US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Seven

Hope for a reunion with Emma was probably still draining from my heart, yet it was with an otherwise pure desire for enjoyment that I set off this final night in Dublin for the most convenient ice rink I could find – more than five kilometres away south-east of my hostel, at the Royal Dublin …

Heartache Phlog Poem

I would never kill myself, But I still sometimes hate life. A loveless fucking existence, Seems my constant strife. I do not want three children, Or even really a wife. But a hand to caress my heart, Not an always plunged knife.

US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Six

Other questions are still difficult but at least possible to answer.  And other answers come easily, such as to why and how has my blog chapter about three days in Dublin stretched to six posts?  Clearly it’s because I’ve been waxing philosophical, reflective and romantic to a greater extent than in some of my other …

Poem Dedicated to the Abbott Government

A child wakes upon the world, And soon thinks upon its fate. Will it endure a tortured life, Or else enjoy one simply great. For years it has little control, Blindly relishing what it ate. Then wakes adult as if anew, In a world whose hour is late.   Powers that be have indulged, In misdeeds …

US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Five

It took an extremely random cigarette with a backpacking young German man to make me, almost two years later, finally realise what Emma and I had shared in New York was merely an almost clichéd romantic interlude; and that my ulterior motivated pursuit of her across the Atlantic to her hometown of Brighton was never …

US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Four

It was one of my favourite walks of the entire trip – the doomed search for jazz through much of Dublin’s inner-city by cold yellow Christmas week-eve lamplight.  And walking I certainly did do a lot of, through Los Angeles, San Francisco, Vancouver (and Squamish), Las Vegas, New Orleans (despite or in spite of illness), …

Writing Process Poem

I should be asleep, Instead I'm awake. Hands on keyboard, Head a dull ache. Arse planted on seat, Eyes the screen rake. Give much tonight, And tomorrow take.                 A bipolar existence, So much is at stake. Will it successful, Me one day make? That is not the issue, Just a focus mistake. Rather I'll write, …

US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Three

Fond memories of watching a pair of swans cruise the River Liffey strike me at the beginning of this blog post.  Due to one being pure white and the other dirty-brown of feather, I assumed they were a mating male and female.  I tend to assume the white one, being more aesthetically pleasing, was the …

US and UK – Emerald, Isle Be Hungover tha Whoale Taime – Part Two

Dublin was frustrating.  Because for the first time I’d found myself in a city in which I genuinely believed the entire rest of the country – its gently rolling hillsides and sun-frustrated emerald green grass – was more worth seeing than its capital.  But I had no wheels, and was only staying three days before …

Pub Phlog Poem

Lubricated speech of many, Wrestles through the air. Cigarette smoke and crass jokes, Fly thick and fast, to be fair. Just one example of tradition, It happens here and also there. Drinks are downed and boasts brought up, You'd be straining to rightly care. For it's not an end but just a means, Within a …