ALL POEMS OF PATRICK McFARLAND

Poetry Series
Patrick McFarland
- poems -
2
Patrick McFarland (1965)
Two events changed my life and influenced me more than anything else in
my 45 years on the planet:
1) The first time I heard the song 'Imagine'.
2) When I heard that the genius who penned 'Imagine'
had been murdered.
The first opened my eyes and heart
The second shattered my dreams
3
A Good Man Died Today
A good man died today
Buildings did not close
Flags were not flown at
half mast
School children
attended classes
and life went on
as it did yesterday
and will again
tomorrow.
But he was my friend
and people should know
A good man died today
Patrick McFarland
4
A Psalm for Humanity
The Lord was my shepherd;
But not anymore.
He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures with the
weak minded beasts of the
field.
He dooms my soul to eternal
slavery.
He leadeth me beside waters
of condemnation.
Yea though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for it was thou
who brought me here.
Thy rod and thy staff wait eagerly
to punish my heresy.
Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies:
Enemies I did not have before
joining thy flock.
Goodness and mercy should be
gifts unbidden.
I have seen the hallowed gates
of thine house oh Lord yet prefer
the stables.
I find there is more humanity there…
Patrick McFarland
5
A Silly Little Poem About Peace
One for all and all for one
We’re together everyone
We’re together one and all
Though our voice is rather small
Even though our voice is small
We’re together one and all
Getting louder everyday
Growing strong in every way
Growing strong and getting loud
Standing tall and standing proud
Pretty soon they’ll here our cry
From every corner of the sky
Crying out for liberty
Stop the killing
Let them be
Can you hear me Sarah P
If they die then they ain’t free
If you kill them one and all
Then you've only built a wall
Built a wall and locked the door
What the Hell are we killing for?
Patrick McFarland
6
A Very Scary Halloween
The kids are
getting ready
to go out seeking
treats
With ghoulish
masks adorned
with blood they
hunt for sticky
sweets
With flashlight at
the ready
and basket firm
in hand
They go about
from door to door
in groups across
the land
But what is this?
No Halloween?
They’re calling it
demonic
The preacher says
it's quite a plague
up there with the
bubonic
But perhaps it’s
not a total loss
as angels we may
dress
Or costumed as
a holy saint
with sinners
for to bless
And candy
for the taking
No need to trick
or treat
No need to dress
as goblins and
walk upon the
street
No need for
haunted houses
No need for
scary gloom
No need to
be kept waiting
7
for the rising
of the moon
Oh somewhere
kids are laughing
And somewhere
children play
And somewhere
hearts are happy
on this very special
day
And somewhere
kids are smiling
with no reason
to wear frowns
But there's no
joy around here
since the Baptists
came to town
Patrick McFarland
8
Abyss
We’ve pissed
into the abyss
of life leaving
chaos and strife
in our wake
for the sake
of the almighty
buck.
We’ve f****d
societies dogs;
Rabid bitches
howling madly
through Autumn’s
aborted twilight,
their plight abandoned
by the clergy and
the evening news.
Patrick McFarland
9
All Wrong
Brothers and sisters
you’ve got it all wrong
You are humming the
chorus but don’t know
the song
Put down your Bibles
and get off your knees
Get out in the sunlight
and into the trees
The poor and the hungry
are waiting for you
The sick and the homeless
and downtrodden too.
For this is the message
you all fail to see
'What you do unto them
You do unto Me'.
Patrick McFarland
10
Apocalyptic Blues
Within the glade
comes the parade
of the yellow lizards
with the wizard in blue
leading the way
to the place where
faces are never shown
and rotting flesh clings
to bones brittle and old
and exceptionally cold.
Along the way I see
the decay and in haste
I quicken my pace
turning my face away
as the wizards yellow lizards
look on in obedient disgrace.
It’s all a blur as I awaken
with the mistaken illusion
of the nights terrible
passing.
Was it just a dream?
Isn’t everything?
Patrick McFarland
11
Arrival
Waves snap along
the moonlit shore
while a T-Rex baseline
carries ’The Mambo Sun’
thru my soul and out across
the dream crested Atlantic.
Right here
Right now
I am at peace…
Nirvana is made up
of such moments
Patrick McFarland
12
Avarita
Somewhere between
no place special and
nowhere fast the last
of mankind’s honor
lies bleeding and
alone.
The receding tide
of ignorance carries
a crimson warning
that I fear will be
unheeded by future
generations of neocons
bowing before greed’s
unholy altar.
Arise and cast away
your golden calf
for in death the
breath of eternity
pays no heed to
souls blinded by
prosperity's lies
but in eyes alive
with compassion,
longing for a better
world
Patrick McFarland
13
Axe Mundi
The fire burning.
The liar turning
away from realities
decomposing core
while the doors
of perception
remain barred to
all but a privileged
few.
Truth lies not within
abandoned pews or
the Jew’s unread book
but in eyes willing to
look beyond the concept
of time and space to the
place where nothingness
and being coexist without
apprehension
Patrick McFarland
14
Barren
Encroaching madness
approaches from unexpected
corners of oblivion’s indifferent
layer.
Lost souls wander aimlessly
through tomorrow’s aborted
twilight ignorant of realities
cataclysmic inclination.
This is our truth, our way,
our direction.
Darwin’s natural selection
dooms us all to Valhalla’s
halls crowded with calamities
mediocre sons and tyranny’s
unadorned daughters.
The water of truth must find
its own level while the mud of
deception remains firm beneath
our jaded feet
Patrick McFarland
15
Beyond
Beyond what is known
The ultimate creator
The ultimate self
Beyond the concept of time
The timeless spirit is found
Patrick McFarland
16
Blue
It makes no sense
Living and dyeing
and crying out to a
God who pays no heed
to our needs or desires
but conspires with the
darkness for the fate
of our soul.
(JOB 1: 8-12)
Patrick McFarland
17
Calico Zombie
Calico Zombies wander
the neon gardens of the
American night grasping
aimlessly for connections
their erections ignored by
the whores in the doorways
along 5th avenue.
“We are unique”.
“We are calico”.
The mantra of a hundred
million lemmings fading in
the moonlight as they slowly
drown beneath the waves of
their own exclusive ignorance.
Patrick McFarland
18
Cloudburst
This really isn't heaven
and it ain’t exactly hell
A fleeting glimpse of
freedom at the bottom
of a well.
They say they’ve got
the answers in their
jaded Holy book
And they tell me I’ll find
Jesus if I stop and take
a look.
Existence is a strange thing
and death is stranger still
And they say there’s no
religion in those tiny little
pills.
But what the hell do they know
in their ivory covered halls
When the devil’s on the
rampage and he’s got you
by the balls.
And the pain is never ending
in that cold and empty pew
God has left the building
he’s got better things to do.
Patrick McFarland
19
Dark Wind
If perdition indeed holds a
place for faces such as mine
whose lines are the essence
of a depressing viewpoint,
then I openly welcome my fate.
Lucifer, set my plate somewhere
between Dickinson and Twain
so I may learn from their sardonic
wit just what it means to be human
and what it means to love and to feel
and to reel against it all and to fall and
to rise again over and over till the end
of time in the sublime ecstasy of the
soul's droll brilliance.
Patrick McFarland
20
Death (The First Five Minutes)
The movie ends and
the credits roll and the
droll lights blind our eyes
to the reality of
existence.
The distance between
now and eternity is 300
unadorned seconds.
Bliss or imagination,
can anyone really know
for sure where the pure
spirit lies in the moments
after death when breath
and heart and thought
cease forever, falling
into the clever trappings
of eternal silence?
Even as we ultimately
expire, will we know?
Our minds true essence
is lost without regard
to the realm of fantastic
illusion and the delusional
ranting going on around
us.
Where does the truth lie?
Patrick McFarland
21
Delusions
Lost between the squalid
scene of sadness, blood
and death the dream
surrounds.
Waking, shaking in the
night forsaken absence
of sunlight abounds.
Silence lingers in the
dark a sudden flash
electric spark
enlightens.
In the shade the lemonade
trickles down the colonnade
sublime.
Knowing that it isn’t
real the morning fog
cannot conceal delusion.
Walking, talking, life
and death the air we
breath is only an
illusion.
Patrick McFarland
22
Dementia
It’s twenty odd years
since irrational fears
drove away all your
hopes and desires
Now all that remains
is a shell and a frame
of a man that I once
so admired
The light in your eyes
was as bright as the sky
on a cold sunny day
in December
Now the fire is gone
and the light passes on
leaving only the glow
of the embers.
Patrick McFarland
23
Dharma Sunrise
Paradise within.
Sin vanishes with
the light.
The night has passed.
At last salvation and
reconciliation with
God.
Eternity in a drop
of water.
Forever in a grain of
sand.
Patrick McFarland
24
Dimensions
Beyond the frozen
sea of time
There is a world that’s
too sublime
Where angels tread on
broken glass and no
one knows the proper
path.
Ask a friend to show
the way and his reply
he’ll surely say is:
“I do not know today.
Maybe tomorrow”.
Patrick McFarland
25
Distorted View (Inspired by Syd Barrett)
They killed the other
half of me with pills
and Psychotherapy
and now I think
it's plain to see
I'm not the man
I used to be.
They took away
the other guy
and left me here
to wonder why
to wonder why
I'm half a man
and how the hell
to start again.
Perhaps if pills
I throw away
the other half
will come to play
than fully whole
I'll finally be
to love and laugh
and play with me.
Patrick McFarland
26
Ditties from Hell
One
I took my shot at the
pot of redemption
And only missed
by a mile
Now Heaven may
have my contemption
And Perdition may
welcome my smile
Two
Cups and saucers
filled with gold
but not a cent
may we behold
for we are not
among the few
selected by the
ancient Jew
Three
God the father
and his boy
appear to find
the greatest joy
deciding who
will sing or fry
in pits of Hell
or Heaven’s sky
Four
Me thinks I’d rather
burn in Hell for truth
be told I sing not well
Besides in Heaven’s
realm I hear they’ve
put a ban on wine and
beer
Five
Friday night
I just got paid
Saturday,
27
I just got laid
Sunday morning
now I’m saved
to start it all
again
Six
I do not regret
not going to mass
preferring instead
to sit home on my
ass
Home on my ass
Instead of the pew
Enjoying the game
With a six pack or
two
Seven
Scribbled notes
on yellow pages
offer up my
rants and rages
to the gods
both big
and small
Who really
don't exist
at all
Patrick McFarland
28
Divine Scat
All sin begins
with erection
leading to sex,
birth and life on
earth, but somehow
(if we believe the pew) ,
all but a single Jew
are born in sin while
forgiveness is reserved
for the pick of the herd
that trample the slothful
runts beneath balls and
sweaty c*nts on their way
up the holy ladder to
salvation's elusive shore
where matter and spirit
become one in the son's
immaculate vision of the
united division of imperfect
man.
Meanwhile, we lesser beasts
are cursed with damnation
eternal both on earth and the
infernal regions until the season
of the Jew's expected return.
Burn it all...
It's bulls*it.
