Saturday, November 30, 2013


All foam and fizz
It rushes up
Oceans ejaculate
Of pollution

Its stickiness
Creeps between my toes
Cold left overs, like
Remnants of a random’s kiss

Scudding from
Discontented wind
Froth blown then

No Aphrodite arises
Created from a cruel cut
Just the dirty mark
Where foam had been

We like to think of
Love’s beauty, yet in the end
Perhaps all we have left
Is the dirty mark

Where love has been


The search for love is the great adventure
We hold such expectations that we will find the one
That one who completes us,
In whose eyes we see ourselves
We imagine a life of bliss, of perfect union
A life where two become one, lost in each others embrace
We search and we grow disappointed when we cannot find that one
Frustration grows to cynicism.
We settle for one now, hoping in their company the excesses of loneliness will be masked.
We delude ourselves that while we wait for “the one” this one will do

We watch others whom we think have “the one”
We imagine their life, love’s union satisfied in orgasmic bliss
We do not stop to question our fantasy
For we cannot see their hearts, their private loneliness
Dissatisfaction masked by polite smiles
Imagining their union
We grow discontent with our lives
And imagine we are hard done by
Complaining it isn’t fair; we cannot find “the one”
The one who will share our fantasy

Yet love does not live in fantasy
Nor in the dream of another who can complete us
Love is the adventure of learning to love ourselves
Love starts with us and ends with us.
“The one” we look for is just the prod
To teach us to love ourselves
Fantasies will fail.
And relationships based on fantasies will also fail
So do not complain when they do
They are simply following their nature
Remember, “the one” you imagine
May not be the one who will be your prod
For what the mind thinks it knows
The heart truly knows

Your heart will find the one
Who will teach you to love yourself
And who the heart chooses may surprise you
But learn to trust your heart
For the adventure of love is simply that
Learning to trust your heart
To see within yourself
The beauty of your nature
For when you can love yourself

Then you can love the other.

Reflections in the Mirror - No 11

Going Back

The reel jumped and flickered
Like a rickety bike on a
Corrugated track

The reel rolled back
Momentum in reverse
Childhood revisited as an adult

Rolling greens
Between grey stone buildings
Time traveller
I’m back in Ireland

Grandparents home
Narrow and deep
Double story for rickety knees
Stairs ascended backwards

The chiming clock
That struck the hours
The fob watch in his pocket
For the minutes

The smell of fresh peas
Bursting from their pods
The smell of Grandpa’s shaving soap
And soda bread

And she,
With her bright red hair
Greeting me
Where did she come from?

And I awoke
The reel moved forward
Into the day

Memories of yesterday

Thursday, November 28, 2013

My Cross

The wood was very special
Chosen with great care
The best I could find
Within the chaos of my life

I sanded and polished it
Years of practice, is what it took
To smooth it with
The tears of my misery

I started small
Carved it, so I could carry it
But discontent, I made it large
So it could carry me

The joints are special
Tongue and groove
Grooved from my tongues’
Endless retelling my misery

I stood back to admire
This cross of mine
And secretly I was pleased
Impressed by my own unhappiness

I hung upon my cross
And whimpered in humility
A scene was required
But not too much

The wise laughed
At my hanging
Unimpressed by
Simpering sacrifice

The wise are those
Whom life has crucified
They endured the pain and
Know, life gives us all a cross

They gave me words of life
Get down from your cross
Let’s burn the wood
And light the fire to life

Monday, November 25, 2013

Cells race

We are the victors
The climax
Of a single cell
Multiplied into
Our thousands
Cells still haunted
By the memory of
Our singularity
The frightening emptiness
Of the womb of our eternity

In our ears
As blood rushes
To meet our fears
The beating echo of
A primal rhythm of another life
Tricks us, we are not alone
And suckled on this belief
We huddle around
Empty hearths
Hoping friction will
Create a spark
We call love

Convinced of our importance
Convinced we are conceived of love
How could life not have meaning?
How could we doubt?
How could we not?
We are the simple victors of a race
A simple spurt from
Passions starting gun
The victory wreath
Split cells and loneliness

