Tart Area Rapid Transport (TART)

Saw an Irish tart,
Located at a Dublin DART station.
Shouted abuse,
And a curse of damnation.
Penance for cheap titillation.

If her arse stuck out anymore,
A daytime eclipse would surely obscure!
Even Molly Mallone would have blushed.
But alas, this ego had all but been crushed.

10th October 2000

DART train.
DART train

Sky Fire

Part I

Sheets of fire
Rolled red across the sky.
Shrouding a sparkled ceiling; blue.
Nautical landscape; inverted.
The winter moon is hers,
Not the Zodiac’s; terse.
Red ribbons of moistened light,
Streak across the cold horizon.
A bitter light, bold and brazen.

Part II

Stars to throw
Up into the sky,
Falling around me.
Making me dizzy,
And the night mist; sparkly.
Colour festival,
Exploding light, into the night.
My face beams a smile,
Brimming with delight.
Like party glitter,
Against a chill; bitter.
I spend and fritter.
Angel of the dark,
She ignites a dormant spark.

Part III

Stars in my hand,
As I glide on gold sand.
Those stars, like gel.
Keep me from hell.
Because you’re up there,
I know I’m here.
Wide horizons beckon,
They birth dreams
I have slept on.
Heaven sheds a tear
Into my mortal sphere.

Dublin, December 1998

Winter Bay

Gallery

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Shadows streak across rippled sand, Etching patterns on the land. Palm trees dance as silhouettes, Led by a mild winter breeze Carved by what the journeyman sees. In a storm, he lets out a howl And the bayside dogs Can … Continue reading

The Red Pen Bandit

Behold the red pen bandit!
For balls you really have to hand it.
To him, no pen is treasured,
To catch this thief one must be measured.

Note the bandit’s classic traits;
A pen behind each ear.
To each steal, he holds so dear,
Perhaps a teacher in yesteryear?

Populated with Bic memorabilia,
Including items that somehow seem familiar.
“Can I borrow your wee pen?”
he might chirpily inquire.
But something tells you,
That’s the voice of a liar!

At his abode, you’d no doubt discover,
Biros by the load, and of every colour.
So upon Millennium, when PC’s turn freaky,
Remember the bandit, charming but cheeky.

Your memory may be less than fond,
If not aggrieved, violated and wronged.
But when computers completely blow,
From the bandit’s pen, money will still flow.

Like a god-dammed squirrel, I have to hoard
By making frequent trips
to the stationary cupboard.
But by God, and the colour red,
We keep the bandit’s habit amply fed!!

23rd October 1998