That's me in the picture,
A collage of brothers and sisters;
I'm held high in my Mammy's arms,
Days before leaving Ireland.

Six months later, in our new home,
On a couch in our front room,
We pose again.
(See the console in our romper room?
It's testament to our boom and boons)

There's thousands of miles between those shoots,
And four million loved ones left behind
In a life and land we won't have again.
(That's the way life was back then)
No Face Time, #MeTime,
Sometimes a landline,
But always a letter in a card at the right time.

Brothers and sisters are missing.
In neglected churchyards,
And yet my mother smiles,
All the while.

Sixty years on, we pose again,
Sharing four hundred years here,
With seven hundred left behind:
Years of Famine and Hedge Schools,
Foreign invasions and Imperial Rule.

We stand *****, shoulders touching,
Between them loved ones missing;
Gone before the shutter opened,
A partial story as pictures go.

We're Irish proud,
Some of Canada's best;
An Irish-Canadian
When laid to rest.

Mirror mirror
on the wall
you make
my skin crawl;

Silvery ornate
outer edges
placed around
a pool of
serious reflection.

I face
the face
I long to erase,
slide my finger
along the cracks
that I made
in rage,
and let
the broken glass
scratch me back
as I streak it
with sloppy crimson lines.

Mirror mirror
on the wall
one more look
and I'll
make it fall
see my self
shattering to pieces
and hopefully
finally release this
sick beast
inside of me.

Daylight shades
paint the frames
and Instagram pages
with beautiful smiles
and short blond locks
that look out at
the world with
a certain
curiousness.
Snapshot moments
of social projections
pushed out onto
the internet
so strangers
can view
those small lies,
because
these pictures
do not know
or show
a quarter of
the truth.

Behind the
staged displays
of fun and cosplay
there are
dark shadows
with deep corners
where broken hearts
bleed clutching
their bruised wrists
and split lips.
Where blood drips
on the cracked tip
of the kitchen
counter top.

There are
repeated rapes,
cruelty and denial,
honesty rejected,
and despairing.
There is
a sense of
resignation
to not let this
invasion
define her life.

There is abandonment
from those who should have
safe guarded
her pulsar heart,
there is
injustice,
and while
the darkness
has not swallowed
her soul whole
yet,
she still finds time
to give light  
to a friend
who was trying to lend
a compassionate ear
to her.

These photos
do not dare
to chart the depths
seldom shared,
or explore more
then mere outward
pleasantries.

There is so much
left to see, hear,
and hold dear,
deep conversation,
neuroscience
and psychology
discussion
that are enlightening,

so much more
then mere flesh,
or hastened breathed
burnt by
desirous men
and their
unwanted intrusions.

There is dark art
and a heart yearning
for the burning
of an honest
and caring love,
one that runs
from safe fields
searching desperately
for the person they need
to protect
because to do otherwise
would destroy their life.

These photographs
are little lies
that we put out in the world,
smiles that hide
possible fast
or very slow
suicides,
especially if
there is
no one
ever around
to ask
“Are you ok?”
and if not
then to ask
“why?”

I question what I know
and know I do not much
but maybe know not nobody
how know they suchy such

What stuttered whimsy
denies the morrow
and leaves its perfume in its wake?
What cloven promise
corrects wonder
that crude and muddy shows mistakes?

Lonely pillows petrify
Mine becomes a plastic sheath
To television inspiration
I hid my dreams beneath

And whole my sleep will stutter
My feet won't walk the floor
I'll take any chance at dawn's return
Murmuring 'once more'

The room is
thick with
darkness,
black shadows
and less
blackness
permeate
everything.

Then the
fog falters
a little light
enters,
and I can see
two reclining chairs
shoulder to shoulder
with my sitting form.

I see the fuzzy floor
and barely perceptible
dresser doors
with a small tv
sitting strangely,
familiarity
edging me onto
anxiety.

I know this place.
In dread I turn to see
the shadowy ghost face
of someone I love
reaching out to touch me.

