The man’s music,
strung out,
resounded
across the square
across the tracks
And it may
even have reached
internally
for some stood staring,
perhaps wondering,
perhaps wagering
as to who’d
be first to crack…
The man or his audience.
Category Archives: Poetry & Short Stories
Untitled 4
In time there would be nothing,
not of me not of anybody,
if that’s what life dared to promise us.
In truth I don’t care ’bout that,
the resigned state of pessimism,
call it reality of fact, I don’t care!
The great movement of living;
those Carpe Diem so few.
Poets, lovers, people all,
and forgotten.
Don’t label it irresponsiblity
because you’re afraid to experience.
Call it life, call it different,
just not yours.
In time I’ll be gone
With the rest of them too,
A collected bundle of bones, dust and ashes.
In truth I have loved
but of them very few
would I dare to summon-
to my bed at the end.
Untitled 3
The bells didn’t really toll for me,
they didn’t really toll for anybody.
At least not far as I could see
but I’d been blind since infancy.
Maybe a harpist can
make it this way.
Or maybe I’m just a slave to passion.
I would take it
as each passing day,
a constant wonder with its grave indecision.
Untitled 2
A rumbling, a murmuring,
the old and the new.
A rattling, a rippling,
that share the same hue.
Progression, obsession,
the life’s daily grind.
Advisor, contriver,
the truth’s hard to find.
A beauty, a bounty,
a conflict with lust.
Surrender, asunder,
when dreams turn to dust.
Untitled 1
Early on a Friday morning
The murmuring began.
„Don’t go to school today my friend.
Today let’s have some fun!”
„But I’m the teacher” I proclaimed,
„ And without me then there’s none.”
„So be it” that damned voice continued,
„They’ll not miss you, not anyone!”
Summertime
The two of them just sat there in the evening’s shade,
the sun just then was setting,
but oh how they wished that it had stayed.
For in both they could feel this moment,
this chance to be alone,
deep in side themselves they knew that
too soon it would all be gone.
Evening tram
The sunlight threatened o’er a rooftop.
In the shade my glare weary eyes relaxed.
Still the sheen spelt across the terracotta border
promised something I could not live without.
Even if the fierce light burned deeply,
to the point that my pain limit was tested,
my pleasure was also in extracting
the life source, the energy, the soul.
I closed my eyes at the next gap,
which fell between two tall buildings,
let my eyelids bathe in the evening’s rays.
I allowed myself joy where once there was pain.
Kind a karma
I hurried between the cars. At another time it would have been dark, but Spring has arrived dragging summer along, and of late the evenings had been stretching. The flashing green light gave me the right to be on the road but I just wasn’t sure I could venture across without looking. This city was unforgiving to those who were careless or apt to take it for granted. Rules here applied on a hierarchy*: a pedestrian stepping amongst motorised vehicles was the lowest of things. The way was safe, so my senses proclaimed, and I made the far footpath still intact. Engines rumbled about me but in the cooling evening shadow the sound held a pleasant air even if the stink still couldn’t.
I don’t know if he’d spotted me from afar as vulnerable, or was I just one of many. The latter would pertain to truth but for now I felt like the unlucky antelope, singled out for special attention. Why couldn’t that have been my role where girls were involved! Through the hedgerow I first glimpsed him rising from his porchway step, his drunken friends resplendent in their slurring (noodling: ref to Hungarian) support.
His smile, gapped and stained, with his watery eyes, were his weapons, as was his charm, lost on me, however, as I struggled to deciphre words. He may have been chosen because he was the most eloquent of the bunch but as I had sprung my defences early, assuming no understanding – it wasn’t my language afterall – nothing of his initial assault filtered through. He was not deterred, nor was I. The change in my back pocket was ready for use. I only needed to deploy it.
I smiled genuinely, I had no reason not to.
„Mit akarsz?” ( What do you want?)
A mumbled reply.
„Igen igen,” I countered, „ de mit akarsz?”
I hinted at an urgency but in truth my only haste was to sit and have my drink before the bus arrived. It would, therefore, be best if this negotiation could be rendered short but significant.
„Apro.” (Change)
„ Jo!” (Good)
„ Csak egy kicsit?” (Just a little?)
„ Csak egy kicsit!” I replied as I handed him a 200 forint coin. Not much but on these streets not a little.
He smiled appreciatively and left with a goodbye. I, likewise, passed on a salute and perched nearby, opened my bottle, and began to drink. I should go unmolested, I assumed, because, at least, I had been kind. Isn’t that how Karma works!
* http://thehairyteacher.com/?p=439
The train way
To say he laughed heartily would be an understatement, he bellowed, and with every expulsion of mirth heads swivelled till at one point an old man stayed fixed on the proceedings. Whether entertained or annoyed I never found out though the Big Man for his part was undeterred, perhaps even thrilled, by all the attention. Stories which would have best been kept slightly hush-hush became public information and just in case there was any doubt as to the validity of many a tall claim his name dropped acquaintances were put in context: “Shur you always see that kind of thing in the Guards.” The Guards, or Gardaí, being the Irish Police force, and he being bulky enough to have the pleasure of being mistaken for one, even had he not been, people who perhaps disagreed with his politics rather kept their mouths shut. He was not a man to be messed with!
Along with his laughter came a package of pride. He was a Corkman and could not for the life of himself imagine why anyone would want to leave that great city by the Lee. When I nearly mentioned for love, I checked myself. I already ran the script through my head on that count. The idea of reading love sonnets to this man was akin to teaching table manners to a Hyena, though the latter in this case I could imagine being civil enough as to ask as to the necessity of the knife and fork.
To say that this man was uncouth, boorish, ill-mannered would be also to betray in myself a sense of snobbery which I struggle not to adhere to and it is for this reason that I take to these characters quickly. He was afterall entertainment on a 3 hour train journey that would otherwise have been a simple game of Cat and Mouse between my partner, Andi, and me, and our daughter, Tara.
This was our return trip so we had already experienced the extent of Tara’s curiosity concerning public transport. To say that the Big Man offered us a welcome distraction would be serving it up diluted. Even she, at the tender age of one and a half, could sense the awe which this man commanded. Her father may be her beacon but this fella was a mountain of being.
Well this ‘mountain’ was most entertaining but just as the train arrived in Dublin, as if he knew, he questioned us as to our destination, ie accommodation, and when we replied, giving the name in question, he offered his mightiest howl yet. At this stage the others began scrambling for the exits, though the train was still ten minutes off, and when we shot him half quizzical/ half sheepish looks he went on to explain. Monday’s their busiest night, it’s Guards and nurses night!!! He needn’t have said more…but he did and, whereas, I’m sure he had no intention of being cruel, the very fact that he had nothing reassuring to convey only served to compound my worst fears.
It had all been too easy: the booking, the price, the location, and now here I was with my partner and child about to head into the jaws of the beast that was nightlife Dublin.
I wish…
I wish my lust’d been purer,
directed with desire, not fear.
Exposed and foolish in the light
rather than behind a drab net curtain.
I wish my love’d been stronger,
not conditional, rancid with jealousy.
I’d fear the loss of things before
ever I was allowed them.
I wish my mind’d been stronger,
not driven by the whims, critiques of others.
I’m not a bully but I am worse;
I’m the one who fears to speak!