This Island, This Floor

…inspired by watching the jigsaw crumble…

The etched faces,
Torn up expressions of joy,
Running on a chemical half-life,
Too quickly running to fill with fear,
Pulled into shapes that seem so like the same,
To before.

Except turned sideways,
Deformed a baker’s dozen, then some,
In the mix, stirring sweet chocolate,
Oddly jarring but recognisable,
Dawn rises showing changing cheekbones’ and chequebooks’ shadows,
Shifting with time as we grow old,
As adult sanity moves us in directions new,
Well, we all have shifted, solidly,
Now, worn but young,
Who was to know?
Six foot gaps tread upon where friendships once had grown,
I still see them as boys, and girls,
Gifted, of talent, and powered by voice,
Not physical, no…manifest,
Of that which lay within,
With causes that needed attention,
Are you looking closely at what we had began,
Playing freely,
Hearts and minds,
Although now higher strung.

Do you still see that we are young?

A life slowly made whole from ashes burnt and done,
Becoming complete slowly,
Ready to reach out, I’ll mention,
Not knowing quite what is clear to come,
I’ll admit,
We know what happened…
What syncopated motive, made movement,
For a moment was made,
Madness prevailed,
And what repercussions were left in that wave…

Bitten and stung,
Was my reward, though lying there,
Though on the edge, not just I,
The circumstances differed,
Aware that the blindfold was transparent,
Still an audio soul, photographic as seen,
As sound appears as word to me,
So with each note I saw, the wonderment ceased,
No longer sat in childish awe,
Was a boy so taken by another’s words,
I was struck by the insecurity,
Of the ‘whether we coulds’,
Against the ‘what if we win’,
And in doing so fail to forget our own sins,
In taking light of the weight,
Of what we had so tried to do.

You may ask what, but it is simply put,
Some may argue and others agree,
Because after all this is just generalisation,
Rambling thoughts, from I dare say me,
Present and correct, detached and left,
Still Starboard and looking, for the little bits to call Port,
From our agenda, burned gladly,
At the expense of our heads,
On long days that could have been spent as nights,
Laying awake in bed.

We sought to be happy,
And find something new,
To change the ‘being’ to positive of not just my friends,
Or I,
…but you.

“We’ll teach them all”,
With our united Verve,
Because we are one in our owns’ mind,
Collected, together – hell,
In an army, not forceful, just there to be dealt with,
A hallion battalion driven cultural semi-terrorist cell,
Believing in truth,
As we see fit, no authority but our own,
And who was ever to say that we were wrong?

Dignity adrift,
On a trip, a ‘fierce mild’ journey,
Destination not left, right or wrong,
Travelling along, only we will sing the greatest songs,
Feel that our group is the one who just belongs,
At the top,
Or the middle,
On that we I sadly say, differ,
And I don’t dare say the bottom on that I be clear,
Though no ear will hear,
I’m just trying to be realistic,
Self perception appearing legitimate,

Find me empowerment,
Or even strength,
In soured heroes,
With guitars dirtily strung at their backs,
On my living room floor,
Or yours,
From which our front lines do attack.

Though pause, and see where I first thought,
Outside my head, at what seemed bereft,
Of entertaining, imaginative, perfect flow,
Mathematical drum beat appearing bright,
Or that previously stated syncopated tempo,
You know the one,
That sets our hearts aglow.

So that said…

Your destination is twenty four,
Remember that,
Not forty two, no, though the irony is not lost here,
In the drum-roll reversal,
Attempted drop to something less vague,
Segue to a known laugh,
The constructs of originality laid out bare,
This isn’t a plausible universe in which to live,
Or a decent place to feed our souls,
At the near or the far side…

…there are feasts closer to home,
Where all my wild things used to roam,
Kidding myself about making all these kids remarks,
About things no longer relevant to the daily task,
Of keeping a step ahead of the last victim of mankind,
But those feasts,
Not mine, not yours,
Our their own, even, as we saw them,
There are feasts anew, and the ones we saw the edges of,
Frayed, imperfect, mistakes abound,
Don’t fret my unknown friend,
Even as this pop culture twist, exists,
You cannot miss,
There, still in the darkness,
The one shining light with the yellow door,
Hallway and Presidential in all but street,
Smartly tailored to our needs,
Forever ours,
And always will be.

Do you still see that we are young?
I do,
It gives me soothing comfort,
Past and future,
Sitting as one.


Fingers, All The Fingers (Gerry Norman)

…there was a point when fingers appeared to be in vogue, are they still.

They are for me.

They always will be.

September 19, 2012 | No comments

a new kind of light

inspired by all of the souls I’ve had the pleasure to meet this year.

