Irish strength

When the crown killed

Our children with hunger

Feed through greed

A nation learned to fight

By

Talking with words

Rhyming lyrical beauty

While saying nothing at all

A rich culture

Devoid of material wealth

Adorned with tales

And sceals

Of Swans sailing across

The wide sea to heavens door

Silence holds the strength

The foreigners never could

Sense within the feelings

Of the mothers in the uplands

Who dug stones with hands

Worn of nails

And skin trailed with tears

Wept for children

Starved

A genocide fed

Of potatoes rotted

And crops on ships

Set sail for English lands

Frankie mcgivney writing of a march day after listening to a historian waxing lyrical with mr tiernan

Love

Inside her heart

She can fly when she dreams

She can sing when she walks

She can smile with her soul

And love with her eyes

She can touch in the lark

And pray to your mind

She can dream for you both

And make love with her words

She can snuggle from afar

And in the brown of her eyes

She can reflect what yearns

Inside my heart

Frankie Mcgivney writing stuff that matters

Kisses

When you send me your kisses

Take the wrapping from the flower

And shower me with your passion

Give me all or give me none

And in return

You can take with love

Everything of worth

The words , the love,

The kiss, the moans

The touch, the look

And the key to search

For more

(C) frankie Mcgivney

A seat

The bench, old and worn, was cold to the touch through the wool of my trousers

Hi

I could see a line of grime etched into the lines beneath her face as she looked up from her can and threw the shortest of dirty looks expertly mingled with a sound mixture of disinterested distain

Sometimes no doesn’t have to be put Into words or perhaps a look is the strongest no

Still and all it’s not a bad day all things considered

The look again this time I noticed a bunch of her hair stuck together with blood or sweat or vomit or whatever sticks hair together when a member of the human fraternity doesn’t get to avail of the washing facilities of a day or even a month

You can go fuck of if you think you getting something out of me I’m no hooker

I’m no punter either

Good cos I’m particular about who I be having the fun with

Me too

Yeah right

Yeah right exactly

Don’t be getting fucking smart you fucker

I just saying I not into hookers

You should be

Ah here

Well the state of you with the head on you and that Gammy eye and you look like your mother picked out the clothes. Is that wool?

Feck sake you’re worst than a commentator on one of them shows

What shows

You know the xfactor bollixology

Here listen don’t be using that kind of language in front of a Lady

Fair enough

And a slow breeze trailed across our path while we both looked on at the city passing by. a quietness in the kaleidoscope of hustle

You know no one talks as they walk

I looked up and listened and watched

Your man over there is talking on his phone

I thought I told you not to be a wise fucker

You only mentioned being a smart one

Whatever. He is on a phone that don’t count

Why not

It just doesn’t

Why

Cos it’s like the mad cunts who talk to themselves it’s not real talking it’s just pretend chitter chatter

I see what you mean

About the phone

No about them not talking they just are all rushing

Yeah

Yeah

Have you a light

Have you a fag

Yeah

Right then

And I saw her eyes were brown when she held the flame

She would have been a beautiful daughter to some Da a long time ago

She held the smoke deep inside, feeling it’s warmth before slowly releasing it back into the world

I better make a move

She nodded and looked back down

I touched her shoulder gently when i stood, the briefest of contacts; she didn’t react, maybe she hadn’t noticed

I walked on with out a word been uttered to a soul, a member once more of the rushing throngs

(C) frankie mcgivney

Just a random story of top of my head I hope it reads okay. The words I love to write

The Final Call (each line the other person)

It’s not you it’s me.

I’m sure you’re the one.

I knew you would see.

It hit me with an ass’s bite.

It was fates path to stroll.

Meandering from night shadows.

Wasn’t it there for the seeing?

No, It turns out love is blind.

Our loves seed we could plough?

It’s you not your crop in need of growth.

My whole could surround your soul?

I’m alone while crowded you fool.

We were designed to be an us.

A flawed pattern built for lust.

Stall the blame, you knew.

How love is the answer you blew?

It’s long lost for me and you.

Find me now, the past we’ll flout.

My will to live yells out to lie.

My need to love begs my beau.

My inner mind rejects your plea.

Consider now your outer view?

It’s entrapped by her, found new.

© Frank McGivney 08.08.14- 01.05.15

Jenny

Jenny

Your desires slide freely along

a rainbow shimmering through

the humming blur of a

dragonfly’s wings hovering

over the water lilies,

floating along the bank,

where her naked footfalls

splash in the cooling spring

among coarse grass blades

stretching to tickle faintly

along her curved white thigh.

Languishing in love

Pulsing in lust

Alive in wonder

Jenny holds you now

your body desires her kiss

your mind feeds on  her words.

Escape’s grasp fails

to the sting of nowhere

when

all you have is hers alone.

Your bag of coins jingles the

Wasted sounds of chattel’s

curse.

Your mind and heart,

the cost you feel

concealed with all the rest,

measured in highland peeks

and briny depths of hope,

lost to memory’s void

arriving after and lasting

your squandered eternity

Her love with tender touch

will reach warm fingers

into your chest and caress

what is hers

you will be her one

her only one,

her one true love,

for that moment.

She will cloth your soul

in woven fabric to deceive

your naked hope of eternity.

Later wandering through a desert

of burning sands, each grain

a million memories, skipping

away into your past,

your tears will dry, wasted.

Jenny gave you a taste,

smiled then turned away.

Your mind will languish, vacant,

torn and bleeding from

your hearts path through her

opaque window of whispers,

where loving thorns

lie in flesh filled lines.

.

Jenny can’t see you behind her

when her eyes are fixed on

the heaving bosom of the next,

floating virginal in front of her view

All now is an echo of her

naked footfalls splashing

in the crystals of her crumbs

© Frank McGivney

Take me to the house

Take my hand and lead me to the place where daffodils grow in November among snowdrops, where women love you for who you are inside, where men touch a woman’s heart with their words, where no body knows the gods made by men. That place is where heavenly bliss meets damnations desires to mix love with lusts wonder