Armchair Fenian

And turning up the volume with
"Who cares what time it is ?"
His heart dances with
Its own mythologies but
His head still knows
That behind every Ballad
Is a family squeezed dry
By grief and another Mother
Ageing visibly...


Mina Harker's Subsequent Biography

Awake from a nightmare of
Him he's been dead twenty years
Covered by moonlight, looking
Up through a barred window
At the pale sky and the stars
Fading with no choice but to
Starve for her vote so at dawn
They'll pin her down their little
Mouse and as one prays loudly

Force feed a tube down her throat.

^

Biography

I've been writing poems for about thirty years. For the last twelve of those years I've managed to make a living at it. I think I've been very lucky!