Old ground

Beneath the soil a beauty lies

Born of neglect sown by a love

For nature’s touch upon the soul

Of fauna’s mingling hug of flora

Where nettles wind their stinging leafs

In neighbourhoods with dandelion wisps

Drifting in golden skies and windy

Cites shadowing friendly towns

On the road to blessed villages

Where the pollen feeds the honeybees

Desire to create the earths pure taste

And the webs of spiders draw painted

Designs for flies to rest unsuspecting

For life to pass and the circle to replenish

In the glow of the suns breakfast gift

To evaporate the sweet dew upon the

Green blades where caterpillars chew

The wild garden holds the silence

I crave to enjoy reflecting the internal

Peace awarded to me by my return to

The inherent quietness of a silent youth

(C) frank mcgivney

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plot

I wish I could say

I lost the plot

But I’d have to have found it first

So many words I have waiting

To sprint to finish the race

Lining up to slow for effect

Raring to roar for design

A structure waiting for logic

To define the curves of paths

Please spirit in the sky

Touch my mind with the tale

To light the shine of my writing soul

(C) Frank McGivney wondering what tale is there waiting to fill the void of the drunken keyboards lust for words

Dancing

I stroll down slow

On account of knees

I need of a mechanic

Of a medical inclination

The darkness of the night

Is cracked gently by the red

Of the sun waving farewell

To a moon heading for the

Land of kangaroo fields

The tunes in my mind

Pitter patter with a smile

I cast to the side

My frog eyed slippers

And with a breath deep

In my soul

I

Dance

In

The

Kitchen

On

My

Own

(C) frankie Mcgivney

Covid

Go on off with you now

You mutating feck

Go on back to where

You came from

Some dark place

Where nightmares

Cast shadows over dreams

We’ve had enough of you now

You malignant wee shagger

Don’t you know if you kill

The host then you’re left with

No toast to nibble upon

So off you trot

With your dodgy spikes

And your quaire auld shape

You have upon you

Away up out of the garden

And mind your own business

Go on

Go on

Go on

Go on

Go on

And don’t be coming back

Of with you know

Sheila bring out the shotgun

For the shooting of the covid

Have you been drinking frankie

Nothing much talking about biddy

Go on to bed frankie and leave the gun

Down and stop scaring the neighbours

Rightio there Margo

Sweet Jesus frankie

Can you not remember me name

Of course I can marie

Get in there out of the cold

And you naked and making

The neighbours feel inadequate

I’m hunting the covid

Get in or the covid will be the least

Of your problems

Right so Tanya

Little notes to myself

They dumped the Trump. Finally realising he wasn’t the winning card but losing cad

Katie Taylor beat the world

Feed the nightmares by eating a cheese sandwich. Does different types create different imaginings

Talking reaches out and takes sadness in its embrace

There’s no coming back from treating some one with the ultimate contempt of believing they will except a betrayal of love. The betrayal is nothing only a moment in time. The contempt of thinking so little of them represents an internal self definition which last a lifetime with no return

Love yourself the way your dog loves you

Love others like a cat loves you

Sometimes another human can make you turn away with the desire to lash down a Valium by drinking a dissolvable tramadol

Blind boy’s pod cast look it up

Take a break and learn from the laughter created by Tommy tiernan

Read something

Remember you belong

Don’t be going off asking an Irish person a question if you aren’t prepared to spent a bit of time listening to the story of the answer

The story won’t be all true but you know it’s not true and I know it’s not true but we both know it’s not true so that’s okay.

Problem is some people don’t realise the stories aren’t fully true. The real quest is to meet the challenge of knowing truth from story telling and discovering which to enjoy and which to ponder upon

Cats love while still protecting themselves by remaining the cat who allows the human into their lair

Dogs love by wagging their tails and jumping around like a lunatic just out of the house for the bewildered after 20 years in a strait jacket

No matter how bad COVID is or anything else the options are to learn from the experience or to not

(C) frankie Mcgivney writing stuff

Michael d

Imagine if you can

The pride

When you realise

The truth of no doubt

Of having a president

Of real value

A man born with courage

Of mind and soul

To quote Aristotle

In the same breath as

Holding the rapture

Of joy of laughter

Of a nation small

In geographical size

But huge in soul

Michael d Higgins

The man who

Became president

Of Ireland

Whose light shines

In comparison

To the darkness

On the other side

Of the Atlantic

(C) frank mcgivney

Pitch

At 6 there are cars on the roads and the sky is sometimes pink or Scarlett red

Peoples day have begun while others grab the last few days of winks in scratchers of various states of dishevel

At five the ladies stand at the bus stop and I wonder where they go when they disembark and the men in hi vis jackets stand waiting for the vans I don’t wonder so much for them. One building site is just like another.