Patrick McFarland
29
Ecce Otium
The way to bliss is a line
chiseled through the abyss
of time leaving sublime
characters to stumble
through the twilight of
autumn’s unadorned
years.
Fear and apprehension
reek havoc on time’s
sublime reclamations
Geseme‘s tranquil breeze
failed to ease the suffering
of the Christ while his
cross is behind the loss
of humanities ability to
coexist.
Perhaps atonement will
Come with the sunrise.
Patrick McFarland
30
Ecclesiastical Shadows
A bitter poison spiked
with the blood of a
thousand sages ebbs
in a chalice at the foot
of the alter.
Soft ripples lead fools
the way to dusty death.
Liquid solitude cascades
over the parishioners
causing many to believe
in the myth of inner
peace.
By morning all will grasp
reality for a transitory
instance, cursing their
miserable lives, while
praying in earnest
for lost redemption.
By nightfall, they will
Return to the temple.
Patrick McFarland
31
Eden
Standing at the gates
of Eden hurling
obscenities at an
antique
god.
'I do not fear perdition's
eternal fire.
I will keep my freedom!
You may keep your'
chains! '
Patrick McFarland
32
Eighteenth Haiku
Far in the distance
The sound of one hand clapping
Echoes through my soul
Patrick McFarland
33
Eighth Haiku
Shadow on the moon
Ancient gods prepare for war
The twilight has come
Patrick McFarland
34
Eleventh Haiku
Bull frogs in the swamp
Thousands croaking for a mate
Hopping to get laid
Patrick McFarland
35
Eruditio
Lying in the shadow
of a harvest moon
Soon sleep will be
upon me and I will
meander between
dream and nightmare
until mighty Helios rises
in the eastern sky to drag
me from a lover’s passionate
embrace or calamities indifferent
layer.
Dream and nightmare
They do not vanish
with the waking morn
All of life is but a
delusional vision
of the psyche
A mirage conjured from
the essence of our souls
true understanding of
reality.
Few outside of the
temple or asylum
understand this.
Patrick McFarland
36
Escape
How I'd love
to disappear
into a world
of crimson cheer
To lose myself
in such a place
and never see
a desperate face
Never another
desperate face.
Patrick McFarland
37
Eternal Ignorance
My years spent
kneeling before
Holy words
amounted to naught
but absurd notions
of divinity.
Wasted time
lost to eternal
ignorance.
Better I had spent
the time on the sublime
ramblings of Nietzsche
or Thomas rather than
the insane promise of
divinity’s celestial return
Wake up children.
The night has passed
and at last we are free
to hurl ignorance back
into the void from which
it came.
The game is on
It's called life
Go and play
Patrick McFarland
38
Eventus
When the world seems too heavy
And my back is breaking from the
load
I look off in the distance but see no
lights upon the road
Well it all just kind of ended before
I knew it had begun
I'm tired of this darkness and the
shadows on the sun
Life is never easy and death is always
hard
I look up at the dealer as he passes me
a card
I put it in my pocket and I walk out in
the yard
The moonlight looks so jaded and it pays
me no regard
Salvation in a bottle
Liberation in a glass
The God who made the flowers put the
serpent in the grass
I guess the way it happens is the way
it's meant to be
Heaven is for certain…
If you never disagree.
Patrick McFarland
39
Extrinsecus
Winds of unknowing
blowing through my
tattered memory
a clamorous howl
wailing in desperation
for understanding and
forgiveness
The well of compassion
dry and void of mercy
while realities fragile tether
long since severed is
left unattended to blow
madly in the tempest
of a meandering
insanity
Patrick McFarland
40
Fatal Flaw
We're watching
and we’re waiting
and we’re loving
and we’re hating
as the whore of
greed is slowly
passing by.
Every thief and
every banker lifts
a frosty mug to
thank her while
the widow wipes
the tear beneath
her eye.
And the politician
smiles as the cash
is stacked in piles
while the price of
crude is soaring
to the sky.
And the folks who
rule the planet take
the whole damn
thing for granite
plucking fiddles
while the children
slowly die
Patrick McFarland
41
Father Xmas
Every Ho down in Hoville
liked f*cking a lot
But the Priest who lived
just north of Hoville did
not
The Priest hated f*cking’
(at least with the women)
He said “I prefer little
boys for my sinning”.
Some said he was born
without any balls
Some said that his drawers
were two sizes too small
But whatever the reason
However it goes
He stood there
on Christmas eve
hating the Hos.
“When the clocks all strike midnight
I know just what they’ll do
They will take off their clothes
and commence a group screw
Then they’ll screw and they’ll scr*w
till their scr*wers are sore.
Then they’ll all take a break
and start scr*wing some more'.
And the more the Priest thought
of the Hos and their scr*wing
the more the priest thought
'they must stop what they're doing'
“I could call the police
drag their asses to jail'
But the Hos have good lawyers
and soon would make bail
'Then they’d all wander home
and resume the Ho f*cking
They’d resume the Ho hand jobs
They’d resume the Ho s*cking”
Then he threw up his hands
and said “oh what the Hell!
If I fancied p*ssy
I’d be screwing as well”
So he left all the Hos
to their sexual ploys
and he climbed into bed
with two alter boys.
Patrick McFarland
42
Fifteenth Haiku
Muslims, Christians, Jews,
The Children of Abraham
Consumed by their hate
Patrick McFarland
43
Fifth Haiku
Is anything real?
Perhaps all is illusion
Who is the dreamer?
Patrick McFarland
44
First Haiku
A song I have never heard
is stuck in my head
A bird sings a familiar tune
Patrick McFarland
45
Forest Serenity
The forest lingers in the
twilight of god’s eternal
oblivion.
Proud limbs bend silently
in the cradle of Autumn’s
loving embrace.
Man’s dominion over the
Yew and the Ash is no
more.
The mighty Oak no longer
fears the reaper’s foul blade.
Man has unleashed the sword
of ignorance upon his own
kind.
Patrick McFarland
46
Fourteenth Haiku
Liberty by force
Democracy at gun point
Who made up these rules?
Patrick McFarland
47
Fourth Haiku
Are wishing wells real?
If not I wasted a dime
Still cheaper than alms
Patrick McFarland
48
Gnosis
Concretized delusions.
An infusion of paranoia fuels
the situation making cohabitation
impossible for the sordid beggars
living on the streets of suburbia.
Beat poets had it right when they
praised the night’s neon attraction
propelling the soul towards ever
greater action and distraction.
Listen!
It’s time to awaken!
The mistaken illusion was
a delusion of the muse
(Or cheap booze left too long
for human consumption) .
Whatever the reason the season
has passed.
Kerouac and Cassady no longer
haunt the jazz clubs of middle
America.
It’s not enough to feel without
the benefit of thought and for all
the pain it has wrought, knowledge
is the only thing left that can save
us.
Patrick McFarland
49
God
Inside the pearly gates
of doom beside an ancient
throne
There lie the Holy robes
of God atop a stack of
bone
And from the sky the echoes
recall His final words:
“I am the God of everything…”
And nothing else is heard.
Patrick McFarland
50
Gone
Embrace the silence,
face the violence;
Transcend mediocrities
terrestrial shore.
The boredom of life is
in the cinemas.
Empty flickering lights
that fight comprehension’s
meandering bliss.
Patrick McFarland
51
Half Moon Twilight
Nightfall approaches
with anticipation for
the salvation of the
tortured soul whose
droll existence owes
everything to a
forgotten moment
of unadorned passion.
Above the pain of survival
is the hope that tonight the
fight will at last be lost and
death will carry him across
the divide and into oblivion's
indifferent lair.
Too righteous to burn
in perdition’s flame and too
stubborn to kneel before Heaven’s
jaded throne.
Eternity no longer holds his interest.
He seeks only the silence of the
void.
Patrick McFarland
52
Harlem 1955
Walking down Fifth Avenue
on a Sunday afternoon. Shuffling
to the rhythm of the ghetto’s
tortured brilliance.
African Mozarts fill the air with
their street corner symphonies.
Silence ensues as a slow rain begins
to fall. The lively street soon becomes
deserted. A shadow of an ancient
memory.
Turning left on Fifty Second.
A couple huddling in a doorway.
They manage a smile as the lingering
rain continues unabated.
Patrick McFarland
53
Holy Haiku
Jesus Christ it’s hot
Only three beats in His name
Great for this haiku
Patrick McFarland
54
Holy Morality
The Saints have
crucified great
Dionysus on the
cross of holy
morality.
Forgive them
father for they
know not what
they have done.
Father?
Father?
Patrick McFarland
55
Holy Sunday
Rest assured
the herd will
follow the absurd
proclamations’
of the institution's
philosophical solution
to the daily grind
that binds us all
to this stalled
adventure we
have mistaken
for life.
Patrick McFarland
56
Irrelevance
Wrapping my mind
around the blind
ambition of youth.
The truth lies
between the two
extremes of melancholy
and desperation.
Sensation follows
the hollow echo of
mankind's first glimpse
into eternities cataclysmic
abyss.
Patrick McFarland
57
Jameson, Absolute, Nietzsche, and the Cat
Moon on the horizon.
Soft breeze rattles the brambles out by the old barn.
The cat enters, looks about and begins to speak.
“Fears take flight after years of drinking the tears away while the days responsibilities
are laughable in the light of satori's brilliant realization. Silly, silly man, thinking reality
something to achieve, a destination to discover, a journey to undertake. Listen and I
will tell you what little I have learned burning away my short time on this horizon of
understanding. All that is transitory is a metaphor for the eternal and all that is eternal
is a metaphor for the self. The self is the collective consciousness we all share and
what we share is our experience of being. Being is nothing but an illusion created in the
mind of God while God is simply a metaphor for eternity. Now pour me some kibble for
I know many things, but do not possess opposable thumbs”.
I woke with a start, cursing the spinning room and swearing never to mix Jameson and
Absolute again.
The cat finished her kibble and crapped in the litter box.
Patrick McFarland
58
Jesus Cottontail
(Isaiah 45: 7) Mark Twain once said that it would be just as easy for God to create
healthy children as it would to create unhealthy ones, yet he chooses to create some
with terrible diseases. That idea was in my mind as I wrote this poem.
(Also, that damn Peter Cotton Tail song was stuck in my head and I couldn't get rid of
it) .
Here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
of gloom and doom
Judgment, famine,
pestilence and war
He says the end
is coming soon
I wish he’d sing
a different tune
Something that
we haven’t heard
before
He’s got Aids for Tommy
Parkinson’s for Sister Sue
There’s an STD for Mommy
(Daddy hasn’t got a clue)
Here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
of gloom and doom
Judgment, famine,
pestilence and war
Maybe if you’re
extra good
And try to do
the things you
should
He won’t come
around here
anymore
You’ll wake up one morning
and you’ll know he isn’t there
And you will see the smiles
on the children everywhere
Oh here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
59
of gloom and doom
Hippity, hoppity
what a f*cking day!
Patrick McFarland
60
Licking Toads
Complete madness
settles upon the masses
leaving asses exposed to
the unadulterated humping
of society’s collective wit.
