Poetry Blogs (2010, hero)
Don Matthews on COS HE'S A LIAR (BUT YOU'RE NOT BOTHERED THAT HE LIES (1 hour ago)
poemagraphic on COS HE'S A LIAR (BUT YOU'RE NOT BOTHERED THAT HE LIES (1 hour ago)
M.C. Newberry on COS HE'S A LIAR (BUT YOU'RE NOT BOTHERED THAT HE LIES (2 hours ago)
Long ago and far away
Are the worlds of yesterday.
We stand upon the brink of time
Where shadows rule and blind leads blind.
Nations quake, the seas they rage,
What help now our yesterdays.
Cosy dreams and pageant's show
Since far away and long ago
Have brought us to the brink of time
Where clown and prince play pantomime.
We cheer, we boo, we clap our hands,
Tuesday 18th June 2019 5:41 pm
That's what my parents always called me with a smirk
But I wasn't
I was just different
The highlight of my week wasn't watching Knight Rider like the other boys
It was Wonder Woman
Imagining myself wearing her gold tiara and bracelets
Her lasso of truth
Spinning round and saving the world
Then going back to being normal Diana Prince
My older brother bought me Action Man
And all ...
Thursday 30th November 2017 3:54 am
My hands are patterned by ambitions,
these lines on my skin are wishes,
palms marked like the sky after a shooting star
and shining when they interlace with your fingers,
your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.
The crevices of our skin do not match or meet
the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,
We are separate pieces of meat
Monday 31st July 2017 2:40 pm
O! Tell me again my teacher
hungrily, I listen to your story
ravenous, by candlelight
call it out in a sooty street
Make your incisions with deep insight
the surgeon stillness of those deft hands
wisdoms draped in laurel leaves
infinite movement, sweet inertia
Shower me, my master
my naivety gladly surrenders
in the wake of your delivery
O Len, sing for me
some story I can dismant...
Sunday 13th November 2016 12:21 am
If you wrote his speeches
If you contributed to the farce
If you drove him here and there
If you kissed his arse
If you supplied his porcine pleasure
If you shone his shoes
If you offered him your soul
If all your reds were blues
If you served his table
If you served his drink
If you closed your mind
If you tried hard not to think
If you sorte...
Tuesday 2nd August 2016 8:33 pm
The Bayonet In The Shed
He put it there in forty nine,
in a woodworm riddled drawer,
wrapped it in a greasy rag.
A remnant from the war.
On top of it he laid his medals,
nothing more was said
until the day my father
took the bayonet from the shed.
We had pestered many times
and he had said ‘perhaps’
when we asked him if he’d killed
any Krauts or any Ja...
Monday 16th May 2016 12:24 pm
I'm not a hero
Want a simple quiet life
No hero lives here
Sunday 29th June 2014 8:20 pm
Sunday 23rd December 2012 1:48 am
O sun tanned youth
Who fired my heart,
Never meant to meet or part,
How many times you'd pass me by,
And leave me wishing I could die.
O brown faced lad
Were you aware
Of this admirer's silent stare?
Were there times when you were near
To saying something I might hear?
O golden boy
Now old like me,
Do you perhaps look back and see
Thursday 14th June 2012 4:26 pm
En elderly lady is in the police station
For the identification.The one on the left is a deft.
He wrung my hands
And gave commands
To the one on the right.
I couldn’t fight.
He kept my legs apart meaning…
Something dirty to start.
But…that one in the middle…
Sorry for my giggle …
Was like a beautiful fiddle.
He was the finest fellow.
Monday 12th December 2011 9:11 pm
Heroism has always intrigued me. But I often wonder whether it is but "one side of the coin".
Hero and coward,
Two sides of a coin;
How hard you may look,
You won't see the join.
A flick of the fingers -
The hero's in...
Monday 14th November 2011 4:03 pm
Once-upon-a-time, a barman worshipped the Sun.
Worked nights so didn’t see much of it
but in his head he’d got stories of
the Fire God supreme,
vanquishing monsters who'd eat out your dreams.
He called the Sun ‘Hero’,
believed it had six pairs of arms,
giant wings of flame
and the handsomest nose in the galaxy.
Made moons blush
Friday 17th December 2010 1:38 pm
Not much rain that month they say - May of nineteen-forty-six;
the ache of war, still in the bones, where Cregagh boys kicked tries
down at Malone and dodged the sixes from the next-door cricket pitch.
Wednesday, the twenty-second, an ordinary Belfast day,
but some alignment of the spheres, some sorcery, conspiracy of Gods,some fate; a child was born, a boy, blue eyed, da...
Wednesday 8th April 2009 1:28 am
Punk's Not Dead!
Times were hard
smashed to bits,
what no jobs?
my hopes are sunk,
I know mum
I'll become a punk!
Hippies are out
we need something new,
and sniffin' glue,
no Elvis, Beatles
or the Rolling Stones,
so long boys
here's the Ramones!
One, two, three, four
Friday 18th April 2008 8:56 am