Sunday, 12 June 2016



Beneath the elders
Where bumble bees
Lose themselves
In flowering thyme;

I lie down in dew-soaked ease.

And dog-rose is the scent
That makes my spirits rise
In the kingdom of the low –
Flying bird.

I take comfort on the mossy soil;

Last years leaves sweet;
Damp In the wing-tipped breeze,
To ease my mind and soothe
My brow;

In dappled light my speckled thoughts take flight…

And the worm-seeking thrushes
Make a rustling sound
Where life goes on
Underground –

Beneath the earthy mound.


         .                                                'Killruddery' is also in my collection of poetry:

Monday, 6 June 2016



Evening, and there is nothing
To temp me indoors.

Warmed from a day spent in the sun;
I spin it on my fingertips,
Pass it, to my team-

Scoring goals
Win rolls of respect. Talents
Swaying to the chants; that
Tribal-like victory dance.

Ball of mesmerising fire -
Football skills that inspire. Cool
Moves; dipping, diving,
Thriving, in the company,

Until friends slip away,
As they are called in -
One by one.

Alone, with a crimson sky;
The breath I take is sharp
Like loneliness,

As the night turns - flat.

Saturday, 4 June 2016



‘You’re dead whoever you are’
He screamed as she hobbled away
On crutches ‘you’re dead’
He repeated, dragging his tattered
Damp sleeping bag behind him.
She limped away; and from afar
Turned once more; naming the
Freezing Dublin man as a
Scumbag drug addict.

The homeless man I felt sorry for
She a stranger judging him
With passing, cruel remarks;
His life already dark; a
Desperate situation: I could
Only contemplate what her
Injuring tongue must have said
Before. Her only temporarily
On crutches.

While this so-called modern-day
Society; held him permanently
In its clutches. Angry
And hurt; he raised his fist at air;
Voice cracked and broken;
 ‘You’re fuckin dead’, were the last words
 I heard spoken. He lowering
His head. It was then I knew –
It was he who’d died
Long ago, inside.