Sunday, 30 December 2012

The End Of The Year

As the year draws to its close we look back and ponder it.
The resolutions and dreams and the turning points that defined it.
And a strange year filled with twists and turns now nearly passed and fading.
Eyes now drift to the promise of next year and a shift in the tide we've been sailing.
The year has passed and brought it's changes, some striking and forever.
The new year dawns with fresh new chances and hope blooms more than ever.


I found love once before but I lost it.
Maybe it's down the back of the sofa, it's always the last place you look.

I found truth once before, mislaid it.
At the bottom of the glass the stories got taller, and it drifted away in the twilight hours.

I found beauty once before in a forest,
The sun glistening, leaves rustling, mind tranquil.
I lost it somewhere on the A406, might be hidden around the North Circular these days.

I found courage before, we lost touch.
He added me on Facebook but my profile got lost.

And love, truth, beauty, courage we all shall find.
And in the meantime, it's all some thing of that kind.


Hold on to your hats, it's gonna be a rough ride.
The edge of emotion hits the landslide,
As touchdown approaches, the feelings subside,
Soothed by the warmth consuming inside.

And sleeping within your dreamy soul,
And reviving that almighty glow,
And presuming, consuming, the transcript of your mind,
And knowing in truth I could only be kind
To you, for you, with you and without.
Your words, my thoughts, and etchings of doubt.
First a star, then a gleam, now merely a trail.
Wondering in any case, if dreams can prevail.

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Keep Shining

Keep being you, keep smiling.
Be true to yourself, keep shining.
Let go of the past and the what could've beens.
Don't worry about the future and what it might bring.
Keep being you, keep smiling
Be true to yourself, keep shining.
Don't worry about others or coat tails of success.
Or clinging on making friends with past regrets.
Keep being you, keep smiling.
Be true to yourself, keep shining.
Every soul in this world can teach you something.
Open mind, open heart is the only thing
You could need, or want, or hope to possess.
So keep being you, keep shining.

Christmas Wishes

The festive time rolls round,
Christmas is almost here.
A time of celebration
With the people we hold dear.
May Christmas wishes be with you,
And stay the whole year through
May peace and kindness abide with you,
And love that remains true.
This special time comes once a year,
But let the magic remain here.
May love, peace, kindness stay with you.
And be ever present and always true.


Oh did you, did you flick over the book to read?
Oh did you, did you toil the land to plant the seed?
Oh could you, could you start to see things differently?
Oh would you, would you retreat to familiarity?
Would the sparks fill your heart in boundless glory?
Or escape to a surreal mythical story?
But oh did you, did you flick over the book to read?
Oh did you, did you toil the land to plant the seed?
Of freedom, new horizons, fresh vision.
Or was it idling, wandering, daydreaming escapism?

The Blossoming Buds

Peeking its head through the soil,
After months of roots' strengthening toil.
Blooming and blossoming, 
The bud opens softly in spring.
Vivid colours, apparent fragility,
Strengthened by roots beyond visibility.

Losing its petals through the cold, Withering and dying away.
Leaving nothing but a stalk,
Mere remnants of beauty now gone astray.
Battered and receding with rains and frost,
And ebbing away with winter days.

But as the sun strikes again the bud breaks anew. 
Beauty, apparent fragility,
Strengthened by the root.
Each flower appears unique, vivid and fragile,
But has strength hidden in roots underground.
Much like you and me, 
When we feel fragile,
Our hidden strength will often arouse and abound.

The House Was A Mess

The house was a mess,
And so was the heart,
Or was it the mind,
Or both-
The house was a mess,
And things lay unrest,
And burdens drifted slowly.
The cyclical thoughts,
Breeding confusion,
The reiteration,
Causing conflict.
The house was a mess,
But the heart came to rest,
When the cycle was broken,
And thoughts became softer.
The house was a mess,
But the mind felt it's best,
And the house could be cleaned tomorrow.

Sunday, 16 December 2012

The Drift Of December's Mist

The drift of December's mist,
The footprints in the snow.
Buying and wrapping gifts,
Dreamers dreaming with souls
For a hand in a hand,
And a heart yearn for them,
And a love that's pure and gold.
For a sweet Winter slumber,
A truthful eye,
And a kinship that's theirs to hold.
The drift of December's mist,
Christmas will be here soon.
And as dreamers dream their sweet song of love,
Winter's beauty is born anew.

