Tag Archives: poem

poetry

wild eyes

5 Comments

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

IMG_1812

(c) Frank McGivney

poetry

Her words

Leave a comment

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

2015/03/img_1773.jpg

poetry

Tipping along a recession poem/Story

Leave a comment

 Tipping along

There I was scratching and itching with the fleas eating me from the lack of washing

and the line stretching and rolling half way around the town. Every man, woman and

dog of us waiting for the weekly hand out, beside hairy bikers who had one Honda 50

between them and alcoholics with the smell of cheap wine emanating from their blood

and all manner and shape of pirate with no boat and less hope. The smell of sweat in the room

was stifling and intoxicating, you could get drunk on it upon a Tuesday but still the

craic was mighty and if you got a wink from one of the girls sure wasn’t it as good as any

money. I was there lost, without a whole lot to be doing and even less to be saying with

greasy hair and horny eyes and no hope leaving school without a clue or a lover.

The auld one got sick of seeing me at home, alone and empty handed so the call was made

and it was decided one fine summers day that I would serve my time not as a corner boy

like I had expected but as an apprentice to a carpenter driving nails into walls, hanging

planks and sawing wood as straight as a crooked river bank. The wages were brutal,

the gaffer had a tongue made of Spanish leather but I was on a high.

I ended up driving a Ford Fiesta I inherited from an uncle who was still breathing but

only just. The provisional licence and the tax were late and the insurance out of date

I drove it like some cut of a lunatic along the main boulevard with the windows down

and the elbow stuck out for all to see and the Black Moroccan smelling like nettles from

some lads garden and polluting the town while Marley sang about how I felt.

Saturday night always came and I squeezed into the 501’s, sprayed the Lynx and hitched

my tent with the others boyo’s who were somewhere between half gobshites and full ones.

Drinking and talking bull at the local disco with the music blaring and the lights down low

to hide the truth. My eyes went crooked, the words began to slur and the knees got shaky and

a bewildered generation of lonely lusty misfits cradled pints instead of breasts. Girls of all

shapes and sizes meandered past in tight jeans and woolly jumpers which offered a hint of what

lay beneath, as they avoided our drunken stares. They were desiring something we didn’t have

and never would. Deep inside, behind the façade, the pain of loneliness was burning my soul as

we talked of rides and slappers and the clap while I dreamt of holding hands and walks on sandy

beaches and looking into her eyes and she loving me for what lay inside.

Then while I wasn’t looking the madness descended and grabbed a hold of me in its terrible grasp

Them with the fancy suits decided it would be a shocking grand idea, of a day, to go off and build

buckets of houses in every ass end part of a desolate country, in boggy fields and up mountains

where only a sheep would be mad enough to reside and they all located half way between the middle

of nowhere and the start of the end of the road.

The sweat still poured off my back but the laughter was lost. Banks stuffed money in my pocket

while I wasn’t looking, just in case I had an inclination to buy a couple of houses or a BMW too big

for my ways. Girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, who wore half nothing of a day and less of a night

stopped avoiding my drunken stares and started desiring the one thing I didn’t have before. I stood

like a bull in a field listening to all manner of lies and I not caring. Next thing I knew I was standing

at an altar with a monkey suit on, watching her walk up the aisle with a huge bill in my pocket and

bewilderment in my mind. She vowed to love me as long as she could spend what money I could earn.

Then everything came to a halt the recession descended and the banks wanted the cash

And she wanted the cash and I wanted to know how I got here.

Now the fiesta feels great and so does my old bed in my Ma’s house.

The blonde haired one is gone to hell or to Connaught or somewhere in between

and I sleep better than ever before with an empty wallet

but peace in my soul that the journey to madness is over and gone at last and I can be

who I was meant to be once more.

Frank McGivney 18.02.15

This is a kind of poem/story i wrote  that i don’t really think would ever be accepted by the mainstream but which i really like.

Poem, poetry, writing, recession Ireland, ireland, recession

poetry

Looking for loving (not finished just a bit of fun )

1 Comment

it was that time of the year

the hunger was sated

and the lust was building

i came down from the mountain side

looking for some loving

i took my time and cleaned up well

i washed the dirt of life’s lonely hell

the water stank and killed some fish

a bear watched and laughed

he went looking for some loving too

The tavern’s lights were down low

hiding the pain beyond the glow

women of all shapes and size lined up

waiting for picking or kicking

the men stood scratching

all of us looking for loving

The beauty of youth interested my loins

the beauty of age drove my desire

I was looking for a woman with

scars on her face and thoughts in her mind

i was looking for #loving with words

to be continued

Frank McGivney 12.02.15

#valentines day