Her grip is fierce,
and I fall back
in fear and
an aching sorrow.

I wake to the morrow,
as morning tears
slip in drips
down to my
dry lips.
Facing the grief
and the shame
of seeing someone
I left alone in pain
who died
years ago.

A soft song
distracts.

The window fogs,
as white lights
fall away
running fast
as can be
on into
a sea
of infinity.

She yawns,
then fingers
a circle
into the glass
trying to
make time pass,
make her hours
move faster
then those
minute *******
that just drag on.

Dullness settles in.
Her mind wanders
slipping beyond
normal constraints.

A pew, pew, pew
of imaginary lasers
escape her
small lips
as she races
to escape this
boring moment.

Little blue eyes close,
and all those stars above
move light years closer,
as she sits
in the cockpit
of a little weaponless
space junker.

Two bogeys,
circle her ship,
but she ducks
and twirls
through the gap,
allowing the blasts
to blow up
passing meteorites
which shred the
metal plating
and pulsating
engines of her
impatient pursuers.

Now she is free
to explore infinity
with her
Soft body settled
deeply into
the comfort
of the old couch.

Eyes still closed.
Her mom
comes home,
kisses her
brave space traveler
on the forehead,
then carries
the tired wayfarer
off to bed.
A space where
dreams take
the young explorer
farther into
the star sparkling unknown.

Life hit hard that day
I realized you were gone
The pit in my stomach threatening to force it's way out

I miss you

I hear you everyday
I feel you under my skin
I dream of you

And then the harsh reality awakens with me
You are never coming home

This is no
canto,
merely
a morning
sundry.

It is
much ado
about
what
I force
myself
to work through.

I dub myself
the daily poet,
working through
the lack of muse
while I strive to
constantly improve.

Engaging in
new experiences,
even if
I fail
miserably
there is always
something there
to share.

This may not be
my best bit
of poetry
but, at least
I wrote something.

She sits in a field,
blowing off
flowing petals
from old dying flowers
as the fall sun
sets a light aura outline
around her entire body.

Long ***** blond hair
hugs her slender neck
then scatters
across her back
and the shoulders of
her lovely sunflower dress.

She spies me
with eyes of innocent
curiosity,
beckoning me
to come forth.
So, I move as she
commands.

Little pointed ears
protrude
from her messy hair.
Deep blue glowing eyes
study me quizzically.

I return the glance
eye line following her
small hands
to her slender
but dangerously
muscular arms,
then down to the side
where a short blade resides
resting menacingly.

With the voice of the wind
she asks me.
“Who are you?”cont.

I stutter in response
choking on my confusion,
thinking “this must be
some sort of Lord of The Rings
illusion.”

Hot sparks dart dangerously
from her flexing fingers
which are pointed at me.
I feel the burn
of sharp strands of
white lighting.

Daylight dulls
into an unconscious void,
and as I slip into nothingness,
I hear her whisper.
“Do not follow me.”

The light of a white
pale moon in the sky
meets my eyes
as I wake.

She is gone,
and my body aches,
but a small part of me
longs to chase after
and capture her
for the sake of my curiosity.

For the sake of my sanity
and safety
I decline that dumb urge
and decide to keep
the secret of this strange being
for my dreams
only.

The city seems to be
a complex community
built around a series
of impoverished blocks
designed to move behind
strip malls and cracked sidewalks.

Long roads bare blaring billboards,
big shiny signs with adverts,
no cryptic intent hidden in them
just blatant contempt
for the poverty stricken
men and women
who can't afford to spend
their work week pay
on a holiday weekend.

So, the daily expenses
swallow them whole
as they drown in
a dark debt hole
and all of those
pricey baubles
make them feel
shallow and cold,
turn them bitterly old
cause the lies they were told
empty their hard-working soul,
till they get lost in the sea
of wanting the shiny new things;
Becoming devoured by
the business side
of the big city.