Christianity’s sh*t will hit
the fan before man awakens
and dispenses with the mistaken
notion of this delusional existence.
The metaphorical distance between
life and death is but the breadth of
a hair in the universal cosmic order
we call reality.
Patrick McFarland
61
Lost at Sea
The sun shines
on Portsmouth
but not where
I am
It’s nothing but
wishing on stars
Two thousand five
hundred light years
from home
How did I wander so far?
The east wind is blowing
The anchor is weighed
I’m turning my back to
the gale
A flask topped with spirits
A prayer on my lips
and a promising draft
in my sail
And maybe I’ll make it
or maybe I won’t
The future is too hard
to see
So much has happened
and so much is lost
and I don't know who
I’m supposed to be
Patrick McFarland
62
Malediction
Half moon twilight, shadows fade
Specters rise within the glade
Advancing in a soft parade
Along the hills and colonnade
Ghostly phantoms long forgotten
Wailing souls from Hell begotten
Crying out for Satan’s pity
Forsaken by the Holy see
Where to go and what direction
Darwin’s natural selection
Never saw this sad collection
Death’s pathetic imagery
Floating down among the people
bowed beneath a different steeple
'Perhaps these foreign gods will
save us from eternal misery'
But god’s are all created equal
from the start and thru the sequel
By the same enamored people
living in this desperate land
And so my friend there’s no salvation
from this fear and desperation
The freedom of annihilation
again denied by Heaven’s hand.
Patrick McFarland
63
Malicious Obsession
When the evening fades to shadow
and the moon is sailing high
I want to stay beside her
but I have to say goodbye
She smiles and says 'I love you'
and I know it’s just a lie
But the moonlight is bewitching
and there’s a twinkle in her eye
I kiss her very softly
as she lays down on the bed
I try to weigh my options
but the wines gone to my head
The room begins revolving
around all the things she said
But concentrations fading
and reasoning is dead
I wake up when it’s over
and wish it hadn’t been
I curse the empty bottle
and swear it off again
I fumble for my wrist watch
and it’s a quarter after ten
And I hate myself for wanting her
While I’m wanting her again.
Patrick McFarland
64
Melancholy Desolation
When pain approaches
from shadow and encroaches
upon realities unsuspecting
shore than all knowledge
is dead.
A stranger’s perfume.
The furious discharge
of forsaken orgasmic
freedom.
Withdrawal.
An awkward substitute
for love’s cataclysmic
bliss.
Patrick McFarland
65
Mortalitas
When the sun dissolves
on the final day and the
blossoms of springtime
have faded away
and nothing is left
but shadow and shade
and the sound of your breath
and the snake in the glade
Will you regret the things
that you’ve done or the things
that you squandered or wasted
or won?
Will you see the error
of your ways and pray
to God for redemption?
No
Neither will I.
Patrick McFarland
66
Needless Redemption
No sin
No beginning
No end
No sending it out to
laundry like tailored
sheets to be returned
with fashionable pleats
in all the right places
Sad faces
Too many damn sad faces
Forgiveness is an elusive
bitch these days, her gray
shadow an unrealized
contrast to our delusional
perceptions.
Patrick McFarland
67
Nineteenth Haiku
God of Abraham
Free us from September's chains
Before it's too late
Patrick McFarland
68
Ninth Haiku
Nature's lovely song
Humanity’s ardent noise
How can birds compete?
Patrick McFarland
69
Not Yet the Morning Comes
I wrote this over 20 years ago for a girl I was dating. As today is our 23 wedding
anniversary, I figured I would finally post it. Happy anniversary honey...
Not yet the morning comes.
It’s not time for our embrace
to end.
My soul for another moment
to hold you in my arms.
My soul to feel you next to me
a moment longer.
Soon light will enter our world.
The minutes even now are quickly
passing
It’s almost time my love.
It’s almost time to leave your side.
We have but a few lingering seconds
to be together and then I must go.
But not yet the morning comes
Patrick McFarland
70
Oblivion
I see the end of the world
in the blink of her eye
And all the colors you
can think of just appeared
in the sky
And a guy who looks an
awful lot like Jesus walks
by
But nobody cares
All the people in the city
are to busy to feel
Running 90 MPH
just like rats on a wheel
Stuck in cages made of
concrete, iron, plastic
and steel
But nobody cares
The delusion of the moment
has them preoccupied
Whether Brittney or Nicole
will be along for the ride
And the sky begins to darken
and there's nowhere to hide
But nobody cares
Then out of nowhere
comes a shattering boom
A cloud of crimson colored ash
has passed in front of the moon
Six billion people disappearing
in the darkening gloom
And nobody cares...
Patrick McFarland
71
Obsideo
Veiled whispers startle my
polluted soul and from the
shadows she appears.
Her hollow words pierce
the wind like soaring birds
and whither tomorrow’s
fragrant bloom. The room spins.
Sins unfold upon cold satin sheets.
Death's ritual accomplished she
departs leaving my heart an
empty shell swelling with despair.
The unholy loss of yesterday's
bliss and tomorrows fragrant
innocence.
Patrick McFarland
72
Omega Sunset (An ode to Yeats)
Congealing reality within
the empty void.
The flame of coexistence
extinguished.
The falcon long gone.
We’re left to gaze at
an empty, brooding sky.
Ah Billy, you understood
so long ago.
You tried to tell us but we were
too absorbed in our own delusions
to understand.
Your’ “rough beast” is at the gates
of the holy city and there
is nowhere left to hide.
Patrick McFarland
73
Paroxetine Nightmares
Demons on the perimeter stalking serenity’s
unsuspecting bliss.
Is this all I have?
Once mighty defenses now offer little protection
against ancient clawing phantoms.
Shadows lurking in the forest of imagination
waiting for the opportunity to strike.
Alas my recourse.
Tiny painted disks that beat back my imaginary
assailants while extinguishing the tattered threads
of creativity that yet remain.
Christ what a choice.
Silence my voice or
go insane.
Patrick McFarland
74
Penitus
He’s found hell
who's searched
his mind and dared
to see his soul.
And heaven too
is there as well
for those who pay
the toll.
But few find heaven
from within and many
rot in hell.
While fewer still find
anything and no one
lives to tell.
Patrick McFarland
75
Periculum
Spinning ever faster into oblivion,
the servant cannot hear the Master’s
voice
All the world burns with the greed
of the new divinity
The preoccupied masses kneel before
the glow of the sacred blue screen as
the last lights of humanity flicker
and vanish into the abyss
Oh man, what has thy vanity brought?
Patrick McFarland
76
Question's of Love
Would you die for love?
Would you die for a chance
to stand naked in love’s
unabashed sunshine
if only for a moment?
And would that moment
pass would you lay down
bitter in the wake of love’s
fated departure?
Patrick McFarland
77
Recollections
Does anyone know where
sanity goes when the voices
cry out in the silence?
And all that you knew has
been proven untrue but the
blood and the pain and the
violence.
If there ever was time to collect
what is mine it’s a long time ago
I am certain.
The reward I desired was consumed
in the fire when the gods up on high
dropped the curtain.
And don’t ever presume that
your life will resume when
insanity passes with morning.
For the shadows hold fast to
the present and past when
love disappears without
warning.
Patrick McFarland
78
Remembrance
The silence of a burning candle
in the dark you touch the handle
of a door within your mind
and suddenly no longer blind
you find the truth you left behind
The truth that long ago was lost
Lost at such a tragic cost
Lost within the recess of your
mind.
Patrick McFarland
79
Samsara
The child opens his eyes and sees
a million points of light, each one
an open door to an endless
possibility.
The adolescent opens his eyes
and sees a hundred thousand
points of light, each one a door
to new hopes and adventures
The adult opens his eyes and sees
a few hundred points of light,
each one a door beckoning him
to new experiences
The retiree opens his eyes and sees
perhaps a dozen points of light, each
one a door, welcoming him to well
earned relaxation
The old man opens his eyes
and sees but one dimly lit point
of light coming from a single door
from which he hears his name
gently being called
In trepidation, he closes his eyes
and walks slowly towards that
final door, and nervously passes
over it's dark threshold
When he opens his eyes,
he is a child with a million
points of light before him,
each one an open door to
an endless possibility.
Patrick McFarland
80
Satori
In the
chasm
between
two thoughts
lies the garden
of bliss.
Easily found
but not easily
entered...
Patrick McFarland
81
Second Haiku
Virtue and sadness
Two sides of a single coin
Anyone have change?
Patrick McFarland
82
Seventeenth Haiku
The lonely spider
Weaving strands in the moonlight
A vivid sermon
Patrick McFarland
83
Seventh Haiku
Back so soon my friend?
Grand departure's purpose served?
You should be ashamed.
Patrick McFarland
84
Sixteen Lines
As I walk along the border
between reason and disorder
Tripping past the neon garden
of my jaded, ill spent youth
Gazing off into the distance
pondering this mad existence
Who is God and what strange
notion led him to create all this?
Take me far beyond the steeple
to a land of unscathed people
Where no single rule or concept
dooms four billion helpless souls
Show me love without condition
without heaven or perdition
Where no acts of false contrition
guarantee eternal bliss
Patrick McFarland
85
Sixteenth Haiku
In my search for truth
I knelt on the temple floor
Sore knees were my prize
Patrick McFarland
86
Sunday at the Zoo
Few dare to
moo at the
zoo.
They sit quietly
on their ass
in the grass
praising the
stench of the
pew.
What else can
they do?
Patrick McFarland
87
Surrealistic Paranoia
Look behind
the tortured mind
and see the man,
the real man
behind the veil
of detail.
The man whose
heart is apart
from the rest
he tries his best
but never quite
succeeds in his
attempt to be one
with reality.
Does this mean
he is not real
the man who feels
all the pain both real
and insane that ever
was because if it does
I’d like to get off
of this ride and hide
someplace inside
myself for a while.
Patrick McFarland
88
Tenth Haiku
The garden of bliss
So difficult to enter
Lies within man's heart
Patrick McFarland
89
Tequila Dreams
Blue moon rising
the night ushers in
a different reality
of party and sin.
Ladies in waiting
waiting for love.
Lovers in corners
and haylofts above.
Punch in a bowl with
spiked orange rinds.
Rooms of satin
with jalousie blinds.
Ashtrays aglow with
paper and fire.
People with needles
get higher and higher.
Bottles of whiskey and
vials of snow stand ready
and waiting for those in the
show.
A king with a scepter
a queen with a sphere
say over and over
“you don’t belong here”.
So you gather your courage
and run for the door, reaching
the threshold you fall to the floor.
Banging and pounding
you can’t get outside there’s
nowhere to run and no place to hide.
Here’s where it ends this thing
we call life…
Patrick McFarland
90
Terminus
A virgin on the wing
makes me wonder
why this thing
keeps turning
and burning
while mankind’s
yearning is never
satisfied.
And the stars shine
and this is mine
and that belongs
to you and all we can do
is cry for yesterday’s
abandoned innocence
and tomorrow’s faded
expectation.
