The Blind Painter
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There is a part of me missing
There is a part of me that shall never be Inside of this dark sad brooding mind Is the painter who will never see So I take my pen, and vaso of wine I contemplate I get lost in the drunkenness of time Stooped over my own memories on a sour palette I had the brushes staring at the naked breast My paints were frozen, at such beauties unrest Erect and tall, at her feet I did fall The blind painter, who lost it all So now you see I am a poet of some seedy sort Painting Braille, is poetry of my last resort I write down words with the flourish of my pen The Braille poet, cause painting I could not fend I take words and wish them bountiful explosive colors If only I had talent, a painter and not a story teller So for me, in pain and clad in the cloth of sadness I write words, for this painter has only Braille I have no painting brushes I possess no smile, wandering along on wistful miles Of blindness, blowing in the winds of the frail No map for the future, and yet I set sail Hoping my words one day will be seen By an artist who paints the soul and the serene She takes my blindness and paints boldly my dreams Taking my words, from Braille to bright pastel creams 
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Feb 2017
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Undiscovered Tears
July2016 Tears are the poison In your Vaso of wine Sadness prevails In fermented barrels Vineyards ripen in the golden sun The tortures of life come later with rum Old grapes rot in old caskets Old stories fade in book baskets Wine to vinegar Heart to hate Tribal battles Leave young lovers to fate Honey and wine Suckle the vine When the grape dies As it surely will The prison of lovers Always left undiscovered Will be exposed to the ages Tombs with sage, uncovered mazes |
Me above, Hell below, Enjoy the darkness and the show
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The Burning
It was seven days and seven nights Or there abouts, I was not so sure Life was shrouded in the darkness not at all pure I lost track of dawn, of dusk, of realities fight To keep me conscious To keep me right Comatose, delirious, unmoving slumber In this dream like state My desires still existed Thirsts to be quenched Passions flared She was seductively dressed I, with the eye of a tiger Wishing to devour her being To be with her, in her, be her To taste her very soul I smelled her nectar's inviting scent The bed sheets become drenched in sweat The heat of the night ensconced me A thousand candles and yet one more burned The heat of passion mixed with the heat of the night Flames rose from the desires within and without My subconscious has played evil tricks and fooled me again Lighting the candles that shall bring me to the beyond The sheets became brimstone, the fire engulfed me My mind in hazy confusion smelled roast flock of some sort A meal after the passions was a succulent dessert I became dizzy with the lust and the love intermixed Somehow I am sleepy, dreamy, so very tired The heat blankets me and I feel a strange foreboding The reaper is grinning, staring down on my face I try to wake, but I haven’t the wherewithal I feel the burning Painful for but a moment as the smokey flames take me For one last dance Burning, burning, searing heat Blackened and burnt Dreams No more Sunday, at 24 minutes past midnight, firetrucks arrived at an apartment in Dublin, Ireland 24 O’Connell street, and above Murrays pub, a lone tenant was found burnt to a crisp, apparently by a fire cause by candles, the remains have not been identified, and the building is a total loss. Arthur’s Day in Dublin Posted on September 24, 2009 To celebrate Arthur’s Day, From 17:59 to 22:00 All Pints of draft beers were €2.50 |
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The Hanging
The jury was unanimous Twelve cried out justice Guilty It was just before the changing hour The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection I was ready for this moment Ready to face my freedom and my death Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces Twelve faces who said I have to go Twelve past the midnight hour Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed The hangman at the ready with a somber face For his duties he did not so much embrace This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort Of spirit and determination To send this one of to his eternal damnation He was shivering and I sensed in fear As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror We both eye to eye knew this day would come The hangman and me, conscious of the sum So the note was neatly written The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor I stood bravely or maybe cowardly Upon the wooden chair The rope I wrapped around I my neck As the hangman in the mirror was in despair I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend This, you see is the end of it all All that we ever both wished or dreamed A week or two later They found the hangman A rope around his neck Staring blanking in the mirror A note on the bedside table Told this story as you hear A man with a broken heart Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection |
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The Calling
I hear the calling She is out there in the wind The darkness though Hides her inside my very thoughts My dreams escape only at the light of day Where I wonder Was she there at all My life has been this journey Seeking the calling of the one in the wind Her voice does sing, and the pain of loneliness Is my very own chamber of horrors, that stings I would fly away, if only, if only My broken wings would mend My heart is silent for it does not move There is no beat, no flow of love or tear No bonds to hold me to your breast so dear I have given this world a million smiles and facades I have cried for the pain of all the woeful stories untold Burdened it seems, with angel duties I am no longer with strength to hold or hope I feel the dust inside my mouth I hear the calling The kiss comes too late To wet my soul Thus is I who must let you now go To the depths of torment far deep and down below |
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The Loss
The pain will never leave me The grey skies I fear are here to stay I stroll amongst the stone and graves Of histories lived so long ago Why I am here, I do not know Maybe, just maybe, within my solitude I cling to a youthful desire Even that the sadness shall never leave me That one day I meander along winding garden pathways Taking in the sweet scent of flowers and ......spring Holding hands in a discarnate way With someone as lost as I Who understands With no need for words 
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One day The angels will command That even broken wings must fly Free of earthly bonds that haunt the night For there will be a time To kiss the stars above |
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La vie en mort noire The Life in Black Death I gaze out the window of my mind I am somewhat longing and lost Yes, even jealous of those inside of loves fireplace comforts For I wish to write a passionate love letter Professing desires and devotions deeper than the ocean true The ocean that divides me with you and me with love Sadly I have pen and heart, yet no lover with whom to depart I belong to no one I belong to nowhere I was born on the outside; only to walk along life looking in windows Shopping for love is pathetic in the darkness of desperation It is vile to be one who has no place, nor roots, nor smile or frown Passion has been emptied from my body like the sap drained from a tree I toss a vase upon the marble floor Shattering in chess pieces It belongs there more than I on this earth Morbid thoughts of departure are halted by my broken wings As travelers wait in bus depots of sin I wait in the soldier’s graveyard, for we all know My battles there have just begin I know, for the demons, I have seen, have sung Life and death for me, both undone seannachie 
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The Painter
She painted a boat
All alone in the sea
I whispered softly
You painted me
She painted a boat
All alone in the sea
I whispered softly
You painted me