To Pursue

The dictionary definition of 'pursue':
1. To follow in order to overtake, capture, kill, etc. ; chase
2. To follow close upon; go with; attend
3. To strive to gain; seek to attain or accomplish
4. To proceed in accordance with (a method, plan, etc.)
5. To carry on or continue (a course of action, a train of thought, an inquiry, studies, etc.)

And so, when we speak of pursuit, do we connect with the sentiment of our expression?
Avidly we pursue aims, success, possessions, even people.
And so, is pursuit an act
To overtake,
To capture,
To follow close upon,
To gain or attain
Something, someone?

We are transient beings in a world constantly subject to change.
Ownership in itself is rendered an obscure notion in this context.
And so, in our ceaseless pursuit,
Perhaps we forget the gifts we have, which too are transient and subject to change and therefore impermanent.
All that exists shall alter.
Perhaps acceptance could replace pursuit,
And appreciation replace ownership.

The Connected Soul

There are it seems, a number of philosophical and literary accounts on the idea of unity, of collective consciousness, of a state of being beyond the physical realm and yet within it.
Western philosophies of Plato and the Allegory of the Cave, epistemic knowledge, Aristotle and eudamonia.
The eastern belief of Hindu Advaita Vedanta, of Buddhist Nirvana.
Blake, Huxley, the Beats, the Merry Pranksters, Ken Kesey with consciousness expansion, mind at large.
Yes we are all connected.
Yes its limits are beyond rationale.
Yes the connection of humanity to the whole can never be underestimated, especially if creativity ad wisdom are enabled to flourish.
But the exact approximation, the science of this source is possibly beyond evidence.
Perhaps we could simply call it the connected soul.

The Wall

There was a wall, it was solid and strong,
And on the wall layers of paint.
And in the wall, small crevices.
If the wall could speak it would only have whispered,
And how its truths would have glistened.
If the wall could speak the message would be of
Love, despair, faith, dislike, hope, frustration, excitement, anguish, joy, apathy, dreams, confusion, nervousness, relief.
Soft whispers of love in ears,
Hard edges of temper in frowns.
Cracks softened by tears
Plaster strengthened by joy.
There was a wall, it was old and strong.
It could have been anyone's home.

Drinking Swinging

I've been drinking, I've been swinging
Right to the heart of the whole.
I've been hushing, I've been brushing
Shoulders with the kindest souls.
I've been swigging, I've been drinking,
The wells of eternity.
I've been smoking, I've been toking,
Wondering when souls will be free
To live, to dream, to soar, to dwell?
Oh let my feelings hide and dwell.


You would have been coming home now,
And this time it was here to stay.
Eight swift years since you left,
Our friend like you'd not been away.
And every Christmas we saw you,
And it always felt just the same,
The stories, the laughter, the teasing,
And this time you'd be back to stay.
But you came back to us early,
Though not as anyone foresaw.
And so our friend rest sweetly,
And your memory will remain pure.
I made you a silent promise,
I'm still keeping and live to this day.
So beautiful friend rest calmly now,
Let burdens slip away.
You'll always be clear in our thoughts
And that can't be taken away.


'Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.'
Though sometimes it's not so easy.
Sometimes our greatest hesitations are our deepest cares.
Our clearest procrastinations, our insecurities.
The process of delay merely one of hope.
The stagnation of avoidance, our own fears.
And sometimes, it's simply better knowing.
There are those moments where courage is called upon and we can delay no more.
For in the worst case, the reality of situations are never as negative as we fear.
And as for the best case, why place potential joy in the future and not live it now?

Sunday, 9 December 2012

A Whole Lot Of Nothing

A whole lot of nothing worth a promise full of something.
A whole lot of nothing,
A head full of dreams,
A heart full of love,
A soul full of gleams.
A whole lot of nothing worth a promise full of something.
A whole lot of nothing
Is all I have to give.
A whole lot of nothing,
And a wish for love to live.

Gross National Happiness

We have long measured our success on Gross Domestic Product.
Tangible measures of tangible factors, a formula to deduct.
But a fresh breeze is sifting, breathing, waving through.
Gross National Happiness now figures in the process too.
And several countries now, forty or more in fact,
Have designed indicators and matrixes
To measure the impact.
The change is upon us as sands of time pass,
Where contentment is deemed as significant
And long may the thought last.

For what is progress and what is success
If it can't be measured by our happiness?

This may seem too hopeful,
Something I merely wish to see,
But scales of success are weighing now
On GNH not GDP.