Patrick McFarland
91
The Chosen
Bombs dropped
Flags waved
Politicians re-elected
People cheer
Children die.
We shuffle down
the aisle taking
our cookie from
the ancient pedophile
and smile because
we are surely god’s
chosen rabble.
Pray that Jesus will
spare the hypocrites.
Patrick McFarland
92
The Final Bow
The decay of imagination
and independence.
That which never
should have been
has become.
When the seed
of love is smothered by
the weeds of desperation
and the fires of hell rage
unnoticed in our city streets
then the end has truly come.
Patrick McFarland
93
The Flock
The mistaken illusion of
the churches delusional
interpretation of creation,
and love, and death,
and the hereafter.
We are the darkness
and we are the light.
The spark of creativity
dies in the frightened
eyes of the faithful
hunched freezing in
their Sunday best as
the priest requests
silence while he winds
up the sacred Jesus toy
and makes menacing
assertions to girls and
boys concerning Satan
and hell and the dark
well man will find himself
in if the smallest sin is
concealed from the eyes
of god.
And the celestial host
weeps as the shepherd
leads his flock into the
abyss.
Patrick McFarland
94
The Game
Everybody is different
And everybody’s the same
And everyone is a player
In this crazy little game
But the game it has no winners
And we’re lucky if we survive
The saints, the fools and the sinners
No one gets out alive
Don’t be sad when it’s all over
And the game is put away
Shake hands with all your rivals
And be happy that you played
For it’s time for other children
To step up and roll the dice
Take a chance along the Boardwalk
Walk away or pay the price
And you sit alone in the darkness
When the game of life is through
And you look into the heavens
Because there’s nothing else to do
And you think about the ending
As you slowly drift away
And you can not help but smile
Because you got the chance to play.
Patrick McFarland
95
The Garden
“Are you stupid?
Do you know what you’ve done?
Because you disobeyed me,
you will know death
Because you disobeyed me,
you will know pain
Because you disobeyed me,
you will know sorrow
Because you disobeyed me
you will know hardship
Because you disobeyed me
you will know disease
Because you disobeyed me
you will know hunger
Because you disobeyed me
you will toil all the days of
your life
So I ask you…
Are you stupid? ”
“No”
I answer taking another bite of the apple.
“Not anymore”.
Patrick McFarland
96
The Prostate Check
They can map a brain
to it’s smallest part
and peer inside a
beating heart
They can tell the sex
of a baby to be
with a tube of jell
and a color TV
They can look inside
a woman’s breast
and see a lung
in an old man's
chest
But with all the
technology that
has come to pass
Why must a finger
be shoved up my
Ass? ! ?
Patrick McFarland
97
The Titmouse
There was a little
titmouse who had
so many tits
It was difficult to
find a bra to cover
all her bits
Patrick McFarland
98
The Trip
The ground is shaking
or maybe the bed.
Visions of Avalon dance
in my head.
The world is alive
but my spirit is
dead.
Blues and yellows melt into
red.
“Listen” a voice cries!
“Listen to what’s in your
heart and your head! ”
Patrick McFarland
99
Third Haiku
The world falls apart
All our dreams reduced to ash
Clouds pass unaware
Patrick McFarland
100
Thirteenth Haiku
Eve: 'I am in the mood'
Adam: 'I will have to buy condoms'
Eve: 'See if they have ribbed'
Patrick McFarland
101
Tomorrow
The time we have is ticking fast
.....We don’t know if it will last
........Tomorrow soon will be the
............past but by then I’ll be in
................love.
Patrick McFarland
102
Too Much Nyquil (or 103 degrees of nonsense)
Nothing left inside me
no witty words to write
Nothing but delusion
confusion and respite
Let’s try it another way
because the words
above shove the life
right out of my fragile
mind and I’m blind to
creativity's meandering
abyss.
See, this is rather easy
when I just let the words
fly off the keys like fleas
off a wet duck...
F**k!
That line sucks
OK, forget the bird.
The idea was absurd
anyway.
Ducks with fleas,
please Patrick, you can
do much better.
(Bed wetter? Never mind) .
Shooting blind for sublime
one liners is best left for
the sh*t-house poets who
scribble their dribble on
dirty restroom stalls next
to balled up TP and free
hand sanitizer.
Alright then, once more
with feeling:
This is the story of
Father Keeling, and
an alter boy who was
kneeling…
Forget it!
I’m going to
bed.
Patrick McFarland
103
Twelfth Haiku
Man's two greatest fears:
God has abandoned the world
Or that He hasn’t
Patrick McFarland
104
Twentieth Haiku
Running on my wheel
Unable to effect change
A rat in a cage
Correction:
A rat with a plan
Ill suited for submission
Rattling the bars
Patrick McFarland
105
Twenty First Haiku
A genuine love,
If only for a moment,
Is eternal bliss.
Infatuation,
Though it may last a lifetime
Dies with the body
Patrick McFarland
106
Twenty Fourth Haiku
Serpent of Eden
Your gift of liberation
A curse or blessing?
Patrick McFarland
107
Twenty Second Haiku
From your blackened heart
The voice of intolerance
Mistaken for God
Patrick McFarland
108
Twenty Seventh Haiku
Restless thoughts pervade
A slow rain begins to fall
Madness washed away
Patrick McFarland
109
Twenty Sixth Haiku
No theology
And no ideology
The sound of one hand...
Patrick McFarland
110
Twenty Third Haiku
Just a feeble stump
Where once stood a mighty oak
The story of man
Patrick McFarland
111
Twilight
Sunlight glistens.
I listen to butterfly wings
as a bird sings a song
from a departed age.
Lost in a dream, life
seems empty and
void of substance.
The wind is still
and a chill grips
bones that tremble
alone in the dim twilight
awaiting morning's consoling
bliss.
Patrick McFarland
112
Uisce Beatha
Dead
Lost
The cost of redemption
too high for humanities
dregs to bare
There is no longer light
at the tunnel's end
and my mirrored friend's
eyes are vacant with
tomorrows lost
expectation...
When will the pain end
and the sun rise on the
morning of our soul's
desolation?
Droll preachers intone
empty words of pity
from the ancient book
they've been bred to
recite.
Whiskey or beer might
illuminate the darkness
better.
Patrick McFarland
113
Unbound
Nothing to forgive.
No desire or memory.
Everything cast into the
hell I’ve created for myself.
Nightfall, slumber and the
myth of inner peace.
Moon casts shadows upon
the vanity of man.
First light.
Awaken.
Memory of dreams passes.
It’s time to abandon the
place of my salvation.
Patrick McFarland
114
Upheaval
Vanquished dreams
crash and burn upon
time’s barren field.
The yield of a lifetime
is one half pound
of effort and a few
precious ounces of
success.
At the end, is anyone
remotely satisfied
with the frantic waste
that was the last 26,280
days?
The best minds
of our generation
rot before the alter
of Yahweh or the
wide screen TV.
2000 years waiting
in vain for the next
Messiah to save us
from the doldrums
of mediocrity.
Nietzsche understood
and it drove him mad.
Is that what it amounts to?
Boredom or insanity?
Ah man, what vanity
has led thee to this place
of desolation?
Patrick McFarland
115
Upside Down in the Void
Upside down in the void.
Annoyed by politicians
and priests who feast at
the trough of the ignorance
of mankind, blind to the
devastation their righteous
proclamations heap upon
Eden’s polluted shore.
Babylon’s whore holds firm
their fate in her celestial grasp.
They will soon stand before
perdition’s impartial flame.
The liar, the killer, and the thief of
salvation.
Dante’s imagination could not
conceive a suitable torment for
their lamentable offenses.
Patrick McFarland
116
Vindico
When on Sunday I kneel and pray
Before the alter of man’s decay
I look up at the Christ and
I hear him say
“It’s time for you to go.
Reality lies within your dreams
and only you know what that means
But I can’t tell you a single thing
you don’t already know”.
So I walk outside,
across the floor
Past the choir
and out the door
Remembering things
I knew before...
When I was a younger man.
Patrick McFarland
117
Wake Up!
Is this the end
of friendship
and trust?
Must the future
spiral into chaotic
disorder before
the border between
the here and now
is forever plowed
over by tomorrow's
unborn generation?
What decisions will
our children's children
face in the uncertain
world we craft today?
The future is now!
Wake up!
Patrick McFarland
118
What If
How many have to die
in God’s name before
the finger of blame
is finally pointed
at the cross and
the crescent
and the star?
How far would
our spirits
soar
without the hatred
And intolerance
that bring war
and death to
the hearts of
the children
of the world?
Patrick McFarland
119
Wilderness
We can’t forget our
nightmares
And we can’t recall
our dreams
While everything
is illusion
No matter how it
seems
But somewhere in
the darkness
There’s a tiny fading
light
And all I can do
is pray that you
find shelter in the
night
A man will know
his enemies
And a woman know
her friends
While the bishop
on his chess board
Only knows how
to pretend
And the Christian
looks for answers
In his ancient
Holy book
But the answers lie
in the children’s eyes
if he would only stop
and look
A day is gone forever
in the moment that
it ends
While a memory is
eternal
If we share it with
a friend
And the universe
will answer
If we listen for
the call
But we will have
to find a quiet place
because it’s voice
is rather small…
Patrick McFarland
120
Writer's Block
Man can it get any worse than
this? Aimless verse floats
in space and time till
I’m sick of the shtick
coming out of my head.
Dead words on a wasted
page scream rage to no
one in particular.
(Great! Now I have to find
a rhyme for particular.
Vernicular?
Absurd, not a real word.)
Poetic license I believe
allows for nonsense I
conceive.
Past 25 or 6 to 4.
Christ what a bore it
is to exist in the here
and now.
Patrick McFarland
121
Zen
Leaving behind the shadow
of rationalization’s unfulfilled
promise to enter the world
of eternities chaotic
illumination
Nothing eternal is stagnant
and nothing vibrant truly
dies.
Flies gather on the corpses
of unrealized potential
while inertia winds ever
faster into oblivion’s
indifferent lair.
Live
Exist
Be
There is nothing else...
Patrick McFarland

ALL POEMS OF PATRICIA WILLIAMS

Poetry Series
Patricia Williams
- poems -
2
Patricia Williams (02/19/1953)
Live with my husband in Idaho, Have been writing since I was 12. Have
lately been writing poems, short stories, a short children's book and song
lyrics
Have worked for the Health Department for 17 years and turn to writing
when the pressures of life come threatening my view of life.
Poetry I think is the soul speaking to the world Through our words we
release our pain, our love, our joy and our life
3
A Book
You carry me to the lands and times
I have never been before
Magically you can carry me through
many an open door
With you I can experience love,
hate, adventure, and terror
You open my eyes to a realm
I never knew was there
I can lose myself from the real
world of many woes
and through your knowledge
or your imagination
I can grow
I doesn't take much work
to gain your rewards
Just open a book
and let your mind fly upwards
Patricia Williams
4
Afraid to Mingle
Afraid to mingle
Just newly single
Afraid to try
Don't want to cry
Cute guy at the bar
Don't go too far
I could say hi
Just give it a try
A few drinks in
Take it on the chin
Put myself out there
Don't act so scared
Hey he's pretty nice
His mouth trembled twice
Maybe he's scared too
What do I do?
