Wheel Spin

Cigarette ash fell from the leaf
still burning in the tray,
that my wife made with her hands
scooped from spinning clay,
skill it took to round it
lines where fingers been,
patience part of process
touching as she spins.

The fine art of knowing
when to let it breathe,
or leave a chink of love
when the mud, tries to leave,
building up the motion
quicken now the pace
shimmer into focus
deepen with the chase.

Let it out, then let it in,
Let it out some more
when comes time to fire
she’s chisled to the core.
Placing in the oven,
marking underneath,
when all's melted solid,
Put him on his feet.

Sense Drift

When I first spotted her,
she was singing a song about ARGENTINA and crying
in a little club down Westmoreland St. way,
her voice took the room like a swan hung in flight,
lifting like fairy tales past
when all was calm with magic
and dreams they came in stripes.
Sinking her eyes found mine and stayed
that's when I wrote her face.

Skin like a butterflies kiss melted against cheekbone
curved softly in ways that has driven men mad,
eyes chocolate pears juiced up in brown
possessing forever all they touched
like memories of your first kiss
when knowledge was slender and kind
and fingers poured faces in wild innocence,
the boundaries of all that was underneath
as unimportant as time.

Lips popped full and red with promise
like roses exploding to the sun
in full and honest beauty,
and all that lay inside
came like the burst of a dream,
when dragons and knights were noble
touching was a tapestry
woven deep above design.

2am. the fan still spinning
I gather myself and slowly leave,
picking my way past the empty chairs
where empty conversations
are now in writhing passage
of banging grunting flesh
waiting for the juices
to free their minds for sleep.
Crazy Irishman just sits and stares
I hear the bar keep mutter,
closing their door
finding the night I wander home
where my walls live and wait
in bathed patient plaster
for the touch which makes their cracks
waterfalls and streams.

^

Biography

I was born in Castlebar CO. MAYO. I have just recently returned from San francisco, where I had been living for the last ten years. I have had the honour on numerous occasions of reading my work at numerous events organised by the Irish Arts Foundation. I was also co-founder of Sheep Talk Productions and enjoyed some success in stage work, both as an actor and producer. My poetry has previously appeared in various editions of the Anderson Review and Connaught Telegraph. I am currently working on my first play "There's Nobody Mad Here".