But their numbers are sparse at 5. More scratchers are full of snores and fears of chores

The radio man whispers to me as I stroll playing songs I could never forget and half way along the tiredness falls away. My eyes open and I feel alive.

I do a bit of workday planning before I stop myself and focus on the walk. I sweep a tide of calm filled nothingness through my mind and the moon appears as the trees suddenly have leafs and the air surrounding me is felt on my skin

There is a new walkway around the town I take for the desire to prevent my heart from succumbing to the rigours of inactivity.

It’s a tunnel through trees and bushes with blackberries and fields of corn. There’s a secret passage way some teenagers have dug in to the wilderness and there’s a field of cattle. The peaceful scene of them lying in the moonlight green resonates in my mind

Through the pitch darkness I feel the morning efforts of determined spiders catch across my forehead and I imagine-their journeys along the same path I walk stretching a strand of web way beyond the 2 metres now associated in our minds with social distancing.

And it is pitch dark with the fear I should feel crawling along stretching out to touch my mind. Who is waiting in the shadows? Will someone knock me out with the one punch challenge? Will the spirits I sense in the tingle in my spine manifest themselves in a sudden light of revelation.

But I don’t feel the fear beyond the realisation that I should surely be a bit apprehensive of walking in pitch darkness in the middle of the night a little too far from civilisation .

Instead I relish those steps where I am completely alone. I can’t see the path with the darkness yet still the wonder of millennia of evolution allows my eyes to adapt just enough to make out the minuscule difference in shades of grey and black.

I would welcome the spirits I would welcome the one punch attack I would welcome the friendly hello In the darkness I would welcome the cry of an animal in need of help I welcome the darkness and it’s beautiful silence and it’s clear air and it’s purity.

Along here it doesn’t matter who I am or how I look. It doesn’t matter what people think it doesn’t matter if one eyes drifts it doesn’t matter if I’m obese it doesn’t matter if I think differently it doesn’t matter if I look like an escaped member of a difficult hospital for the demented it doesn’t matter if I earn a million a year or scrape by on free bread and berries

The darkness accepts me for being a part of the nature around me

I am part of the darkness of the ecosystem of the night as much as the spider and the sleeping fly

I turn the radio of and I listen and I hear the wonderful whispers of the nights silence as it reveals its innermost secret. That none of the human concerns matter here. All that matters is been a part of the morning moment

Frankie loving his 5 o’clock walk to work

Silence

I look inside myself

And see my heart is lost

I look inside her words

And know the light to shine

I listen to the sounds

Of history skip repeat

I feel the words of mine before

with laughter save her breath

I hear my silence now

Save the love her heart desires

I look inside my self

To feel the calm swim clear

Frankie with the thoughts inside which make a man different from the crowd who succumb to their own needs. I was raised to do what’s right but more importantly what i am is my actions or reactions to protect the essence of what I believe is right to protect the others . The action to save is of no use if the reactions then result in the end of one or the other or both. Silence is not loved in a world where the need to find closure through words is paramount when the true light is waiting to illuminate in the glorious beauty of the colourful spectrum of the silent world inside where happiness is found in the peace of imagination

Long goodbye

Stretching out he reaches but fails to touch the fingers he loves to sense inside his mind feeding the spirit of who he wants to be.

Quiet in himself he resides within thoughts made of claddagh ring eternity enshrined in the unbroken circle of silver band surrounding his heart

Fear of losing if the path is strolled on the left compounds the eternal turmoil of fear beset strolling the path on the right drawing his heart further from the fingers touch

Where’s the water edge? For I long to walk beneath the waves to feel the hollow bath surround the whole of my self. The ripples of the echos blocking the pain of a world outside where joy lies in a blackberry thorn and the red of the morning burns inspiring moments of spontaneous meditative states of mind

Inside the pages the worlds of escape over the sacred release to forget for a spell the long goodbye harrowing through his marrow. A rhyme to celebrate the only drug worthy of consumption the medicine of paragraphs growing into tales of darkness splintered by light

Words of songs linger developing plots unworthy of trust or belief yet as real as reality perceived by a species devoid of the wherewithal to know the dimensions beyond our fickle self determination to be who we can be while ignoring who we are

Frankie writing random words to seek the crack he lost today among the fogs of his mind wondering why the long goodbye keeps playing as lyrics in his soul