Saturday, April 29, 2017

I'm not your type

You normally go for girls with blonde bobbed hair
That swings when they shake their heads;
Girls whose laughter is accompanied by an
Angle of acquisitive interest;
Girls who drum their nails impatiently on the counter top,
Glossy, with lacquer gleaming; bored girls.

The pity is 
My body does everything you'd want it to, hungrily; 
And my body wants everything you'd want it to, lustily;
And my heart's truer than truth and stickier than stalagmite;
And my heart beats with beauteous beauty.

The real pity is
My mind seeds, grows, basks, ripens.
Yes, my mind is a veritable peach.

Friday, April 21, 2017


But today I saw trees shyly showing The newest little green leaves As little birds held a meeting to discuss.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

The New Year

Like the roundness
And wholeness of an egg,
You could not make it up -
Its speckled curves.
The heft of it.

The new year is
The thing in your hand.
Entire. Mind-bending,
As it stretches and
Curves away from you.

I want my hand not to drop it.

Monday, October 31, 2016

The Reading

In the mock parlour room, people come and go.
No one speaks of Michaelangelo.
The words are thin and the wit is dull.
Arrogance saturates the air. No lull.
The Liffey water turns green, olive, matt black.
The lights upon it are buttered mosaic, forth and back.
The moment of grace is brief and it is bright.
It is sign-posted by no hot spotlight.
I want to drum my heels, point and shout:
Talent is here; talent is out.

This poem was originally published on the Poethead blog.

Sunday, October 30, 2016


I tuck myself into you.
The front of my knee
Fondles the back of your knee.

You tip your shoulder back,
Nudge my shoulder.
Hey you, you say.

Happiness is a little slip of a thing.

Published by Wordlegs in their Spring 2014 issue.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Friday, October 14, 2016


this is the third dry year and 
this year is the deepest 
of the dry years

the commentator says
as though dryness were a well
sinking down and down

into eventual wetness
taking me rustily 
down and down in a bucket

mouth parched body humid
waiting and wanting
the eventual to be now

for the dip, float and gush

First published in Skylight47 in April 2016