Charge up all you stars shining on bright,
Give me to life,
One never known but cared for lying awake at night,
I love your light,
Burn out my soul,
As is taken too much,
Of what I don’t have to give,
Please let me live,
Please let me live,
I’ve given grace to all I can,
Leave me be as my own man,
Broken and twisted by all I’ve seen,
Surviving the overdose,
Of my own dreams,
Forced into my face,
At breakneck speed.

Still I delight, delight in the night.
Darkening my vision,
Shadowing sight.

Yet I don’t understand, how the logic is wrong,
When the maths of my feelings are theoretically strong,
And hell I think that the truth of all lyrics have volume,
But only in song,
Or also on prose,
That talk of sweet friendly birds on our shoulders,
And heartfelt dreams as we talk to each other,
In body and soul,
At the end of the day treating all not ourself cold,
And sometimes we save chills at our actions,
Beg to be the better being,
Or individual pieces more than we seem.

Tags: ,

The Captain

The tide of music washes loud,
Here in this place,
Soaks the earth at our feet in warmth,
Messages playfully written on our face,
Each pulled into heroic gestures the tall try to forget,
Many stories by the oul’ fires,
Yet many tales lay unspoken still to tell,
From within the walls of my mind,
This prison cell.

This island, nay city,
Don’t reach too high without holding hands,
Peak, trough?
Crest of the slump,
Scenes of love,
And all the above,
Solidarity’s wake,
All that has come will come in vain,
If at heart we no longer hold each others names.

There, the tide has come in,
The scales can tip,
And all we fought for can go down with this ship,
Smiles cut sharp on our face,
Hell we’ll do it with magical grace, and sell our souls
For to have genius carved in our place of rest.

On, into the skip, along as we will,
Clinging to these walls that talk of the clan,
Pasting signs out on murky nights marching,
Or casting out our nets, flooded with spam,
Soldiers we call ourselves,
By fuck but we’re green,
Endangered souls with rifles shiny and new,
Excited to be filled with novel ideas,
Based on tomes of old,
A fiction in our hearts not yet made fact,
Yet still we all clap,
Applauding a destination not yet reached.

They arouse all my passions,
And I’ll fight for this case because it fills me,
This love I know,
Just not the fashion,
Or tokens given,
The high born hips,
Punkish youthful sons,
All, that don’t look to their heads,
Those now clung to the deck,
Gripping on by their threads through the cavernous void,
That shows no respect,
To the original captain,
Weeping there on his pew.

Is he weeping?
Fuck no.
He’s on a ship new,
Away journeying fresh,
And now there are many,
But at first, there were few.

That message sent, lost in crimes unknowing,
Bottled at scene,
I’m drowning in sound,
Though not alone as I thought,
You’re here beside me, if ghostly,
So lets cry aloud, revolution anew.


Decky Pill, Behind Ireton

April 22, 2012 | No comments

We Are The Wings Of The Butterfly

Inspired by E.F. Schumacher.

I don’t exist,
Honestly, listen, I’m not all there,
I’m up in the sky, a part of the stars,
Just light reflected back by the bits that hold weight,
Fired out with a bang,
As this own discussion,
Ended before I’ve even begun,
Proudly part of the ‘ninety-nine percent’,
That is absolute space,
Empty shells full of so much potential, love and disgrace,
We think there’s so much within,
How could we be so wrong?

Man is small,
And small is beautiful,
In the mind’s eye,
To put the emphasis on the visible,
When it’s the little not the grand that matters,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

Wait, hold that thought…

I’m not pissed off, out of my mind,
Lost along the rabbit hole,
Or forest of locked jaws and knocking knees,
I’ve maybe just missed the point, of all of this ‘bliss’,
Following along random lines without an excuse,
Whilst I’ve been kicking up leaves,
And trying to breathe,
Between the first pages of the manual,
And wherever I put it down,
The given template found boring,
A guide that perplexed,
With each page that was turned,
I disagreed more with the text,
Now running freely abound, head in the clouds,
With independent ideas of what it is that life should be,
And the incorrect notion that its best teacher is, me.

I tried to branch out, process the fruits as presented,
Knowledge picked from the tree,
Natural, open, and deliciously scented,
Put all together,
Still don’t know what it means,
Any more than you do,
I suppose I just like learning, pretending at things,
Plucking the seams,
Peeking behind the veil,
Using any and all means,
At least that’s how it appears,
You cannot deny, this has an appeal,
Calm, don’t look at me sideways when I tell you my dreams.
I know you have them too,
That’s what keeps the smile real.