In our smugness
We are convinced of our place
Yet cells silently divide
Eating our confidence
As our skin slides and
Sloughs of our frames
Passions race is done, and
We, a dust filled jar
Return to the womb

Our eternity

Saturday, November 23, 2013

The bets are on

Saturday night
And God is out
Out on the town

Tonight He’s having
A break from saving souls
For He and the devil
Have changed roles

The Temple is quiet
The Torah secure
The door was locked

But God slipped out
He and the devil
Had a betting game
A game He couldn’t miss out

Last time they played
The bet was Job
Since then, saints
Have made sure
They aren’t too saintly
To be the wager
In a celestial betting game

Now God and the devil
Have laid their bets
At two to one, the devil’s favour
That God will not be recognised
So God as man in on the prowl
By God, He’ll try a different trick
To prove the devil wrong

Down an alley way
In inky octopus camouflage
The fetid smell
Of ripening chunder and
Fermenting piss
He came across a man
More shadow than substance

A man supported by the wall
Exhausted with the weight
Of frustrated desire, lust
Hardened by hunger
For the little sleep of death
To obliterate the dream
The reverie of love

And God, cupping the man’s face
Into his hands, He traced the lines
Around his mouth and drawing close
He ran his fingers around his lips
Then traced the same path
With His tongue and
Breathed into his mouth

The man, more
Shadow than substance
Murmured in disbelief
“God, what a kiss”

And God chuckled
A kiss was all it took
He knew He’d won
His bet,

I live next to a Jewish Temple and Saturday is their Sabbath or Holy Day, hence the reference to the Temple in this poem.


He promised to be there
He promised undying love
Always to be with me
He said he would
Always be true

Always true?
To who or what
He didn’t say
Did he mean
He would be true to me, or
True to himself?

Is a man worth having
Who is always true to himself
But not to me? Or perhaps
A man who is always true to me, but
Not to himself
Is just as worthless to have

It’s such a big word
Full of itself;
Continually, constantly,
Perpetually, unceasingly
Always promising so much

Yet I’m always,
Repeatedly disappointed
By its bluster and bravado
I need a man who’s learnt
It’s not always good
To promise too much

A humble man
Who knows things are not
Always possible to fix
A quiet man
Who doesn’t always
Need to talk

A man’s who’s learnt
Pleasure doesn’t always
Come in a heated rush
I need the spaces of
Perhaps, the pause

Where always stops

Friday, November 22, 2013

Faith or Love

Faith, wafer thin
Raised in hope
Host of expectation
That we can make
It through the night
Of our existence
And find purpose
A morsel to remind us
There is a point

Faith, a mustard seed
Was said, to be enough
It wasn’t
The mountain did not move
It stayed and laughed at us
The mountain of our unloving
And God in cruel jest
Told us to love
For love was more than faith

I tricked myself
I had the trinity
Had faith and love and hope
Hope? Perhaps I should have started there
There with hope and not with faith
I could have hoped
To have some faith and
Hoped to love
For love was of a different track

It is a cruel God
That asks of me to love
Mere mortal that I am
I need the heat of human flesh
The softness of his lips
I need to hear his rasping breath
When into sleep he slips
I need to hear him groan
His love and see him
Lose control

It’s this, in
The is-ness of this second
That I mere
Passing passion
Learn to love
And rooted in this is-ness
The messiness of human stain
I learn the dignity of love
And learn to say good bye

But faith, wafer thin
That has me stumped
Is there a point to faith?
Faith I am a figment of
Celestial imagination or simply
My fertile, fervent dreaming
What is the point of me?
Love me, kiss me

It will be enough for me

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Would You?

Would you be my lover?
He asked

I blinked, unsure
What he was asking?
Did he want to love me, or
Me to love him

Love is seldom
A two way street
More an untravelled track
East on both horizons

I grinned, uncertain
To buy me time
Would you, if asked
Be his lover?