She spoke to me
I hope she can't see
I'm new at this scene
Is this a good dream?
Afraid to mingle
Just newly single
Afraid to try
don't want to cry
Patricia Williams
5
Age Happens
Age caught up with me
My yard mowing is slower
My steps are not getting faster
The raw bone features have faded
Replaced by padding and sagging
I need to skip the food I love
Eat more vegetabbles everyday
Walk, Walk, and not ride
Keep on going to try to stay me
I've noticed bitterness creeping near
I pray the Lord to help me
I don't mean to be a bitch
I just want someone to say
'What can I do with you today? '
Patricia Williams
6
Character
Come after my character amd see what you can find
The crooks and curves of your investigation are in my mind
I have not been a mean person or defaulted on my promises
I do what I say and I work through my gains and my losses
We look at ourselves through rose-colored constricted glasses
But inspect our fellow man with judgemental microscopic passes
I've never been rich or lived in a fancy house or put on airs
I have worked all my life just climbing the workingman's stairs
I have never scraped and bowed just to get my status ahead
I have worked my hours, paid my bills and been in the red
So come after me with your judgements and your accusations
A worker cannot stop prejudice against age or discriminations
When I look in the mirror I see my own true reflection
The age and the passage of time is staring back at my reaction
I move slower and work harder to come up to my own expectation
And realize that sometimes I am the oldest of all my relations
But I still do my best at my job, even when you think I'm a dinosaur
And when I'm gone I wonder if you'll critcize me anymore
Patricia Williams
7
Economy
Beautiful clothes, soft warm coats and nice shoes
Sometimes these are not things we can choose
Thrift shops, slightly worn and pre-owned clothes
Can keep you warm but some turn up their nose
If robbing Peter to pay Paul is becoming your norm
And you put on two sweaters just to stay warm
Then you have joined the numbers being observed
With all of the others who wait on the curb
For the bus that may not be coming on time
To a possible job or a better life down the line
We need to turn corners where we actually care
About our neighbors welfare and doing our share
When you are figuring your bills and you are short
Think of those who can't pay anything for support
Who may stand at the doorway of the Gospel Mission
Thinking of a past life and for a home be wishing
America will turn the corner from this down turn
For a past life many may still go on and yearn
Some may never recover and sink into depression
While economist say we are coming up from this recession
We have lost home, jobs, and our sense of security
And replaced our way of life with one of constant worry
If we could learn a lesson that sometimes less in more
And settle for more realistic dreams than we had before
Patricia Williams
8
It's Christmas Time
Snowflakes glide gently down and begin to pile on the sidewalk
Children look through store windows and begin to rapidly talk
The strains of oldtime Christmas Carols are playing in the street
While moms are baking cookies and other things that are sweet
It must be almost time for the sound of sleigh bells ringing
While at church choirs are practicing their very best singing
Bell ringers are guarding their red pots and thanking givers
While the wind and the snow is sending many with shivers
The lines to see Santa reach a long way through the store
While dad is checking his list and heading out the door
TV specials are the ones that we have seen and loved for years
Charlie Brown, Rudolph and George Bailey can still bring tears
Chistmas is a family time and we miss those not at home
Those away and can't get back wish they had never roamed
We remember our servicement with care packages and love
An pray they they sell be safe and protected by God up above
Snowflakes keep falling and start to take on a scene familiar
While the people stop and listen to the Christmas Carolers
So give your family members an extra hug this year
And show your family some extra special Chistmas cheer.
The days of the Christmas holiday pass quickly by
And you need to form good memories or at least try
Don't take this time for granted or family members
Some may not see many more Decembers
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Patricia Williams
9
Monsters
A girl cries softly in the night as dark creeps in the room
The monster follows the darkness and adds to the gloom
The tin soldiers draw up their swords in defense of the child
The teddy bears and baby dolls grab pocket cars and go wild
As battle lines are drawn the child dives under the covers
The monster backs away the child is protected by those who love her
A young woman cries softly in the night as dark creeps in the room
The man follows the darkness and adds to the threatening gloom
The soldiers, teddy bears and baby dolls are put away
There is no one to defend this girl from harm by night or day
The battle lines are drawn and the girl must brave the fight
She must give in or back the monster out of her life in the night
A baby cries softly in the night as dark creeps in the room
The monster follows the darkness and adds to the gloom
But the mother is waiting with love and determination in her hand
The monster will flee this night and be buried by the sandman
The baby will never know the night terrors faced by his mother
She will not let the cycle play out or be perpetrated by another
An old woman cries softly in the night as darkness creeps in the room
The monster follows the darkness and adds to the gloom
The monster is robed in darkness and a long black gown
The old woman welcomes hims to her bed and takes him down
In the morning the monster leads her over an unknown threshold
This time the monster wins and death takes another toll
Patricia Williams
10
Music's Servant or Master?
Let the room disappear and sink into the mirror
The image is reversed and you need not fear
Life gets complicated and sometimes reversed
No matter how much you dared and rehearsed
You put your dreams out there and step on a stage
You will face appreciation or sometimes rage
You are judged with every note every inflection
Sometimes with approval and sometimes rejection
You are just introverted enough to look within
Judging yourself harsher than any man can
Is your voice crystal clear or clouded slightly?
Do you attack the song or sneak up lightly?
Know the songs emotions reveal the soul
Did down deep, let ripping it out be your goal
Love what you do, consider it a precious gift
Know that it can give mankind a hearty lift
If you become a person who is appreciated
For the voice and the music you are fated
The words and the notes make up a song
Your interpretation can be right or wrong
You may never have a recording contract
But if you can get a crowd to always react
You are famous while the song is in the air
Whether famous or local you make people care
Let the room disappear sink into the mirror
The image is reversed you need not fear
Words and notes compose your lifetime
You can write or use someone else's rhyme
For one that sings is a servant to the music
But the music is your instrument your task
You are famous while the song is in the air
Whether famous or local you make people care
Patricia Williams
11
Quiet
How quiet a house can be when you are alone
Rain drops sounds like it is hitting with stone
The wind tears though the walls to your soul
And you roam the bed as if you were in a fish bowl
I miss your snores and roaming in the night
I miss your body against me holding me tight
I go to bed early to escape the big nothingness
But I find it waiting between the sheets of emptiness
The television greets me as I walk through the door
I leave it on to chase the ghosts that hide underneath the floor
They whisper when I'm gone to the drapes and the walls
They say how life and time in this house only crawls
I look in the fridge, nothing appeals to my senses
So I stare at the grass you planted growing by the fences
I curl up on the couch and try to lose myself in a book
But my mind wanders back to your departing look
Your home is a barracks in a faraway land
Filled with soldiers, hard work and oceans of sand
The wind tears through your world like and ocean
But is lost in the motion of violence and emotion
Each day that you are gone I mark off the calendar
And dream of our reunion with kisses warm and tender
But my house stays quiet and time crawls into darkness
While misery and sepeartion accentuates the sharpness
Patricia Williams
12
Scream
I could just scream, it may help you never can tell
They won't listen anyway so maybe I'll just yell
My age has increased my value has leassened
My money is short and my bills are worsened
I'm better off than a lot of my fellow comapanions
Hard work, and loyalty used to make you champions
Work is not valued just oiling the social personalities
People have been shoved aside in the mirror of realities
Corporate greed has been pushed into the forefront
And no one is surprised by the corruption or the content
The value of loyalty has be replaced by corruption
The norm has become accepting addicitons, seductions
I could just scream, it may help you never can tell
They won't listen anyway so maybe I'll just yell
I have went over of edge of sanity and reason
I think any more that condition comes with the season
Recession, depression, bailout and foreclosure
Bad news is on the rise from the operexposure
Patricia Williams
13
Silently you Protest
Scream silently, talk without a voice
Don't go throughout life without a choice
We make our own destinies
We have choices but no foresight
A choice we make can ruin your life
Scream silently, talk without a voice
Don't go throughout life without a choice
Try not to harm your fellow man
Try not to be harmed by your fellow man
Let your choices reflect your inner voices
Scream silently, talk without a voice
Don't go through life without a choice
Policies will change, friends will rearrange
Each day you encounter more and more choices
Each day you hear more and more voices
Scream silently, talk without a voice
Don't go through life without a choice
There will always be someone in authority
Thier will always be someone to tell you no
Scream Silently; talk back with out a voice
Scream silently, talk without your voice
Determine you life by our choice
The authorities will judge if you succeed
Only you can establish your need
Scream silently; talk back with out a voice
Patricia Williams
14
Society's Child
She was born without a chance
By a mother young enough to be her sister
Into a society where she wasn't wanted or needed
A file in a caseworker's desk
Lost among the mountain of welfare's children
She is not a child of famine's land
She doesn't speak with an unfamiliar tongue
She is one of America's statsiscal poor
The rich don't recognize her existence
The middle class turn their heads away
and the poor stand by in helplessness
What will happen to this child?
She will wear hand me downs, eat handouts
and wonder why she has no stake in life
She exists in a no win situation
America recognize this child
She is not just a statistic
She is an overwhelming reality
Don't shut your eyes to the children
They are our future and if they have no future
What is ours
Patricia Williams
15
The Orange Rose
A yellow rose struggles to breathe
Among high weeds and dry earth
A broken board bangs against the house
Dirt and debris lays on a broken tile
The house shudders, remembers its old worth
It's hard to remember the friendly smile
The children's laughter, the family love
This was the cherished dream, the ideal
Home Sweet Home shone from above
Roses bloomed in a manicured garden
New again time becomes a wheel
In the yard a new rose blooms
Orange and violent consuming the weeds
It spreads to the house like a clinging vine
Leaving black leaves in its wake
Seeing its destruction as a new seed
Patricia Williams
16
The State of My State
The bosses call it a more efficient company standard
But their layoffs will not pay my efficient credit card
Working for 20 years doesn't count for a thing
When you are being replaced by a cold metal machine
Wall Street says that the current recession is over
Tell that to the homeless child using a newpaper cover
Each day workers wait for the axe to fall and destroy
Their lives, their normal situation and their joy
And look at the faces of young children waiting in line
And wonder what the world will be like in their time
We hear congress is working on health care reform
But politicians in charge of my health is cause for alarm
Do they understand that a terminal patient leaves a loss?
