Poetry Blogs (aged)
Off Old Cork road, as you turn into Midleton, rest
stacks of life-saving re-treads. They wait, un-like us
who have ‘Buckley’s Chance’ of reliving their youth.
The largest lay prepared, size neatly stacked,
image-ready, resigned, proudly age un-marked
claiming their fair share of the dumping ground.
Smaller circles know their corporate place, are th...
Saturday 16th March 2019 1:34 am
The musty smell of the old pub fills the air.
It reminds me of an old house –
how many people have lived, loved and laughed?
It reminds me of an old bus –
how many people have journeyed,
have missed deadlines through
delays, have dreamed.
All that is old, all that is mustiness.
Friday 3rd February 2012 2:53 pm