Beware of lovers
Meagre pickings
The anorexic meals
On plates of pure intention

Promises, as sharp as
Knives to cut yourself
In your loneliness
And disappointment

Kisses, sealed, lubed and
Vacuumed packed
Prevention against
Passion leaking into life

Would you be my lover?
I left him hanging on the phone

I blinked and smiled
And left him hanging

He needed his mother
Not a lover

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Words - No 2

Rivulets of words
Ripple beneath the surface
Of our lives
Gurglings of our exhalings
Ringing in our ears

Words eddy 
Reach out to touch, yet
Never arrive
Ebbing, retreating, ducking
In the space between us

Words fanning our gritty fears
The howling winds of
Fractious memories
Dust devils, poltergeist
Of our insecurities

Words dehydrating
Demoralising with their weight
We retreat into shade
Searching for something
Unspoken yet speaking

A kiss
The inbreathing of
Another’s whispering
Brush of warm lips

The spoken touch

Monday, November 18, 2013

Words -


Symbols of significance
Caught by the wind
Weightless words flung out
Roll like tumbleweed
In the space between you and me

Sounds pointing to
A mystery
Did you catch the meaning?
When I said I love you
Was the word enough?

A simple word or two
The spoken symbol
Pointing to something else
A riddle
Love’s enigma

We look for meaning
In the word
We search the nuance
Seeking the key
Hoping for safety

Perhaps love
Is in the space
The space between
You and me, and
There, there is safety

Perhaps there is no key
No safety, no words, just
The weightless significance
Between you and me

Rolling like tumbleweed

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Flowering Jacaranda

Nature’s cadenza
Of elegant beauty
A spring eruption
Of silent bells

Symphony of purple
Bees inebriated
On arpeggio’s of scent
Hum in tune

Birds do the flit
Between the branches
And ring the bells
As they dance

Beauty bursting
In careless
A wanton hussy

Each morning
I walk under her
And thank her
For her reminder

To allow myself
Some time today
To dance with beauty
The Dionysian dance

Friday, November 15, 2013


I waited
For you to speak
My eyes pleaded
Your eyes were cold

I waited
For you to speak
Time passed
And grew old

I waited
For you to speak
I hoped
Hope faded

I waited
For you to speak
I cried
My tears froze

In desperation
My soul drowning
I asked
For you to speak

Do you love me?

Ignoring me
You left the room, and
With words backward flung
Said ‘of course’

I learnt waiting
You loved me
By my absence and
Words flung backwards


Stick it in the corner
Might find a use
Sometime, somehow
Not now

Stick it in the corner
I’ll get to it sometime
Other priorities
It will have to wait

Stick it in the corner
Left over litter
Loitering, waiting
To be found

Stick it in the corner
Can’t decide
Can’t throw it out
It will be out of the way

Stick it in the corner
And they did
A dead end
Where things were put

I’m a corner child
There were other priorities
I learnt to wait

I’m a corner child
Loitering, waiting
To be seen

I’m a corner child
Left over of the litter
Kept out of the way

I am a corner child
Left over
Finding my use

Thursday, November 14, 2013


He sat cross legged
Incongruous supplicant
On cold concrete
Beside the tracks

He bowed before
The omnipresent phone
Iphone 5, even God now
Has to upgrade Himself
To keep on track

Waif like, pale
Against grey concrete
Ears more punctured
Than pierced
Confused initiation
To tribal fear

As cold as the concrete
He sat on
Fear he might not

The phone god
Assured him
He was real
For he had the stream
On his screen

Ignoring those around him
Who could provide
More human reassurance
He chose instead
To bow before his screen

I left him
Sitting on cold concrete
Pale waif
Cross legged, a

Modern day supplicant


I have arrived
Or rather returned
To where I never left

I have arrived
At the point of my rage
The point I forgot
Though the furnace remained

The point of my rage
What was its beginning?
It’s gone, long obscured
By guilt and shame

Its beginning
The unhealed wound
Still raw and bloodied red
Silent screaming of desperation

It is the unhealed wound
Of infanticide
The wound, that still rubs
Nerve endings raw