And that a family deals with that and picks up the cost
You pray to stay healthy and live life to the fullest
But sometimes health problems arise that is the cruelest
Your normal life disappears and succumbs to disease
While politicians jack around reform at their ease
If politicians could lose their homes, cars and fancy boats
Maybe they would cut out the rewards for votes
Let the goods we buy say 'Made in America'
And let the American worker get their fair share
Let the farmers grow fruits, vegetables and grain
Let ranchers raise livestock that sees normal gain
Keep out loggers busy supplying the builders
The plumbers, electricians, and the carpet layers
Build up our industries some large some small
Let America go back to work employment for all
Give us back our dignity and our way of life
Raise the children in a family with a husband and wife
Patricia Williams
17
We
You and I became one
I identify with you
and you with me
But we are still two
We have an individual dream
I don't know where you start
and where I end
But love's intertwining
has produced a future
for the two to become one
Patricia Williams
18
Wisps
Searching in a cloud of white
The fair maiden waits for her shining knight
The alarm clock shatters her world of bliss
Before she could even attain the first kiss
Her senses return to her slowly
As she gazes at her bedroom so lowly
She's drug back to the world of strife
Where she must work to maintain a life
Her working hours are quite a struggle
Her budget she must always juggle
The knight's armor stand in great halls
Not many commoners make it to balls
But there are always midnight slumbers
And knights riding chargers by the numbers
Patricia Williams

ALL POEMS OF PETER STRUGNELL

Poetry Series
peter strugnell
- poems -
2
peter strugnell (07 Jul 1963)
born portsmouth 1963
education:
Glenhurst, Havant.
Oakwood prep school, chichester sussex
Grenville college, Devon
Highbury technical college, portsmouth
Jobs:
lloyds bank
royal navy, writer
1989 moved to France
carpenter Livarot Normandie and Broglie
2006 ill health, ruptured cerebral annurism, forces change in lifestyle!
2009 moved to Argentan, France
3
a golden thread
It feels so right, i can't believe my luck
I go carefully, with a full cup
you're my heroin, you make me stronger
just when i feel, i can't go on any longer
sometimes a breeze, and sometimes perilous
our story continues, and it began thus.
And when in life, i would lose my way
it was you honey, who would hold me sway
when i've lost faith, in all of mankind
it's you i look for, and it's you i find
our love consumes, but at a slow burn
a faster love ain't my concern
A golden thread that never rusts
drawn in elegance and wound in trust
a golden thread our lives entwined
it holds us together but it doesn't bind
a thread so fine and delicately spun
where two broken strands can become one
you make me laugh and you make me blue
still i want to see the autumn colours with you
don't want to leave you with the wrong impression
or for my feelings to go without expression
we've had more highs than we've had lows
just want to say what your heart already knows
peter strugnell
4
a new dawn
there's a new dawn
the sun on the horizon
begins the new day
mistakes I have made
but then that was yesterday
the slate clean again
I have but no one
I shape my own destiny
no time for regrets
a love that is lost
but still a future to be
it's a perfect morn
only me to blame
I still have a tomorrow
as i start a new
and i feel no joy
i feel nothing at all
but there is no pain
no look back at all
it is all but potential
and it is all fair
peter strugnell
5
a pebble in my shoe
and they say that nostalgia, is a seductive liar
and then again, there is no smoke without fire
I know that we should, never look to the past
because nothing lasts forever, nothing ever lasts
and i can't seem, to love the one I'm with
I'm all cried out, I've nothing more to give
and i have real trouble, in moving on
i know the post is past, what's gone is gone
there's something nagging at my mind
you know i don't mean to be unkind
but you're like a pebble stuck in my shoe
and i hate myself, for still loving you
I still can't get you, off of my mind
on my heart you've stamped, and signed
a part of life of which, you were a phase
but it wasn't all bad, weren't there some good days?
the word is out, in the neighbourhood
that i can't love, that I'm damaged goods
I'm still waiting for time, to heal the scars
as we divide in two, everything that was ours
there's something nagging at my mind
you know i don't mean to be unkind
but you're like a pebble stuck in my shoe
and i hate myself, for still loving you
it is perhaps time, to start something new
after all the pain, that we've gone through
I'm finding it hard, for the heart to let go
and we really do reap, everything that we sow
and wish i knew, what it was you seek
there were promises, that we couldn't keep
and now we shall never, grow old together
it's clear that your 'forever', was not forever
there's something nagging at my mind
you know i don't mean to be unkind
but you're like a pebble stuck in my shoe
and i hate myself, for still loving you
peter strugnell
6
accept yourself
Today I have some difficulties, some scars still remain
full of self doubt, through injury to the brain,
a brush with mortality, it's got to change a person,
it changes your view, and previous assertions,
it's like a rebirth, or even a second chance,
i thank my lucky stars, fate and circumstance,
forced to re-learn, many forgotten skills,
i curse these accidents, and the neurones that they kill,
i'm slower in thought, but quicker in temper,
i'm quick to tire, and slow to remember,
i know damn well, that life can be rough,
but you can't tell me, that acceptance aint tough.
you know that you've got plenty of ability,
and you're probably better than you think that you are are,
and of course you have some difficulty,
but step by step you're gonna go far,
your own true value, you should accept,
coz you are you, no apologies, no regret,
no, no, no apologies and no regret!
there are things of course that i don't do brilliant,
sometimes weak, sometimes resilient,
it's the same for everyone, to some degree,
self pity is a handicap, it's my worst enemy,
like a warm embrace, from an old acquaintance,
i welcome him in, my old friend acceptance.
i didn't know then, i'd recover like i did,
i'm ashamed to say, i didn't want to live,
i shouldn't complain, but i often still do,
hardship is a teacher, of things i never knew,
acceptance you know, doesn't mean you give in,
not an end to it all, but a place to begin.
peter strugnell
7
brain fever bird
deep in the green of a Banana tree
there's a wee bird twittering at me
when the heavy air lies hot and still
he cries, your ill, your ill, your ill!
I wouldn't mind if he said it just once
does he takes me for a stupid dunce?
time after time your ears he'll fill
with cries of, your ill, your ill, your ill!
in a word 'well' doc is how i feel
i don't listen to their spiel
i don't believe it but soon I will
coz, your ill, your ill, your ill
from the outside it really doesn't show
but how is it that i'm the last to know
the wee bird's voice is now quite a shrill
he says, your ill, your ill, your ill
he's persistent he demands to be heard
the voice you hear is the brain fever bird
he keeps on saying you are, until
its true, your ill, your ill, your ill
peter strugnell
8
certainty where there's plenty of doubt
In this world of concrete and steel
there's a softer side i want to feel
is it right that we should be apart?
falling out, we've made it an art
and it seems so wrong, the distance between us
there is no reason to fight and fuss
oh how i long for your embrace
find it in your heart to grant me grace
Tenderness in a world that is hard
a whisper heard above the shouts
stability within a house of cards
certainty where there's plenty of doubt
our foolish pride is fooling noone
yes pride when all is said and done
let's talk through all of our differences
break down the barriers and the fences
let's have a go at building the bridges
it's as hard as climbing mountain ridges
the heart cries out for the human touch
to continue to be apart is too much
your love gives me shelter from the storm
when the spirit is tattered and torn
and when in my head the buzzing won't stop
just the touch of your hand means a lot
and as the flower grows and bends towards the light
i won't give you up, not without a fight
forget all that's happened in the past
let's keep it together and make it last
peter strugnell
9
don't declare your love today
never tell a woman you'll always gonna stay
that you'll stand by her come what may
or that you'll love her t'ill your dying day
don't declare your love today
and you wear your heart on your sleeve
you know deep down you could never leave
whatever you do don't show your need
don't declare your love today
and i know you and you know me
there's nothing left to discover now
in your mind you'd like to be wild and free
the only trouble is you don't know how
you know you'd like to climb her stairs
the more you love her the less she cares
yes i know, it hardly seems fair
but don't declare your love today
and if you want to keep her in your care
for a love that makes people stop and stare
give her space to breathe, and a little air
don't declare your love today
peter strugnell
10
from your head to your toes
from an old photo you were looking so fine
what's more, in those days you were mine
you were as beautiful as dart-moor heather
the hills covered in mist, typical english weather
your beauty is no comfort in my melancholy
it is no comfort in life's errors and folly
looking so elegant it was easy to love you
your kisses and smiles in the morning dew
but i must stop looking back, it serves no purpose
no point staying together for better and for worse
I prefer to remember you as you are in this pose
loved and adored from your head to your toes.
peter strugnell
11
i'm a liar and your a fake
the love i invested i never got back
and where does that leave me further down the track
you've got to be lied to to know the value of truth
I have some regrets, i've wasted my youth
and we all know that politciens are all on the take
and i am a liar, and you're a fake
it's simple really to explain what you do
apply to every instance, 'what's in it for you'
as the african president again fills his boots
more children die as he robs and he loots
any love left is destroyed in the wake
and i'm a liar and your a fake
I don't know who you are anymore
where's the woman, the lover i had before
i don't understand my very own emotions
where's the love, the care, the devotion
the colours of our love have faded to opaque
and i'm a liar and your a fake
the rich get richer and the poor stay poor
and a cold wind blows in my heart and these shores
when i held out my hand you slapped it away
there is no winner here; we're both gonna pay
we are like two spoilt children, we only know how to take
and i'm a liar and you're a fake
it's impossible you can't argue with a fickle wind
it changes direction and nobody wins
like silicone implants, it doesn't feel the same
the bankers screw us over, they have no shame
why don't you use the name your mother gave you at any rate
I may be a liar but honey your a fake
peter strugnell
12
les choses sont comme elles sont (traduction de la poeme en anglais, 'what is,
is! '
Traduction de Fanny en français
LES CHOSES SONT COMME ELLES SONT
Alors que je marchais seul sur une piste montagneuse,
J'ai rencontré un vieil homme portant un sac à dos
Y a-t-il des paroles sages que vous voudriez me confier?
Y'a-t-il quelque chose que je devrai savoir?
Ne perds pas ton temps avec des choses que tu ne peux changer,
Ou à penser que quelqu'un d'autre doit être blamé
L'inquiétude te laissera fatigué et las!
Ce sont là mes pensées, c'est ma théorie
Aussi haut qu'une montagne, aussi vaste que le ciel,
Mon amour pour toi je n'ai jamais pu l'expliquer
Comme les rivières, l'océan et la mer
Les choses sont comme elles sont, et devront le rester
Tu vis dans le futur ou le passé, d'une manière ou d'une autre
Pour ma part je vais vivre dans le moment présent
Comme notre rencontre et notre conversation
C'est le voyage qui compte, pas la destination
S'efforcer d'être le meilleur est absurde
Il faut juste donner le meilleur de soi
Elles t'ont été distribuées, alors joues tes cartes mon ami
C'est tout ce que tu peux faire, c'est tout ce que je te recommande
Aussi haut qu'une montagne, aussi vaste que le ciel,
Mon amour pour toi je n'ai jamais pu l'expliquer
Comme les rivières, l'océan et la mer
Les choses sont comme elles sont, et devront le rester.
peter strugnell
13
little girl lost
Little girl lost and alone in a crowded room
she looks to the window to the stars and the moon
she whispers 'does anyone really care'?
can you hear me 'is there anybody there'?
but there is and there's more than one
who heard what you said and cares if your gone.
and every morning is a world made new
the slate wiped clean and we start anew
life can be hard and it's difficult to cope
but with each sunrise there's a ray of hope
the past is gone and the future unknown
but today is a 'present' got to make it your own
peter strugnell
14
missing words (manque des mots)
I have no words for you there is a problem
where are they when you need them
trapped in a corner of my mind
some words we shall never find
the speech therapist is helping me look
the cerebral annurism stole and it took
the words exist and have always existed
but will they come out, will they be liberated
frustration you don't know the half of it
I feel stupid i feel like an 'idgit'
some words will never find their way out
and it doesn't help to scream and to shout.
when all was functioning as it should
I'd draw up a list of vital words, and i could,
but now there's simply gaps in my list,
and the word won't come, even if i insist
what comes in its place is anger and frustration,
like all the passengers are waiting, with no train in the station.
words when they come easy we take them as said,
we don't question what the brain does, it's taken as read,
I don't understand when it decides not to function,
when both brain and speech don't work in conjunction.
