Collecting CD’s

Collecting CDs


1996  A.D.

Another collection…TV, spotlight, discs, an odd slipper, an overcoat.
Memories cannot be left behind, as I credit my fund of knowledge;
An account that lingers in red;
A Queen of Hearts will move me into black,
Only for Hell’s joker to saunter through and squander my hand.
Bound for another town and another job, amassing the stop gaps.
More gaps than chapters, but each gap builds the book they call ‘life’,
furnishing a long chronicle to sit amongst the sleeping masses;
they fill libraries as we do graveyards.

2010 A.D.

In the New Age, future generations surf over our life stories.
Go on…activate CD; resurrect me.
The disc was first collected by me.
A virtual photo album snapshots civilisations past,
Its idiosyncrasies provide a muse for the curious surferette,
Where ordinary legends can be launched from PC-TV.
Transmit them to your French pen pal over the ‘Net.

2100 A.D.

The begrudgers of history will find no disc space out in the future,
archived in dormant libraries on the I-way’s death row,
sentenced to a lifetime in downtown Alpha-Purgatory.
Hey look! There’s grandfather, father, daughter and son!
Related first by blood and then by inherited CD.
Technology ensures their lifetimes will run continually.

2200 A.D.

No more Anno Domini, what She giveth, She taketh away.
She comes to collect; an experiment; overgrown.
All human records are commandeered; a new Project beckons.
Will our remains ever be re-sown?
Or will our DNA mapping direct us to the great library in the sky?
Perhaps the map was divinely encrypted.
Unable to disengage from it’s self-destructive course.
Banished by its architect-in-chief,
Plunging us into an infinite equation beyond our best
Scientific and intuitive concept.

El inF?

January 1996

My Perfect Fantasy

A loving heart searches through a meaningful gaze,
To security bound in love, not doubt.
Too many killing fields have been played,
There exist barren plains and a generation lost.
Futile backgrounds ground lovers into dust,
More than anything I want to earn your love and trust.

In love, please accept the power of your self,
Allowing love to flow freely between us.
I yearn happiness in so much haste,
But your love I seek not to waste.
Don’t leave me in mid-sentence,
Abandoned on an icy-cold seabed.

In search of peace and tranquil waters,
I feel warmth in your colourful sails.
A loving woman I so want to deserve,
In you, I see one I’d happily serve.
So don’t lose me in the rocky ravines,
Just lead me down a road to our dreams.

Fear not those families at war, negative in tone,
Doubt neither yourself, or the one who willingly seeks.
Protect your values, and hold fast to your dreams,
Amidst the gossiping swell, I don’t want you ‘alone’.
Leave skeletons buried, banished in history’s place,
For in our friendship, much love has already grown.

In all things I wish to build,
A foundation steadfast and true.
Through drudgery I wish not to descend.
To lavish you with kind love is what I desire.
By hurting you, part of me pretends,
The best for you in life is what I aspire.

In finding each other, our love will surpass,
Sentencing at a stroke those foolish endeavours.
Set your fears free and let love take its course,
Your beautiful warmth, I’ll cherish forever.
So let love fulfil its journey,
And be swept away by this magical force.

Let dreams weave their way around us,
And merrily dance the hillside.
Fostering a love that can care and nourish,
Disposing those voices that have lied.
From a den of despair,
To a nest we can replenish.

Don’t spurn me on this fruitful quest,
For its all my love I’d like to bequest.
Avoid feelings of self-doubt,
And have faith in your being.
Through this I hope you accept me wholly,
And give our love true meaning.

For mere stepping stones I warily tread,
They infect my heart with seeds of dread.
Offer me a stronger bridge to follow,
And a book that can be comfortably read.
In these chapters our love can wallow,
To the place of your dreams I’d like to be lead.

17th February 1997

China Doll

Delicate and pure
Externally demure.

Idolised her figure
Through punishing rigour.

Obsessed with her allure,
And the search for a ‘cure’.

Worshipped her visage,
A deception, a mirage.

Superficial and sweet,
The fantasy is complete.

Ever so patronising,
The pursuit agonising.

The love of an image,
To add to my baggage.

Amidst depths of pain,
Light bursts through the rain.

A china doll for sure.

Dublin 3rd June 1999

Secret Garden

Flowers bloom in spectacular colour,
They fill a garden with natural wonder.
A sight, a smell so incredibly wondrous,
Next to grass, green and lustrous.

Set amidst a Tudor-style maze,
Ideal for creatures in which to laze.
A secret door beckons,
For those that look towards the heavens.

A might oak door stands aloof,
Luring the inquisitive garden sleuth.
Almost obscured by evergreen,
Hiding treasures that must be seen.

No secret keys or clues to find,
Not just a game of any kind.
No obvious stones in which to uncover,
Just three magic words for the garden lover.

So stand poised and softly utter,
Those magic words you shouldn’t just mutter.
For only those that have a clue,
Will move the oak, and walk on through.

Just think quietly and concentrate,
For the oak door is patient and can always wait.
Quiet meditation must be attained,
If paradise is to be found, then retained.

Once through, the mortal stands aghast,
Reviving dreams long since past.
Avenues of trees line up in majesty,
A heavenly sight for anyone to see.

