"Don't put things off…it may be later than you think."
“The Burren”
Returning to a barren
A land resigned to be
A coastal town
Somewhere down
Below the crashing sea
Abandoning the cairns
Picturesque pathways
A nice surprise
A full day’s drive
Roads lead unto ways
Jaunting out the country
Wind plays fair and true
A languid sigh
Beneath the sky
For all we cannot do
“O’hlcidhe”
What is a name?
Nominal, Descriptive, Adjectivial
Proverbial, Pliable, Provincial
Genetic, Prophetic, Patrilineal
Loyal, Worthy, Accusatory
Damning, Enchanting, Demanding
Prideful, Rightful, Spiteful
What is a name?
“The Mourne Wall”
Pivot around a structure that stretches on
There seems no end in it
Hard to tell what is being kept out and kept in
Meant to guard against harm
But harm boils up when idly walking by
Sinister sadness picks away
Left with an expanse of nothingness
Room enough for all of the pain
All of it
Then a bit more
Walking along the wall
Again uncertain of which side is the right side to be on
Frost contended that good fences make good neighbors
Impassible, endless walls make great hermits
“Cú Chulainn”
Society provides a template
The template requires attention to detail and strict adherence
The infrastructure upon which society stands is perpetuated by those building things using the template
The mob gets upset with the infrastructure and decides to change the template
The infrastructure fails to support the society that exists because the template that instructs the society how to perpetuate building has changed
People are mad, because the mob decided to change the template without thinking about the consequences of how society would be supported if the template was changed
The mob eats itself because there is no one to protect it from itself because society does not exist any longer
People range around in constant states of rage and mania
Berserkers
Society provides an imperfect template
Society provides a stage upon which the actions happen
For better or worse, we are society
“Banshee”
Consumed in a fire of despair.
Wanton warning full of fear.
Screeching.
Screeching.
Wailing withal wondrous wept.
Announcing end in a breath.
No glass ceiling guarding death.
Screaming.
Screaming.
Harping harpy so inclined.
Wettest blanket of mankind.
Hope it’s me she doesn’t find.
Screeching. Screeching.
Screaming. Screaming.
“Nuada Airgetlám”
Is it preferable to possess one silver arm?
Or, more preferable to possess a silver tongue?
Sitting on a lonely throne,
Trusting not a single one.
Warring factions.
Lasting actions.
Consequences can’t be undone.
First in line, of a line.
A pound of flesh,
Paid to vice.
Settling peace upon the mound,
Dead stacked upon the ground.
A battle lost, an armless army arming itself.
The skill of gods to hit refill.
As the light of dawn illuminates the souls and boddy bods.
Planting crops to grow.
Using the seeds of dead soldiers.
“Lámfada”
It’s the longhand reach
That exceeds the grasp
Such things can only be calculated deliberately
Trying as one might
The might of effort
Required
Not matched
But, they sure do appreciate a good try.
Whatever the outcome might be.
“Father Dagda”
Father Dagda
Who could blame ya?
As violence begets pain.
Pirate’s plunder
Torn asunder
Your family’s gravy train.
No way of showing,
All are growing.
Soon you’ll be alone.
Father Dagda
Must keep rowing,
Despite a tide so low.
How challenged are we?
Or, rather how challenged am I?
Failing to admit my desire,
and tying stakes to a one way ideal.
In order to gain your attention,
I need to acknowledge the truth of my heart:
Which is simply that I’m unable to be truthful, for fear of rejection.
I’m unable to find a way out.
What words I use,
Betray an ambiguity that is furthest from my heart.
What I mean to say; is that I want you to feel the same way about me that I feel about you.
I want you to consume that which consumes me.
I see in you the reflection,
A niggling need, a craved curiosity.
Prurient in nature.
Pins and needles.
I dream a thousand fantasies,
And sustain them moment to moment.
I thirst for your unbrushed kiss, and seek you out to give you mine.
I can drop you to your knees.
Where we can taste the life.
Our desperate hands, motivated by the excitement of revelation.
If I can just get to that truth,
And make that truth between us more apparent.
I want an equal partner in crime.
Revealing our vulnerable portions,
body and soul.
The tears are salty,
And mix with delight,
Lost, moments of exquisite pleasure.
Our secret.
Eyes locked,
Fingers and palms entwined.
Slow at first,
Gradual.
Smooth.
Pliable yielding,
And enveloped in an impending realization of getting lost.
That true power comes with letting go of yourself to another and being powerless.
Urging urgency on.
Mouthy breaths and more repetition.
More, more.
A new connectedness,
And energy.
Fallen into your event horizon.
No, pulled.
Gravity inescapable.
An encouragement that we jumped willingly,
And wanted the same thing from the outset.
Staunch plunge.
No escaping the funnel vortex.
Happy sweet bittersweet sadness.
Infinite want.
Proceeding onward.
Down.
Heartbeats.
Can’t go back.
Arrived in height and satiety.
I feel you, and hold you.
Deep within,
We touch places unseen.
Until the world melts away.
I find resurrection.
Renewed.
Ready to dwell.
Our new pleasure,
Shared.
And I burn for it.
I burn for the continuation of knowing that we exchange and will chance that passion again.
I burn for it.
We burn for it.
Every single minute.