It's frightening and i don't like what has happened
I can't except the injury, not for a second
the brain is a delicate instrument noone can deny
upset it's delicate balance and you'll soon see why
I can appear a bit scary if you don't understand
when i became ill it for sure wasn't planned
so please be tolerant if I'm feeling a bit low
it's probably due to a 'manque des mots'
peter strugnell
15
never doubt my love
verse 1
my love for you, has never felt so true,
i'll do my best, to never make you blue,
what little i have, i'd give it all to you,
you should never doubt my love
verse2
when you fall between a rock and a hard place,
when there are things, that you just can't face,
i can offer you a safer place
you should never doubt my love.
bridge1
but nothing's certain, and life is short,
and it's a crime, to hesitate too long,
what i'm selling, just can't be bought,
in my arms is, where you belong.
verse 3
when the one you count on, lets you down
when in a pool of tears, you think you'll drown,
life's misfortune together, we'll turn it around,
you should never doubt my love.
instrumental verse
bridge 2
live for today we might not be here tomorrow,
is the code, by which i live,
have no regrets, dont dwell on sorrow,
don't hold back, if you've got love to give.
verse 4
when the sands of time, are running out too fast,
when you think the good times, are all in the past,
and you think that happiness can never last
you should never doubt my love
peter strugnell
16
s'accepter soi-meme (title in english - accept yourself)
traduction français (merci à fanny)
Aujourd'hui j'ai quelques difficultés, quelques cicatrices reste toujours,
en plein manque de confiance en soi, par des blessures au cerveau,
quand on fleur la mortalité, C'est obligé que ça change une personne,
ça change votre vue, et revendications précédentes,
c'est comme une renaissance, ou une seconde chance,
je remercie mes étoiles chanceuses, le destin et circonstance.
obligé à réapprendre, beaucoup de compétences oubliées,
je maudire ces accidents, et les neurones qu'ils tuent,
je suis plus lent dans la pensée, mais plus vite dans le colére,
je suis vite de fatiguer, et lent pour se rappeler,
je sais bien, bien sur, cette vie peux être rude, mais on ne peut pas me dire, que
'acceptation n'est pas dur.
vous avez les compétances en abondance,
vous étes probablement mieux que vous en pensez,
naturellement vous allez rencontré une certaine difficulté,
mais pas à pas vous irez loin,
votre vraie valeur, vous devriez accepter,
vous êtes vous, aucunes excuses, aucun regret,
allez ainsi mon ami s'acceptent!
il y a des choses naturellement que je ne fais pas brillant,
parfois faible, parfois résilient,
ces pareilles pour tout le monde, à un certain degré,
valide, handicapé, ou avec le dissability,
comme une embrasse de chaleur, d'une vieille connaissance,
je lui souhaite la bienvenue, mon vieil ami acceptation.
je ne savais pas a l'époque, que j'allais récupère comme je faisais,
j'ai honte à dire, que je n'ai pas voulu vivre,
je n'aurai pas se plaignent, mais je le fais souvent quand meme,
les épreuves sont un professeur, des choses que je n'ai jamais sues,
acceptation vous savez, ne veut pas dire que vous tous lachez
ce n'est pas une fin à tous, mais un endroit à commencer.
peter strugnell
17
the librarian
he spends each night in my head doing the filing,
he's a conscientious man, he wants things neat and on the dot,
there's been vandalism, damage and the work's been piling,
at times he can't find the file and it's slot.
he is forever searching for it's proper place,
and he keeps me awake at night,
he's working at a furious pace,
but on my life he has made a blight.
he takes the ladder on it's runners,
he clatters about searching, with his serious face,
he keeps them on, the lights and the burners,
the files and dossiers never find their place.
he runs around like a headless chicken,
for ever in decreasing circles,
it's like his arse has been bitten,
for example by a snapping turtle.
all alone in the silent hours,
you're alone and you're tormented,
trying to sleep with all your powers,
and you think you shall end up demented.
peter strugnell
18
the welfare accommodation blues
It's a hard place, and I can see no way out
the kids in the corridor, they scream and they shout
the walls and ceiling are thin, below and above
you can hear the neighbours, when they're making love
we're three to a room, and that's no joke
why is it that, I'm alway's flat broke
opposite you'll find, there's a wife beater
three doors down, is the remedial offender
they dealt the wrong cards, forgot to shuffle the pack
from the cradle to the grave, in the poverty trap
was it my destiny, am I born to lose
yes I've got the, the welfare accommodation blues
don't know how it came to this, came to be so low
I'm the constant drip, in life's overflow
I'm still waiting for, for my ship to come in
the future? well, I only know where I've been
born to a violent father, and a drunk for a mother
i brought up both of them, my sister and my brother
responsibility I tell yer, I knew from a very young age
I lived with the bottle, and my father's rage
It's easy to enter, but difficult to leave
yes a condemned man, is written on my sleeve
we see no politicians here, on the election trail
I see the addict, the alcoholic, and those that fail
peter strugnell
19
to the ends of the earth
tell me this, do you think, that life has passed you by,
i always search, when i look, deep in your eyes
it's hard you know, to love someone, completely you'll find
with mystic countries, and distant sunsets, always on your mind
and then again, don't think that i, don't really care,
but you're never here, by my side, when your spirit is there
well all the best, i wish you well, on your journey unknown,
i'm strong enough, i'm tough enough, to make it on my own,
and I'd go to the ends of the earth for you
down narrow streets and the wide avenues
across desert plains, beyond the hills
through tulip fields, and the daffodils
and even when we're far apart,
you'll be on my mind and close to my heart
it takes a leap, of blind faith, to let you go,
but i can't keep you, in ropes and chaines, this at least i know,
between rocky desert, and alpine trail, and the carribean ocean
you'll find tranquility, and inner peace, that elusive of emotions
so when the fire, that you burn, is all but spent,
when you're tired, weary of the road, and haven't got a cent,
come back to me, i'm still here, if you're not too proud,
we'll start again, where we left off, I think that's still allowed,
so tell me again, of your travels, and the people you met,
from the carnival, down in rio, to the mountains of tibet,
tell me tales, of the golan heights, where the eagles cry,
but have a heart, please don't ask, if life has passed you by
peter strugnell
20
we shall never know
no class that morning you could see the joy in his eyes
for someone so young he was right to study life
he climbed the hillside as often he had done before
wanting to learn of nature and it's own law
fourteen summers old and unaware of the danger
in his world he and mortality were a stranger
from the ragged cliff edge where the falcon flies
his soul was taken chasing butterflies
so yes, we shall never know,
what you would have done, if you were allowed to grow
so yes, live like it's your last day
live life to the full, that's what I say
and you, you who was so young
well even you knew that life should be fun
a time of pure innocence and simple ties
a childlike honesty with no adult lies
to me forever young, you will never grow old
to those you met and to those you'll never know
peter strugnell
21
What is, is!
As I walked a lonely mountain track
i met an old man with a pack on his back
are there any wise words with me you'd like to share
is there anything of which i should be aware
'don't waste your time on things that can't be changed
or think that someone else, has got to be blamed
worry will leave you, so tired and weary
these are my thoughts, this is my theory'
as high as a mountain, as wide as the sky
my love for you, i could never justify
like the rivers, the ocean and the sea
what is, is, and shall always be
you're living in the future or the past somehow
I for one am going to live in the now
like our meeting and our conversation
it's the journey that counts not the destination
to strive to be the best is an absurdity
you've just got to be, the best you can be
play the hand your dealt, play your cards my friend,
it's all you can do, it's all I recommend
as high as a mountain, as wide as the sky
my love for you, i could never justify
like the rivers, the ocean and the sea
what is, is, and shall always be
peter strugnell
22
you believed in me
i wish that you could ask me, about my day,
I would say the words, that I never got to say,
our time together was way too short,
and It's a hard les-son that, that i've been taught.
It's not for pity, that i play the troubadour,
you were a friend to me, and so much more,
i'm not here in order, to mourn a wife,
if i'm here today it's, to celebrate a life.
my feelings and thoughts, in disaray,
you believed in me, as you would often say.
in life you know, there are things, beyond our control,
but i miss you, i miss you,
body and soul,
and it's my love for you, that shall never end,
and my heart i feel may, may just never mend,
a letter came today, still adressed to you,
but you are gone and, i thought everybody knew.
i can see your soul, in our little girl's eyes,
and i hear your voice, in our babies cries,
for our daughter, i've got to be strong,
it's for you and her, that i sing my song.
peter strugnell

ALL POEMS OF PHILIP KIRKLANA

Poetry Series
Philip Kirkland
- poems -
2
A Poet's Lot
In vain, essaying to transcribe
A poet's gilded thoughts
The pen, misguided, often strays
From what the mind exhorts
Countless hours of fruitless toil
And myriad expunctions
Are wasted in a futile search
For substantives and conjunctions
But gallantly, the writer's hand
Eschewing trivial verse
Bravely ploughs the furrow to
Defeat the poet's curse
Then, when hope is evanescing
Inspiration springs afore
A sumptuous, crafted lexicon
With rhyme and meter in rapport.
Philip Kirkland
3
Be Yourself
Be yourself, don’t ride the wave
Of fashion, be it word or deed
Your sentiments are valid too
Go forth, and weaker minds concede
Posterity recalls the thinker
Passionate, with sturdy aim
Whose utterances are cast in concrete
Whose principles define his name
Be strong, and carve your niche with passion
Don’t follow,
Lead with fortitude
Although your deeds are oft derided
And well-meant words are misconstrued
Say what you think, don’t be diverted
Ignore prevailing, shallow thought
Stoke the furnace, forge your path
Of iron, from which great men are wrought.
Philip Kirkland
4
Call to the Dispossessed
Statue standing, voice complaining
Lack of mother wit constraining
Mentations barely entertaining
Life's opportunity
Why do you seem to little care
And yet your life live in despair
Afraid, unwilling, unaware
Of how your life could be
You seem to cherish worthlessness
Yet live your life in crass excess
Of the meagre means that you possess
Society's absentee
There is another path to choose
Of summer days and morning dews
Where even winners sometimes lose
Awake, life's course is free!
Philip Kirkland
5
Dear Margarita
I’ve built our home on honest blood
And worked my bones to set you free
I’ve told the truth and paid my dues
And given you the best of me
I’ve never stumbled in my quest
To be the man your heart desired
I gave you children as you wished
And all the love that you required
I always tried to understand
And listen to your point of view
I could have said when you were wrong
But never contradicted you
These things I write, I wish were true
That I could change what went before
But thank you for your faith in me
Sincerely,
Love for evermore.