A sacrifice
To a jealous God
And a guilt ridden father

A sacrifice
On the alter
Of a marriage, riddled with
Hate masked as love

On the alter
I lay
And the fire of the sacrifice
Ignited my rage

I lay
In obedience
While my rage burned
At the roles I played

In obedience
No angel came
With a special
Delivered ram

No angel came
And I for years
Slow burned
On the alter

For years
My rage hid
The unhealed wound
Still bloodied and raw

My rage hid
While I laugh
I laugh in my pain
I laugh in my fury

I laugh at
Those who
Claim healing
Who say let it go

Those who
Forgive and let go
Let light fill your being

I say, when
You have burned
Been burned to your soul
Then speak of healing light

I have burned
I have returned
To the alter I left

The pain
Still burns
But I know

The pain
I know
And I have
Survived before

I know
I will survive
This pain

I will survive
And the pain
Still bloodied and raw
Will pass

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The Rose

He gave me a rose
A simple gesture
Speaking without
Words, yet
Heavy with unspoken

Petals, deep red
Passion tipped
Bursting from
White core
Purity at heart
I took that rose
I held it in my hand

I missed his look
It was only later
I saw his eyes
Still, motionless
Speaking a language
I misunderstood
Eyes that took in
But gave nothing out

He gave me a rose
A single stem
With thorns
Still attached
I bled from a thorn
Deep red
Passion transubstantiated
Into pain
I ignored the pain

His face barred
In shadows
Captive in
His own prison
Closeted in the
Bars of his upbringing
I misunderstood
The language of the rose
It was not for love
But forgiveness

This poem was inspired by a picture from Alberto Bevicini of a man in shadows holding a rose

Macca's Daily Bread

Give us this day our daily bread
Prayer answered with card or cash
And number on a screen
Will tell you when the answers ready
The daily bread is fast

Canned music
Sad and desperate
The wailing of love
Unsatisfied and unsatisfying
As plastic as the cheese

Young love
Sits, chewing chips
Kisses tasting of
Cheap lube, passion
Clogged with deep fried fat

Fingers licked, sucked hard
Foreplay’s erotic teasing?
Not here, just desperations
Hard obsession to be fed

Mothers exhausted
Hope long slipped into fat
Feed children fast food
So they can quickly return
To houses of boredom

Children disappear into
Plastic birth canals
Mothers sit, dead eyed
Hoping for another chance
Amongst the plastic food

Deep fried boredom
Served by youths
Bored with serving
Adults bored with life
All seeking fast relief

From boredom
We feed our boredom
On unsatisfying
Daily bread, then

We return to boredom


I had a
Skinny soy latte
Though I think
I muttered
Lately so skinny
The Barista blinked
And gave me a cup
Topped with a leaf

I saluted the sun
Who wasn’t impressed
Did downward dog
And understood why
Dogs have evolved to
Staying on all fours
I stretched and I grunted
Then collapsed
In meditation

My body disciplined
My mind racing
My tension levels screaming
I tried to count my breathing
In between my swearing
I thought I should be calm
But it’s a serious business
Being calm

There is face book to monitor
And Google + with its
Circles and circles
There are twitters to tweet
And tweeting twitters
Whose bowels have just opened
It’s a serious business
Keeping up with what’s happening

It’s lunch time already
The morning has flown
I’m starved and I’m hungry
The lettuce is limp
Greasy chips, a special treat
Fifth day in a row
I’ll deal with my guilt by
Absolving myself in exercise

I’ve arrived at
The end of the day
Frazzled and fractious
Fatigued and peevish
Testy and touchy
A glass of wine
Or two or three
Will have to do

It’s a serious business
This relaxing
Not one to be taken
Lightly, there needs to be
Sufficient tension
So I know I’m really
Relaxing, taking it easy
Doing it right

Of course,
I could laugh at myself
And my earnest endeavours
I could holler and hoot
And take it all
More lightly
I could?
Could I?