Talking About The Old Times

Talking about the old times,
And drinking cups of tea.
Examining the sentiment of years of memory.
The trouble we got into, the strife that seemed so big.
The lovers and ex-lovers who have all since disappeared.
Talking about the old times,
And smoking cigarettes.
The times we got involved with things we've gone on to regret.
And the laughter and the joy that comes with growing up,
And how quickly it all moves on leaving you with not too much
Of memory with clarity but a feeling that dwells and slips.
Nostalgia and our past and how it informs present.
Talking about the old times,
Drinking tea and smoking.
Shadows of the past come drifting, warming, sloping.
Leaving etches of dreams and silhouettes now faded.


110 years ago today you were born.
The Father to my Mother in West County Mayo.

'If you have a pound in your pocket and a tongue in your head,
You'll never be alone' are the words I've heard you said.

110 years ago today you were born.
The Father to my Mother and a family and all.
For you raised a girl who is worth being proud.
The signs of pure love we were always endowed.
And from the people before us we will always learn.
And the stories of their lives bring hearts to a burn.
Keep memories alive not in obscurity,
For you be at peace now in tranquillity.

The Symphony Of Her Home Town

She'd pinned her hair up and smoothed it back.
Stood in the hallway, cramped at an awkward angle.
Attempting to see her reflection in the small mirror.
Leaving the house, her profile drifting through hazed reflection in window.
Walking up the road.
The remaining slush of snow, browning and melting.
Thought back to how beautiful it had appeared only days earlier.
A blank canvas to start all over again.
To the bus-stop standing, wondering
At the life-stories of the other people waiting.
The rhythm of the street captivated her.
The melody of the traffic.
The harmony of bustling shops.
The lyrics of the life stories,
The symphony of her home town.

Beautiful Soul

When he laughs it's the giggle of a School boy.
And when he speaks it's an innocent tone.
And when he converses it's a gentle approach,
And when he rebels it's with mischief.
It could so easily be assumed,
From his joyful disposition,
That he has never known any kind of pain,
The truth is so far removed.

It's his pain that gives him perspective,
His pain that gives him endurance,
And how he has received it
Is to bestow back on the world,
Countless deeds of innocence, gentleness and mischievousness.

All the world should know him,
For surely all would be his friend,
He lives in a homeless shelter now
As his days draw to their end.

The Heart

Growing more conscious of it,
And mindful of its place,
She began to feel it more physically than ever.

The leaps, the flutters, the warmth, the rest, the stillness,
The swells, the heaviness, the aches, the pangs,
The love, the heart.

Growing more conscious of it,
And mindful of its place,
She began to feel all a little bit more.
And all things were filled with life,
And all events profound.

Truth And Beauty

The great writers, artists, philosophers have all contemplated it.
Yet in intellectualising, we complicate its essence.
And in expressing, we simplify its impact -
The nature of truth and beauty.


Lately I've been thinking,
Even thinking about thinking.
Thinking avoiding sinking,
Thinking too much it seems.

Lately I've been weaker,
Is it weaker or is it softer?
Experience knocks the edges off
The former you it seems.

And with that softening comes an openness of spirit,
Though that openness necessitates its own exclusive limits -
Where you have to face your frailties, faults, responsibilities.

Yes lately I've been thinking,
Might need more time on it please.


No more masterpieces,
Let the old books rest.
Rather than recreate let's generate
Some new interest.

No more masterpieces,
It's had its place, its time.
Let's make effigies and transcend dreams
Terrified and sublime.

And no more masterpieces,
For your shock therapy
Cannot degenerate my understanding of cruelty.

And no more masterpieces,
Break with surrealist mind.
Aligned to politics of a party -
Not art I seek to find.

And no more masterpieces,
Let the performer arouse
The deepest connection to existence
Cosmic Rigour, mortality bound.

And no more masterpieces,
Let us find new ground,
For somewhere in our deepest nightmares,
Necessity is found.


And on that sacred clock when the blessed hour chimes,
I'll meet you at the station, I'll even try to be on time.
And as the birds cry out and the flowers wake with dew,
We'll still be going strong and there'll be more stories too.
And when our eyes get sleepy and the dawn begins to lift,
We'll hold our glasses high and drink to more times just like this.


It takes great strength to be gentle
And resilience to be wise
Selflessness to love
And courage to be true.

And with these attributes in all things and of all things, contentment abides.
And the search for these attributes in all things and of all things is a gift in itself.