Flowers dance along rolling green verges,
Resplendent in colour, aided by sunlit surges.
Garden furniture and ornaments abound,
For us to sit and gaze all around.

Birds of Paradise, their wings ablaze,
Like the phoenix it withstands heat and haze.
They usher you toward the garden’s centre,
A place of rest, a peaceful venture.

A crustal blue stream sparkles bright,
To guide you to a magnificent light.
An eternal fountain and its holy waters,
They heal Mothers, Fathers, Sons and Daughters.

At the end of the garden, pick one door from seven,
For only one provides that stairway to heaven.

26th May 1997

The Pilgrimage

the-spirit-of-glendalough

Part I – Darkness

On the little shimmering lake,
I met my demons,
Not by mistake.
An echo of shattering calm,
As fresh water caressed my palm.
Cold on my face,
But new light I embrace.
Along the seeker’s green road,
Emotional baggage I sought to offload.
Encircling a Celtic shrine,
Somehow drawn towards the divine.

Summoned by the mountains’ spirits
During a dream of early summer,
I recall its peak and vibrant colour.
In the valley of the light,
Dreams flow out of the night.
The bitter wind pierces me,
Leaving me cold and exposed.
The winter chill snakes through the hills,
Taking the edge off a visual thrill.
Descending through the valley,
I count the crosses I must carry.
Against nature’s brute force,
I struggle for my own inner source.
A fountain of well-being,
What my dreams are seeing?
An angel to fall out of the sky,
How that would catch my romantic eye.

Up to the cell of Saint Kevin,
Eyes lifted up to heaven.
In this peaceful place,
I felt the presence of God’s grace.
The oak circle draws energy in,
Casting out my pain and sin.
The black lake I visited before,
But with guardians
Who kept me safe and secure.
The blackness left me disturbed,
Imagined depths that were absurd.
But from the Saint’s glade,
The dream’s message was played.
And of this irrational fear,
I now embrace the lake
Like the babe I hold so dear.

On the dark side of the lake,
There was a warmth, a welcome break.
A green enclosure and a cavern bed
For a saint; made to measure.
How the volumnous waters descend
They effortlessly glide down
Every crevice and bend.

Ancient rocks alter the flow.
In winter sun, the crystal waters glow.
In the forest, soft soil lies underfoot,
Autumn colours decorate the route.
Rustic reds, bronze and brown,
Warm the face and disperse a cold frown.
Shades enriched by a moist orange sky,
Colouring the carpet where fallen leaves lie.
On this hallowed ground,
Celtic treasures can be found.
Under this sky,
I keep the dream in my mind’s eye.

In a simple visualisation,
I can add to this creation.
In the darkness of the womb,
My own growth was given room.
A watery existence, one can assume.
In this cavernous domain,
I was warmed not in vain.
But upon the first light ray,
Comes the cold light of day!
This moment of birth,
We sub-consciously carry.
Until we revisit
Our own special valley.
Through the wisdom, this poetry sends,
A deeper message soon transcends.


Part II – Retreat House

As the sun crept across the window,
A ray of gentle light streaked across my page.
As if to animate
The beast in my cage!
That same light hugged the mountains,
Just as water filled up fountains.
The colours of earth illuminated,
Just as my dream illustrated.


Part III – Monastic City

On the mountain slopes, a rich carnival of colour.
Green, purple, yellow, red, orange and brown.
The spectrum of seasons
Project on its daunting incline.
How I will cherish this sweet moment of mine.

To the round tower, lofting skyward
Half dressed in shadow.
Its upper body exposed.
As the sun’s rays sweep across the holy city,
Protecting the graves that many so pity.
Celtic souls rest in its looming shadow.
At peace with themselves.
But of some, their lives I poise to ponder.
A thirty month old infant,
Buried with her elderly mother.
Barely a harvest did that babe grow,
But amongst so many,
Her little soul radiates a magnificent glow.

Part IV – Light

The sun’s rays bring out the blue,
And positive thoughts
That have been too few.
Upon the fast-flowing waters,
An explosion of light.
Winter’s mist shines so bright.
As I ascend the forest,
The Goddess moves through its shadows.
The tree spirits cheerfully whisper
To their descendants in stone.
Including those that children have thrown.
I sit aghast, as light pours on water,
And as water travels down the valley.
Down the old mountain,
To a well,
Or perhaps through a fountain.

At noon,
On the lower lake, blue meets green.
And the demons can now be seen!!

The elegant pines point majestically
Towards the blue sky.
A leafy green surface over which,
Birds only fly.
As I continue my ascent,
The forest’s light show
Luminates my lament.
Light trickles through,
Thoughts and colours imbue.

Back to the lower lake
And a rock for a perch.
Where I can admire
The ‘lady of the forest’, the silver birch.
A tree’s roots pierce the ground,
Like the veins of a wise old woman,
They hold a certain wisdom; profound.
Only when my energies flow,
Can my own spirit
Flourish and grow.

 

Glendalough,
Co. Wicklow,
Ireland.
14th-16th November 1998.

New adventure

This is the start of my adventure into the blogosphere. In my enthusiasm to find an original site and username, not to mention an attractive skin, I now feel too weary to write anything of note. So here is daring to be different. Let the journey begin.