the leader
mates in staggered file,
waiting,hoping,praying,
today, no death so vile.
Eyes burning with sweat
tummies churning round and round,
waiting for the rifles crack
poised and ready to hit the ground.
Weapons cocked, on safety
walking a slow slow pace,
people stop and stare
with ne'er a smiling face.
They do not ask to die
nor face the angry ones,
they want to walk in peaceful streets
without powerful guns.
These poor boy's visit to Ireland
could never be a friendly one,
asked to keep the peace
between the Irish sons.
1979