Poem - The Incessant Bell

the bell was ringing incessantly

what could it mean

a bomb – surely no, Gerry is here

but shit, the conspiracy theorists

a fire,

I smell no smoke

home time – couldn’t be already

tea time – that must be it

I might go down to the canteen, sorry,
the Members dining area

and get a cup of tea and a kit kat

I wonder when there will be a vote

about something

these boyos don’t do much here

ah well €8,234.28

not bad for a month
.
..
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Background: extract from a story yesterday relating to TD voting patterns...
Kerry South Tom Fleming, a new TD, only voted on six of the 20 occasions he was signed in.

But last night he said it took him a few days to understand that the bells that ring around Leinster House before votes were for calling TDs to the chamber..

By Drax Ireland

..

A Poem - Dripping Goodbye

I left the house like aliens took me

what a mess, papers, notes,

half eaten poems

dirty dishes, wine bottles..

and an unmade bed

the shape of her there still

the peaks and troughs of passion 

clear to me in the disarray

echoes of her cries pasted on my wall

the warmth of her body hanging there
in the ice of my mind..

dripping goodbye

.

Poem - The Retired Dragon

The retired dragon looked longingly at his toes
and the retracted webbing
never to fly again 

in the swirls and twirls of love’s chase
the red eye covered with the patch of alone
the spark of his flame now quickly extinguished

bound on this moribund ground

trudging towards his final mountain cave

and the bones 
of Her…

there…

.

Image Courtesy of Mark Behm..
http://www.markbehm.com/blogger/

___________________________________________________________________________

By Drax Ireland

My Silence

I need my silence
to chase after words
in their mind
like a greasy shadow in a doorway
half glimpsed
half grappled
half grabbed
light disrupts
the shadow obscured
in that moment of loss,
anger...
no relief..
only a death...

The Days Run Away... after Bukowski

.

"the days run away like wild horses over the hill" Bukowski

you look up and you're 30 and married
40 and you're divorced
50 and alone
this is good, you start to count lines
hoard the days
focus on the art, the wind,
the way a bird turns its head to look
you find yourself doing that
looking at it
with the one good poet's eye
part of it makes sense
the madness of the world
as you pass observing, recording, distilling
an objective subjective perspective

Poem - An Empty Puppet

I hold the supple skin of your middle, firm..
as you dance your firedance,
I lose myself in your circle
and we become as one.
The weaving of my bones to the night,
I wait on the whim of your star
standing in my lone heart shoes.
The colours of your aura
imprinted on my mind.
I dance the steps of the possessed
and I fall down, down.
An empty puppet
loves lost strings tangled and torn


__________________________
once upon a time there was this girl and she learned to firedance in Cambodia... and well that's that...

Poem - The Moan of the Pine

the almost silent moan of the pine
passed to the excited sycamore
it’s leaves flapping
with news of the wind
and so to the garrulous ash
half dead leaves reanimated
rushing off cackling and cracking
dancing in swirls and twirls
like old ghosts no one fears

____________________________________

at my old place I had these pines and late on a moonlit night the ghosts gather...

By Drax Ireland

Poem - If..

Intro

Valentines Day focuses on the boy or girl that has a boy or girl... the lonely hearts are in the wings, wilting, waiting, wishing....

if I was a bird
you are the colour on my wings
if I was a fish
you are the rainbow on my back
if I was the land
you are the flower growing in me
if I was a star
you are the light shining from me
if I was a song
you are my music
if I was that boy
you are my girl
if
if only
if only