Philip Kirkland
6
Destruction of the American Dream
The speaker at the seminar expounds his hollow case
Hideous complacency defines his callow face
His pristine suit encompasses his lithesome youthful frame
As a sycophantic audience applauds his every claim
His residence is situated in the finest urban zone
With architectural flourishes, uncouth and overblown
His luxury Mercedes is his symbol of success
As lacking as his accent in discernment and finesse
And holidays are spent assimilating latest foreign trends
The all-essential savoir-faire on which his name depends
Creative avocations are simply labelled picayune
By the misdirected standards of a voracious young tycoon
If only he could see himself with another's heedful eyes
And recognize the shallowness behind his swank disguise
The conceited young executive with his narcissistic ways
Would realize he's not the man his outward gloss portrays.
Philip Kirkland
7
England
Should I one day return to see
The country that created me
Whose inward looking eye disowned
The toil and wisdom I once loaned
I’ll plant my flag of liberty
Unstained by insularity
Which marks the history nobly gained
With platitudes, and honour, feigned
Look to yourselves, my countrymen
Your sword is not as sharp as then
Your shield is battered on the ground
And Rule Britannia makes no sound.
Should I one day return to see
The country that created me
I’ll stop and taste your rural charm
My countrymen, I mean no harm
But Albion has lost its way
It sold its glory yesterday
Until the blindness finds its cure
By looking to the days of yore
I’ll not return again to see
The country that created me.
Philip Kirkland
8
Hour of Desperation
Oh, sweet inebriant, a truth, a lie?
What power you hold to calm me now
My hour of desperation
But are you honest?
Would you hang the cowardly
Or else pretend to be
A panacea?
Does your promise still hold true
Or will you
Abandon me?
Now
My hour of desperation.
Don't let me down, I'm weak
And need a faithful friend
Though long I sought
And never found
Expect in bacchic vein.
I celebrate, inebriant,
Your helping hand
And steadfast company
Will you abandon me?
Not now
Now
My hour of desperation...
Philip Kirkland
9
Lennonesque
Born of mother (dies by policeman)
Virtual orphan, Mimi cares
Wayward childling, only plucking
Auntie living deep despairs
Muchly better young McCartney
Teaches roughneck tuney strings
Jam together, fledgling combo
Rock 'n' Roll 'n' Blues 'n' things
Off to Hamburg, popping Prellies
Playing socks off, kiddies' cheers
Man, we're groovy little group now
Playing Cavern, Epstein hears
Richly contract, muchy money
Funny haircut, shiny suit
Liddypool is distant memory
Muchy fame and girls to boot
Jappy Yoko, avant gardly
Arty Johnny, falls in lust
Beatles crumbly, end of era
Golden Apple turns to dust
Uncle Sammy, John and Yoko
Little Sean and baking bread
Starting Over, not for muchly
Mad assassin - JOHNNY'S DEAD!
Philip Kirkland
10
Lost in a Dream
Lost in a dream, all sentience
Adopts another attitude
Vexation melts in restful state
Dissimulating restless mood
Such circumstance ameliorates
Exasperation's dire trance
An idealistic simulacrum
Of stress and tension's bold advance
A hypothetic resolution
Emerges in such tranquil mode
When peaceful, still insouciance
In blissful slumber is bestowed
How eminent the towering mind
With innate equanimity
Accomplishing an equal feat
As daylight's fuddled nominee.
Philip Kirkland
11
Low
What I know I only know
I learnt through many years
Fears
Tears
Tearing at my heart
Hardly giving space to lucid thought
Wasted years
Yielding little
Standing small
Stalling in my quest
An uninvited guest
Molesting me at ev'ry turn
Where did they go
Knowing that I needed them
And standing on the precipice
This is all I know
I know the fool
That I became
A name
Unknown and now forgotten
Forgive me
I didn't really know
How low
The fool could go
This is low
So low.
Philip Kirkland
12
Mexico, Your Tie is Crooked
Mexico, your tie is crooked
Badly stained and out of place
Your carelessness and lack of grooming
Disfigure your resplendant face.
Philip Kirkland
13
On the Death of Susan Chilcott
Many years have passed since when
With untrained voice I heard you sing
In ignorance, I dared not think
What joy that voice would bring
Aloof, we said, no modesty
A Prima Donna born
My heart regrets such unkind thoughts
The disdain and the scorn
You took your talent far and wide
To Europe’s concert halls
To light the stages, bathing in
Applause and curtain calls
Then tragically the curtain fell
Too soon, a cruel discord
The orchestra is silent now
Your voice, it seems, ignored
I never heard you sing again
Or saw how well you bore your fame
But humbly write this epitaph
In memory of your name
RIP Susan Chilcott (1963 – 2003)
Philip Kirkland
14
Once on the Fells of Coniston
Past copper-coated waterfalls
And burnish'd silvern tarns
How apt I found my Shangri-la
Chez Wordsworth's fabled yarns.
Philip Kirkland
15
People-watching in Paris
May I permit myself to guess
Where Monsieur Dumont spends his days?
Perhaps in Left-Bank galleries
And sophisticated French cafés
And does he drive a 2CV
To some suburban pied-à-terre
Perhaps he takes a mademoiselle
An Angeline or Marie-Claire
And does he read the Paris-Soir
Or intellectual magazines
And visit Comédie Française
To sleep throughout the boring scenes
As Monsieur Dumont takes his leave
And puts his pourboire on the bar...
...Ah! Welcome Madame Balladur
I'll try to work out who you are.
Philip Kirkland
16
Poetry and Wine
When the muse deserts me and goes out for the day
I search for inspiration in a glass of Chardonnay.
I think of love, or death, or war
No wait! Those themes were done before
I need another top-up - Quick!
A Cabernet Sauvignon - Hic!
And now my rhyme has gone awry
Perhaps because my glass is dry
I need to find another line...
...or, why not? ...another wine!
And now my meter isn't true
Another swig is overdue!
Let's see, which wines are in the rack?
Will Merlot bring my poem back?
I'm struggling now to write a thing
My eyes are red, and start to sting
I cannot think it gets much worse
I KNOW! - I'll write some free-form verse!
The snow falls darkly
On a distant salmon
Waiting
Hoping...
...I know, I'm not much good at those
I'll leave that art form to the pros
And as my muse has gone away...
...I'll have a glass of Beaujolais!
Philip Kirkland
17
Simple Pleasures
Would that I were debonair
With pearly teeth and perfect hair
Sarcastic wit at my command
Well-honed phrases on demand
I'd know each wine by its bouquet
And understand a Shakespeare play
The classic novels I'd collect
To demonstrate my intellect
I'd talk of Brahms and Pachelbel
As if I knew their music well
I'd visit Ascot, finely dressed
Invited as a royal guest
The Paris Ritz would keep a suite
Where urbane friends and I would meet
To talk of Kafka, Proust and Freud
And denigrate the unemployed
I'd talk in German, French and Dutch
Of literature and art and such
The world's elite would cite my name
And hold my judgment in acclaim
Alas, I'm not so worldly-wise
But here's a worthy compromise
I have no need to cut a dash
Just send a million dollars cash!
Philip Kirkland
18
Sin Esperanza (Haiku en Español)
¡Asómate, güey!
¡Abre tus ojos, cabrón!
¿Dónd' está tu sol?
Philip Kirkland
19
The Angel's Song
‘Twas fate that brought me to this land
Or else, the will of the almighty hand
To speak the truth that you hold dear
To close one book and open another here
But that will is a beauteous thing
Whose golden rhyme the angels sing
To relieve the weary traveler’s load
And set him on a straighter road.
Though troubled times may burden me
And ties that bind won’t set me free
Your love is constant, fair and true
My every breath, I owe to you
To keep and hold you as I once vowed
Beneath the cross, in voice aloud
For richer, poorer, when ailments strike
Better, worse, two states alike.
When evening falls, the chill will bite
But love’s awake, a potent light
The flame may flicker in the breeze
To bring the lovers to their knees
But that we have will make us tall
And let us see the demons fall
Till morning comes and we rise above
The gathering rain-clouds, buoyed by love.
And so, when daggers pierce your heart
And being together, we feel apart
Remember dear, the angel’s song
That keeps us close and rights the wrong
A celestial gift bestowed by chance
A living dream, a courtly dance
And when the angels go to sleep
Their gift is yours and mine to keep.
Philip Kirkland
20
The Career of J.K. Rowling
Young lass
Needs brass
Wizard book
Kids look
Sales soar
Writes more
Sells rights
Film excites
Stops there
Billionaire!
Philip Kirkland
21
The Virgin of Guadalupe
Beneath the shade of Tepeyac
The flowers turn to stare
One million faithful, Strong of heart
All met, ‘neath the virgin's glare
Oh, virgin, take us to your heart
Adoringly we pay
Our homage to our patron saint
On Guadalupe’s day
San Juan Diego, equally
Esteemed by pilgrims still
That gather from provincial towns
To meet below the hill
Cross yourself, your Lord has looked
Upon you, full of grace
Absolved your sins, and sanctified
The virgin of your race.
Philip Kirkland
22
Truth in a Fleeting Moment
With hope I watched as darkness’ veil
Fell slowly o’er the rage and spite
Extinguishing the daylight’s pyre
To welcome in a kinder light.
What chance the stars be prescient
Of destiny prescribed?
Their secret plans wrapped in their orb
My future thus derived.
What chance the moon be secretly
Reflecting on my fate
And if, by chance, a cloud may pass
What truth would it relate?
Not once was I a slave unto
Something I could not see
What state of mind, what happenstance
Had made this fool of me?
But as I watched, just fleetingly
My mind conceived a thought,
Could prejudice deprive me of
The peace of mind I sought?
Philip Kirkland
23
Who am I?
In context I am the everyman
He that is greater, is less than I
I am the fool, romantic and pretentious
He that is lesser, is greater than I
My persuasion is resistless
My lexicon abstruse
I am the charlatan
Your judgment justified
Your may deride my every line
But I am the artist
Painting portraiture with words
You are the magistrate
Sentence me
My sentences beg censure
I beg you only venture
Beyond your prejudice
And read between the lines
You, the everyman, as I
Philip Kirkland
24
Winter on the Riviera Maya
Achromatic winter moon reflects on turquoise sea
Verdant forest, emerald shade, repletes my reverie
Distant islands, lustrous jewels, appear in twilight gloom
Resplendent floral strands abound, breathing sweet perfume
Gentle, shifting ardent sand that permeates my toes
Swooping seagulls hollering, as day draws to its close
I long to savor once again the Riviera's spells
And bask in its tranquility, where ataraxy dwells.
Philip Kirkland
25
Wonder
Still midnight, the crystal spheres,
Like a family unto me, speak
Of their melancholy mood
The moon like a son
Possesses latent virtue
Yet is still and unsounded
And then, I am acquainted with
The aura of a cloudless sky
I am at one
With the eerie void
The night possesses me
And I
Possess the night.
Philip Kirkland