Though have you noticed, they all look the same,
Our processes unbalanced, though powerful, insane,
From back here where it all feels developed,
I say,
“Well that’s just my brain,”
“My way,”
“That makes me unique,”
But before I make that claim,
The synapses misfire,
And with that need to speak,
My mouth creates yet more grief,
I need to lose my grasp,
Collect my cap,
See I’m the same kind of crazy, and that thought is not bleak,
Gaining connection being triumphant feat.

Man is small,
And small is beautiful,
In the mind’s eye,
To put the emphasis on the visible,
When it’s the little not the grand that matters,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

These thoughts give me relief,
Though it only grips for a moment,
Before the internal movement aims with order to restore,
Thinking that previously occupied these shores,
What was once past, policed with vengeance,
Does not willingly shift,
As the wires connect, and the gap does regress,
These feelings continue to swell,
Swiftly returns the mental hell,
Of inferring invincibility,
Being the best,
The ego has landed, the body takes care of the rest,
Doing what it’s told,
Till I’m Saved By The Bell,
The pedestrian pleasure still not a hard sell,
See I’m weak, distracted, enamoured and often awed,
Meek, to the chaotic operation of life, which all seems too serious,
To call it polite,
Surprised by self experience,
And to tasteful applause delirious,
All in equal measure,
Delivered at the same instance, and without pause.
That’s why sometimes I want to jump back to my original cause.
To not existing.

…but then I’d miss the butterflies,
The rise and wane of night,
Agreement and opinion,
Battle hardened love songs and cobbled together lies,
Our time is running out,
How can I be carbon neutral when I want to burn so bright?

That’s why I’ve made it my mission,
To stop, look and listen,
As much as I can,
At least that was the plan,
To take it all in, as if missing out was a crime,
Watching until all motion blurred around me, vision slurring,
The walls presently pulled apart without fright,
Behind which was a mirror and what this play was about,
I could feel the writer’s pen at His paper,
His voice crying out,
And behind it I saw evil,
And with it came doubt.
I stopped, my train of thought dead in its tracks,
With all this new information who was I to attack?

Man is so small,
And small truly is beautiful,
We’d see that if we tried,
No emphasis placed on the considerable,
Efforts we expend to make life matter,
Worthy, original,
Seeking the individual,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

Taken aback by this, I then felt refreshed,
In fact delighted that in the mirror there was equal blame,
The pen was in my hand,
Because I was looking at the universe I was standing in,
The very one and the same,
I felt I could heal,
Hurts first dulled, then dissolved,
Reach out and with colour paint the scene,
Join the dots between galaxies, or create love between friends,

In my power was the means to the end,
Something new needed be done, or eyes sent away,
But if all turned to static black,
Door closed firm, no,
It would not be just in shutting down,
Nothing would shine out,
No one over our shoulder watching,
Or answers to why,
Then thinking became bolder,
It hit me right there, I didn’t want to cover up this sight,
And with it the shame,
Most of it didn’t exist, including the pain,
So little was matter,
Most merely light,
Journeying unimaginable space,
To reach us inside,
We butterflies can flutter here,
Can make all this right.



Inspired by honesty.

I’m told it’s not ok,
That it’s not allowed today,
Tortured, hidden behind a shroud,
Veil of human crafted show.

Step back, whilst I sing along,
A tune now past its time,
Carries on out through the night,
That universal call.

Your preservation keeps you strong,
Yet at heart you know the wrong,
And if the Earth at feet grows dark,
It makes the stars shine bright,
And brings out all the names,
From a handmade book that life gives fame,
Then should those heavens fall,
We can find them any place,
Once cowards pass their shields,
Open doors, begin to feel,
Before it fades away.

Step back, whilst I sing along,
A tune now past its time,
Carries on out through the night,
That universal call,
Love one man,
Love them all.



Inspired by watching the over-thought of simplistic ideals.

ideas once proud,
merely broken toys,
held now within the hands of boys,
aloft thrust up with the greatest heart,
the roots forgotten amongst the shout
for they would cry to see the fruits,
see what their seed accomplished,
on the shoulders of ideas,
once proud.

Will We Ever See The Trees Again?

Inspired by hunting for the books within the library that cannot be found.

Hello, and then goodbye,
A turn around of one eight two,
In a blink listened to and adored,
But the imprints remain,
At the edges so clear,
And before then,
The experiences sing,
Tales of hope not thrown away but buried,
Amongst the hours of the twilight,
Or left in the darkness laughing,
As we all grope our way towards the dawn.

Will we ever see the trees again?
That grew to hold our lives together,
Then splintered us apart,
Continuing to branch up,
Away to that coloured blue.

Will we ever see the trees again?
I can,
At night,
When I’m smiling,
I see them lit up,
In sleep.

Colm Laverty

August 7, 2011 | No comments

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