Tag Archives: ireland

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

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Young love remembers that of me

Long ago i used to hear your smiling

in the place where my lonely heart will be

now i stray alone among the lost dreams

Where the thoughts they fade away to whispers

and young love remembers that of me

___

Alone she wraps the scarf around me

in the tale the wind it shadows free

my eyes they see the strangers fingers

and her smile is lost for you and me

And young love remember that of me

___

Stolling down the brook now

i listen to the flowers in their bloom

they flutter their prayers to my memory

where the river meanders to a stream

And young love remember that of me

 

(c) Frank McGivney (a work in progress)

 

I forget to remember

I beg them to stay

To lay beside my bed

They were my friends

But off they stray

Away from where

I lost my way.

My words

They’ve gone

So far

From my pen

I feel the trickle

Of my dreams

Trail further

From my mind

I forget sometimes

To remember

But worse

I remember

All the things

I can’t ‘recall

My new pal

dementia

It’s calling echoes

In the valley

I hear it’s bell

I fear the hell

It promises

To reveal

When I stand

Lost in my land

The place I’ve know

As home

(C) Frank mcgivney

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.

Blood brothers

Blood brothers

Nowhere between lost and found
Where souls meet change
Where redemption pounds 
Shadows drift to light
And smiles dismiss
the twisted tales
A heart beat drums
The pounding rhythm
Of brothers born
Not of blood
But a common path

Frank mcgivney 07.06.16

Life to me is all about family. The family of you birth. The family of your home. The family of your work. The family of your mates.

Blood brothers

Blood brothers

Nowhere between lost and found
Where souls meet change
Where redemption pounds 
Shadows drift to light
And smiles dismiss
the twisted tales
A heart beat drums
The pounding rhythm
Of brothers born
Not of blood
But a common path

Frank mcgivney 07.06.16

Life to me is all about family. The family of you birth. The family of your home. The family of your work. The family of your mates.

For My Daughter

Her First Confession

 

Blessed with water, wrapped in blankets of white

Their tiny hands held our hearts tight

Filling our souls with joy

The pink of a girl or the blue of a boy

 

Wax dripping from the candle

That takes its place upon the mantle

Of homes that they light

With smiles that shine in their eyes bright

 

As school friends, they gather once more

Lined up with family in the pews pure

God’s gifts blossoming to flowers

In the town of Loyd and Round Towers

 

Bless me father for I have sins so mild

The pranks and tantrums of being a child

Holy Father cleanse our innocence

Pray hear our words of penance with your benevolence

 

I’m Sorry God, Connected

Songs sung as parents reflected

On the wonder of their flock of Belles

As fair as any page from the Book of Kells

 

The kind words of the Priest

Permission in lent for a treat

Cleansed and pure wee doves

Ready now for the white dress and gloves

 

© Frank McGivney 10 March 2014

Paddy tempts St Peter

Paddy tempts Saint Peter

Well
Well
There you are
Welcome Brother
good man isn’t it only your self Saint Peter
heaven awaits you
Jaysus that was easy
mmm taking the lords name in vain
what are you at
making a note
a note of what
your sins
I’m shagging well dead
mmm cursing
give it over
its says here you gave up going to mass
I didn’t believe a word of it
how about now that you are outside the gates
I’m still not sure
What more proof do you need
let me in to have a look
you have to prove yourself worthy
I could give you some money
mmmmm bribery
give over writing it all down
by the look of this you haven’t a hope of getting in
you aren’t doing so good yourself
what do you mean
well your stuck out here with me
this is where god put me
so the rest of them are inside having a whale of a time and your stuck out here with the likes of me
its is my vocation
even the boys in Hell know how they’re fixed, do they leave you in at night.
no I am always here waiting the souls
you got righty screwed for the bit of denial
I am humble in the error of my way
You’re a full gobshite,
Mmm bad language
Put down the pen for a minute and listen to me
I got this pen from Jesus himself
Did he post it to you
Well kind of
Exactly. Look come on down here with me
Where to
Down to the other side, sure give it a shot and see how you get on
You are a heathen
That I am but it could be good auld craic once the burning and stuff is over with.
Will there be girls
Loads of them, bad girls
Hang on a second
What are you doing
Posting back the pen
Good man

Francie passing five minute at lunch time

Saint Paddy’s children roam

Paddy’s Wandering Steps

 

 

He is in New York

Walking by the side

With a girl with purple hair

They would skit

Accept, not care

 

He talks in china

to the black hair geisha

In silk

Making her laugh

Touching

With hope

 

She rules in Quebec

Leading a board

Her twang from the lee

Her power from within

The Celtic queen

 

In Berlin his head

Grows grey from red

His voice the same

The bridges he drew

With pen and love

For the art they knew

 

They know us well

Its in the voice

They see the green

Among the red wisps

That flow from Celtic

Dreams of freedoms lure

 

© Francie McGivney 17.03.16