Archive for August, 2013

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those roots grab you back

coffin laden on barley

lifted on the wind,

your voice  i heard once

as cars exploded on the streets

and police batons fell,

i grew listening to you

embracing my heritage

not strangers to a landscape,

scattered  with grass seed

upon heavy peat bogs,

alone with your pages

paper yellowing in the sun

i got to know what

rhythm made the music inside

and caught magical light,

you where a viking

a warrior of words

forged by the great anvil,

i still read you

as many do

your place is deeper

than sinew and bone

you are a molecule

of a fresh soul

coming to a brighter

day

poet, ireland, seamus heany, nobel prize

Seamus Heaney
1939-2013

Then i saw you at 5 am as i could not sleep anymore what a world we live in

Spikey Mouse Photography

I can’t sleep.  Not quite an unusual occurrence as it may seem. My daughter brought it on tonight, she is 11 years old and has hit puberty with a wallop, i don’t like her at the moment sad to say, she is nasty, foul mouthed, contrary, if i say it’s black she say’s it’s white, parents every where will understand. She also has problems sleeping, it all stems from her having to sleep in our room until she was 6, our house is on the small side, 3 adults and 3 kids and only 3 bedrooms, until we went up into the loft. The boys are up there and she now has the box room, read ‘cant swing a cat room’ and she has tried! I think she misses the company, tonight she went to bed at 9pm and was still not settled at 11.30 so now i can’t sleep…

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you food preacher,

man of spatula skills

appear on lcd tv

and tell us of our food

our lifestyle,

congested lungs and stomach

and inability to feed ourselves,

the benefit louche

and disposable low income,

our world has no michelin stars

siting over

wild tarragon and mussels

instead kebabs or chip shop,

waste of money to some

but we need to live as well

already ghettoized

by paparazzi

obese and slovenly,

try finding money for electric

meter

or 52 inch tv,

we are human remember

lives of our own

and those to be born,

stigmata

of minimum wage

and rent overpriced,

come into our world

if you must

but do not preach or condemn

you can never understand

cook, food , poverty

Jamie Oliver

food, poverty , Jamie Oliver

31p Cornflakes

history cannot be muted by a kiss

butterflies will not drown in your drink

dark streets do not betray your shadow

he strokes her fragrance

with a soft inhale,

a kitchen room

cabinets stove fridge and sink

table center

soup can next to opener,

between them,

the earth has not fallen

yet still they stare

not at each other

but at the can

silver topped paper wrapped,

blood smears oceans

and desert sand,

wine flavored tongues begin to talk,

as they decide

stripped of it’s cloth

the table was bare and knotted,

around her shoulders

cloth placed

as they found out about

soup and why it was in

can