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Silken Thomas
The bauld FitzGeral of Kildare In daring, doing; in doing, uncaring False rumours have reached mantle-tickled ear Hearsay leashed him and rash course steered Wars, rumours of wars Fathers hanged in Rometown towers. Tudorcousin garbed richly In Dublin’s marble heart Faith compel to heel Rebellion inchoate “A villain you are not, Thomas. Always doubting, since…
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Drug abusing poetic muse amuser
I am but a sound Handless foreknowledge thing yet formed Wheel of my wants by me neither turned nor designed Wheel of mind greased by green, smiling hearing grinders Grinding teeth never dreaming, foregoing life and self-esteem Forgetting deeds, good or bad Weeping for forgetting only; weed steals From me what is me, quintessence. Inventing…
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Sink full of filth
Flies in superposition above a heap of unwashed delf Searching google for help tells me they adore vinegar Adding washing up liquid to my mixture to affix them Stuck, luckless no more alighting, last flight of the Phoenix. Linger long a song’s length to die, I expect Mr. Bond Once bonded ionically, names become cruelly…
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Light and hopelessness
Every breath wrestles phlegm before exiting Having sword not will therewith to swing Falling to lesser enemies, head full of magic beans Dreaming beanstalks and Jack-stalking giants Giants who smell Englishmen welcome in the IRA With mad dogs and Anglo-Saxons in the sun’s final hours Rays unafraid despite day’s shortening, brighter therefore in spite Pale…
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Raiding in blue
Caked, tugged at, sucked back, slowgoing, wading Lost Tommies shelldefeaned leadpregnant Advancing slowly whilst grenaded Man insane to go against machines Without officer’s baton and ironed strides. Imagining ranks of young Frenchmen Artists and teachers, future lynchpins Of society and pillars, perhaps, some Sons prodigal, the rum-dumbed But none death deserving None so numb to…
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Alchemisland 