Monday, November 11, 2013

That look

It is the look
Science states
Pupils dilate
But lust?
It knows
That look

Desire corralled
Within the skin
Stretched taut
Membrane thin
Pulsing with
Erotic sensation

That look
Inviting, welcoming
Seducing, suggesting
Possibilities dreamed
Unspoken, not acknowledged
Greets the others gaze

Eyes caressing
Undressing, slow
Stripping, warm hands
Touching, where
Can only tread

Kissing with
Subtle softness
Ignited with neural heat
Kisses, unkissed
Dissolving, in the distance
Between thoughts

Beneath thoughts
Veins lie
Seams of reality
The hardened fortress
Of our flesh, that look
Cannot penetrate

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Morning Prayer

I step through the door
Into day’s room
Caught by surprise
She struggles to shed
Her nightly garb
And dress in day’s attire

Her net of diamonds
Cast over velvet oceans
To gather up
Our human dreams
Is slowly packed away
For another day

She blushes in crimson flush
Dream catcher caught
While birds
Wolf whistle in melodies
Aroused to see
Her beauty

Locking the door
I pause, in ritual
And ask God, the gods
The mysteries and superstitions

Do not break my heart
Too hard today
Break it just enough
It is not too hard

To be human

Swimmers Solitude

Alone in company
Passing in paths
Never crossing
Caught in parallel universes
Some going up
While I go down

I go down
Into her depths
Concrete womb
Ritualised immersion
Her waters part
To receive me

Re-birthed along
The narrow lane
Tensions slick
My daily bread
Of neurosis
Floats away

She greets me
As a lover
Caresses me
Intimately touches me
She knows my body
It’s contours and its curves

Alone yet never lonely
Stillness in momentum
I listen to her silence
Beneath her watery kisses
And rest

In her floating embrace

Friday, November 8, 2013

In between

It was the half smile
A smile in the shadow
Half seen, half covered
Neither scowl nor smile
Somewhere in-between

It was the slight grimace
Not quite a glower
The narrowing eyes
Could be either laughter
Or a frown

It was the slight pause
The swallowed reflex
The in between, before the words
The recess to rearrange
Their order

It was
In between  love and hate
Though he wished for
That he knew

Words of love
Emptied of meaning
But full of sound
He knew the cadence
Could hum the tune

Human hands
That touched without
Touching, blind eyes
Absently, without interest
Tracing his outline

Hatred, he understood
It was the in-between
That bothered
The neither space
He could not read

When words were spoken
With an intonation
Was it love?
Was it hatred coated?

Or was it in-between?

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Monarch

He strode the corridors of his imagination
Convinced of his authority
A toddler king, whose royalty
Needed a royal tantrum

He pontificated
And vociferated with vehemence
His brilliant ignorance
Impressed by his wind.

No royal jester would he tolerate
To teach him modesty
He was the king
Crowned in his incompetence

Perhaps there’ll come a day
When wounded by his pride
He might learn, like Parsifal
The lessons of a man

Yet I suspect
The toddler king
Will grow more toddler

And age in gusty incompetence

Tuesday, November 5, 2013


I’m a safe maker
Maker of boxes
Made so safe
You cannot see
I know each box
It’s key
And where it is hidden
But I won’t tell
I’m a safe maker

I’m a carpenter
Maker of boxes
Coffins of many sizes
Histories large and small
Buried in hurried funerals
So as not to embarrass myself
I know the unmarked plots
But I won’t tell

I’m a drag queen
Though more drag
Than queen
I masquerade and
I do it well
Its smoke and mirrors
I blow smoke on the outside
And the mirrors inside?
That I won’t tell

I’m a magician
Conjuror of tricks
I juggle my performances
I juggle well for I learnt
From the best
I can keep you fooled
Till I take my last bow
Secrets I won’t tell

I’m a comedian
I make you laugh
I point out the positives
And give you pearls for
Tear drops
Yours not mine
I don’t have pearls
That are mine
But I won’t tell

I’m a man
I keep my secrets in safe boxes
I have buried my past far away
The mirror inside me I cannot stand
I keep you fooled
For then I keep you away
But you like me
Cause you laugh
Now I must tell

