wild eyes

Wild Eyes (for she who knows the truth inside)

Her soul fluttered in the rising wind

screamed in the roaring sun

sang in the silent meadow,

bit the juice from life’s desire

Their minds shrank

to the passing touch

of her floating veil

her beauty they missed

in the echo of her scream

Who does she think she is

Could she not be normal

while standing above her station

why do anything, but live to die

she listened to their hate

She cried inside

her tears turned the flame

to an ember

He saw in her all he was himself

he held her hand and she held his

he kissed her lips and then her mind

the fire raged

consumed them both in joy

She gave him all he ever needed

The touch of a flame to make him smile

(c) Frank McGivney

I like you a lot

tip toe

steps she creeped

looking behind

smiling in front

her hands reached

mine touched

my heart fell

into hers.

smiling in wonder

a life reborn

she holds it tight

embraced with love

(c) Frank McGivney 26.03.15

the butcher boy

Francie brady talking to me. You wouldn’t find the likes of what’s in that book on the television . Well unless the film of it was on but the book is better. Tell you one thing there’s nothing like an Irish author. Patrick McCabe has a way of telling stories that grabs you by the mind and draws you into a place where humour is found in shades of black. You can keep youe McDonald’s humour for the gombeens I’ll have a nice day when I want to and a miserable one of the inclination comes upon me. It’s my right as an Irish man to be free to laugh while I’m happy or miserable.

Mind

when I was young I listened to the voice inside

It rattled inside pouring my heart into the ice of my mind

Melting me into a dreamer a screamer a twelve ball dealer

Now I’m old and the paths wearing my footprints 

Inside the rattling has begun once more to the sound of my aching bones

Self

to blame the other

To take the shame away

Where none grew

The defences built high

The heart dies before the mind 

To see in the other a reason

To close the door and walk away



Her

when I dream I dream of her

She was meant to be , she held my hand and took my breath away. It’s was written in my mind among the dreams and hopes

Character

this writing malarkey is fascinating. Doing it nearly a year and a half now and every day I learn new stuff. 

The interesting for me the last few weeks is what happens when you add an extra dimension to a character and then rewrite what you had written previously.

It’s like a new world opens up, a more interesting one for the character to explore or in this case cause havoc. 

I’m excited what this let sing curve will throw my way next. 



Stereotypes

I was discussing the relative uselessness of stereotypes today with my accupunture/ Chinese medicine healer especially as pertains to my own profession of accountancy (feck I sound like one there).
He was born a Hindu and had told me a bit about karma and reincarnation one day. Anyone it mightn’t be exactly karma but later on I had to have a discussion with another accountant.
Mother of Devine Jesus those accountants are boring. Her voice was limp and lifeless , her imagination seemed lost and she mumbled a lot.
My enthusiasm about life was lost on her focused ears.
No wonder no one sits beside me at social functions once they hear what I do for a living. Of course when they hear they madness of my brain them they also sometimes look at me as if I’m crazy.

Stereotypes

I was discussing the relative uselessness of stereotypes today with my accupunture/ Chinese medicine healer especially as pertains to my own profession of accountancy (feck I sound like one there).
He was born a Hindu and had told me a bit about karma and reincarnation one day. Anyone it mightn’t be exactly karma but later on I had to have a discussion with another accountant.
Mother of Devine Jesus those accountants are boring. Her voice was limp and lifeless , her imagination seemed lost and she mumbled a lot.
My enthusiasm about life was lost on her focused ears.
No wonder no one sits beside me at social functions once they hear what I do for a living. Of course when they hear they madness of my brain them they also sometimes look at me as if I’m crazy.

Her words

All I see when my eyes close
Is the essence of her smile
All I feel when my hands touch
Is the skin of hers in mine

Hollow steps once echoed alone
Lost to shadows along the way
her petals blossomed touching
my heart and grew in my mind

Jade reflects in my soul
Buried dreams resurrect
The Lost hope of a smile
Touching my frozen lips

(C) frank Mcgivney late night March 2015 as the rain pitter patters on the window