Rambling

Rambling in Spain

It was green

A pocket plant

For a couple

Black and red

Beetles

And rabbits

They looked at me

And I at them

Then they did what I can’t

They vanished

Not a sound or twitch

To be able to just stay

Hidden and watch it all

Drift by

The handsome waiter shock my hand

I had been the one to smile

To ask him how he was

We had eaten already so passed by

His outstretched menu

But the day was hot and he looked

Roasted as a Sunday duck

I grasped both hands

and humanity was good again

50 lengths of the pool

Easy peasy salmon squeeesy

Dee swam smooth

Ava was a mermaid

Luke like a swimmer with shoulders

The Spanish girls admired

I miss the mats the sweet the puzzle

Of my physical heaven of Brazilian

Jiu jitsu but I’m lifting and swimming

And walking and eating

Talking to the Junkies

The white of the clouds is lying on the ground and you have a hoodie on and wrapped around that a caridgan with a hood and you forgot your cotton socks and the extra thick ones  from pennys are wearing thin and your mind is wandering and the times they are a changing.

but not for you or others just for some. Somewhere out there over the rainbow where the sun shines and the frost melts, a man with no goats or attachement to the land or the sea is singing a song he heard somewhere that goes “the mad ones never forget”. The girl on the bus beside him asks how to get of but he cant remember and the crowd sings waltzing matilda

so

he screams

and

she screams

and

the bus man roars and all at once there was crowd, a host of junkies on the quay.

they have held hands through it all. from the start to the end from him shitting in the bed to her doing the same. they have given their bodies to the brown and we walk by in disgust and once i said hello to them and he sneered and she winked and i wanted to tell them i didnt care if they stuck brown crap in the veins, no more than i didnt care if i am talking to a judge or a priest. but they didnt want to know no more than those others wouldnt want to know either. The identify their souls with who they tell themselves they are but all i see is the eyes and the skin and the mind and the thoughts

i’m selfish. I want to hear their stories, to laugh at the madness of their tales. the ones they tell once they give over with the sadness and the self pity. She would have been a ride in her day before it took it over. He was as ugly as fuck and dangerous looking in his wee skinny intimidating way.

the world passes on

 

And i apologise for not posting since 2016. more to me than to anyone else. I write at home on a laptop and few if any see it. The words are my friend and the sentences when  poetic my lovers and sometimes of an spring day they are hard to share because maybe no one else will embrace them the way i do but then i dream and i realise the truth of a butterfuly being only truely majestic when it flies free.

Paddy in London

Paddy went down to London Town to see what he could see. But all that paddy could see was grey and shadows and dreams of more and people with less. So paddy got on a train and he ended up in Scotland. On a craggy mountain top he stood looking to the horizon to see what he could see and all that he could see was grey and goats . But the grey had a depth and among it was sprinkling of green and in the green were yellows and reds and white. The goats were chewing and they looked at him with wizened eyes and the wind whispered with its cold embrace into his soul.
When he arrived back in the land of saints and scholars where idiots ruled and money was a god he turned to his wife and he replied to her question of what he had seen.
” I seen fields of green and red roses.Grey building and hungry souls too. But what I didn’t see was all I desired”
” and what do you desire ” she asked
“You” was all he needed to say as the smell from the turf rose to smoke the walls of the house where their children had been born and raised and life was lived in the pursuit of love and laughter and the wealth of family joy

The traveller

Shake hands boys that’s the end of it

They’re will never be an end to it

Now paddy you need to let it go the days are growing long and years have past

Memories never die bucko

The lad has had enough

That’s my call not yours

No it’s mine now take him home to fuck

Come on boy away out of it. Your making a show of me in front of these lot of yellow belly sheebeens

I can’t see with my eye

You have two of them now come on out of it . They have a look of pity on them. It’s worst than any beating

Okay dad

Paddy’s temper

“Well Feck you and the rest of them”

“Now Paddy cool down boy, Remember what happened the last time”

“What are you on about, you gobshite”

“There you go again just like the last time”

“I cant remember a last time”

“You see that’s what I’m talking about”

“Jaysus your a fucking pain in the arse”

“Ah there it is, the head is gone again”

“I am perfectly calm”

“No your not”

“Listen to me you scuttering little shite I am perfectly calm, there’s not a bother on me”

“Remember the river and the tinkers from last summer”

“That was a pure accident”

“Some of them are still recovering after it”

“They were up for it so they were and it was nothing to do with me”

“The hurley had your name carved on it”

“That could have been any Paddy McCabe”

“That John Jo Ward has still a terrible case of the shakes after what you and that Sheila Reilly one did to him”

“Ah now leave Sheila out of it, She’s as pure as a sheep on a mountain”

“There’s a lot of rams roaming the mountains”

“There is to be sure”

To be continued