Poem: Love Hurts

There is no rhyme for this, the grubby business of dying
cannot be romanticised on this occasion, while we are watching it.
Running to the pharmacy for stronger drugs to stop you weeping
while we watch in horror as the pain tears through you
and yet, selfish as we are, we prolong your suffering,
fighting against you for every minute and calling it the love
that means we cannot bear to lose you. So we continue
this terrible torture, beyond the bounds of common cruelty.

Poem: Valentine

Briefly it made me a little sad
the lack of roses arriving, or chocolates in heart shaped boxes,
until lucky remembrance would have it recollected
how once everything was about you,
leaving me exhausted with the impossibility of making
someone else’s happiness my goal,
trapped in the misery of lost dreams,
the focus of your disappointed anger,
worn out by trying and failing, and failing again
to infuse some joy into our joyless wretched life
and calling this love despite all evidence to the contrary,
bar once a year when we pretended with flowers
that this is the life we wanted to be living.

Poem: Reactionary

I have built myself from the wasted scraps of my once upon a times,
we are fools when we believe in old magics and mages
and hide from the monsters underneath the bed,
praying to stories while we bleed and beg.

It is dangerous and stupid to wrap ourselves in wishes,
when the alarms sound we play with limited time
and lift our hems away from the filth
blinded to everything through choice.

We parade wilful ignorance as blessed virtue
but the children are still crying between the pages
of some great liars book of shadows
and blood stained words of gospel.

If I was another type of person I would arm myself with them
these shameful hurts and horrors,
but still, for all of our never again promises
we cheerfully hand over our children.

Poem: Intervention

I thought that I would do anything for you
for whom I feel the closest approximation of love
that I can manage. It is not true,
I had imagined epic bloody sacrifice
but not this quiet intervention,
the desperate plea in your eyes
that says you love me more than I do.

I was not angry with your pleading,
but numbed, numbed, hands beginning to shake
with waiting. Run away from the situation
the noise of my thoughts,
the remnants of who I was
before all of this happened, too fast.

I forgot that the me hurting, hurts you too,
the watching me disintegrate has broken your heart.
I am emptily sorry and brokenly guilty
that in the end I will lose you for this,
the only thing that you could ask for
that I cannot give to you.

Poem: Thank you

Thanks so much for taking the time out of your busy day
To stop me in the street and let me know smoking is bad for me.
I won’t keep you talking, I know you must be busy,
Perhaps on your way to McDonalds to give warnings about obesity
Or to stand in the confectionary isle at Tesco’s to tut at people buying chocolate.

Then it will be off around the many Dublin pubs with dire warnings
About the negative effects of alcohol and increases in binge drinking
And all the while everyone will be indebted to you and thinking
How lucky they are that you happened to come along
And scold them into health and harmony.

Then you can take yourself into the beauty shops
And, not allowing yourself to be distracted by the flesh on show,
Explain how sun beds encourage malignant growths,
you will be forever the hero who saved their lives
and from now on they will be happy with pasty white.

Perhaps drop into some restaurants and express
your concern that table salt will lead to early death,
I guarantee that they will all throw away their chips
And not think you intrusive in the slightest
But will see your intervention as a precious gift
And not for one moment assume you’re a Git.