I lonely
I’m isolated
I’m tired of being in a box
I’d like to be myself
And not blow smoke
I’d like you to hold me
When I cry
Would you lend me a pearl?
I’m a man

2 O Clock

It’s 2 o clock
Two after midnight
When the mind
Catalogues, in
Dreamy Dewey irregularity
Downloads and dumps
Important trivia
Into neural filing cabinets
Never accessible
When needed

It is the hour
When system failure
Can occur
The hard drive expires
As breathe exhales
And recovery
Is not an option
But tonight
At 2 o clock
I lie awake

The world
Outside my window
Is draped
With blackout grey
Trees unused to their new look
Branches lopped into
Short back and sides
Stand grateful
For shadows to hide
Self conscious nudity

A conductor, myself
Conducting my breaths
1,2,3 in; 1,2,3 out
A silent symphony
Serenading sonata
Waiting for sleep
1,2,3 in; 1,2,3 out
I’m still awake
Silence wraps around me
Doona like

My mind
Scurries down a track
Takes a left
Scurries some more
Does a U turn and
Doubles back
A mouse under the
Floor boards of
Breaths symphony

1,2,3 in; 1,2…

Monday, November 4, 2013

4 O Clock

The blinds, eyelids
Closed against
Afternoon heat

The fan hums
In monotony
Amusing itself

A mechanical dog
Chasing it tail
Swishing, slow and rhythmic

The parrots
In the palm tree
Try to be neighbourly

Grown tired of
At each other

The rose,
Its stem
Stands in water

Quenching its thirst
To no avail, drinking
And dying at one

Was supposed to rain
But the sun
Didn’t approve

The clouds, full of promise
Were disappointed
They were ignored

It’s 4 o clock
Not that it matters
It just is

Soon it will be
5 o clock
That won’t matter either

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Sunday evening

Sunday evening
The textured taste of
Nauseous sweetness
The interweaving of
Hope and desire
Love and lust

Exhortations to
Christian manhood
Burnt ashes around
Temptations stake
For Christian manhood could not
Compete with a more human man

The confusion of grace
Amazing grace,
Sung with fervour
Was the wrong hymn
It was him, and I
An unsaved wreck

Still lost and blind
To what I didn’t want to see
Took years to find
I was not lost, I could see
It was the wrong hymn
And him

Yet still, when evening
Closes in on Sunday
I remember the melancholic
After taste of hymns and hims
Of hope and desire
On Sunday evenings

Saturday, November 2, 2013


The day uninterrupted
Spent being tense
Because I’m not unwinding
Fast enough

A 3 o clock whisky
Saturday treat of
Peat and tension
Relaxed dissatisfaction

Face flushed
So much relaxing
To achieve, or perhaps it’s just
The whisky’s calling card

Some would think me sad
To drink at 3 o clock
A poet on the slippery slope of
Peat and the scent of marmalade

The treat turned
More into a trick
An uncharming phantom
Much like Halloween

Thoughts dozing into
Oblivion, disappearing
Foggy trails

To dying day
Smouldering heat fading
Subsiding into evening

Friday, November 1, 2013


I thought we agreed
You and me
We seemed to.
I thought, we thought
The same

You nodded when I spoke
I thought you agreed
Saw it, as I did
Now, I know
You were being polite

You didn’t see it
Not really
Not like I saw it
It surprising this space
Between how we see

What do we do
With this space?
This gap between
Me and you
What do we do?

Surprised by this space
This cosmos between us
I’m uncertain
Startled by distance
The universe between us

We orbit, dancing
On gossamer rings
Waltzing around each other
One step together
Two steps alone

The warmth of your breath
Reminds me we’re together
My surprise,
Reminds me 
I am alone

Entice me

Entice me with your kiss
Embrace me with your breath
The out breathing of yourself

Circled by your breath
Deft touch of lips
More eloquent than words

Essence of yourself
Both soft and hard
Giving and taking

Lingering subtlety with
Jawline shadowed
At 5 o clock

Touch of elusiveness
Powerful memory, that
Can never be held

Delight me
Enrapture me
Kiss me once again