Well, do you?

Well, do you?

Do you ever think of me, as the day begins to sigh,

The hours we used to waste with glee, as the time did seem to fly?

Do you ever think of me, as the sun begins to set,

The texts I used to send to thee, our gif and meme duets?

Do you ever think of me, as the moon begins to rise,

The convoluted chat grands prix, the bedrock of our highs?

Do you ever think of me, as you raise your eyes to God,

The prayers I offer turn to pleas, to cleanse thine eyes of fraud.

Do you ever think of me, as your mind begins to drift,

The time your spirit doth run free, does deceit with it still flit?

Do you ever think of me, as you lie amongst your dreams,

The truth ticks by for all to see, amidst love thine sleep doth teem?

Do you ever think of me, and wonder why I care?

This endless crap and agony, are something that we share.

Warrior Princess

Ancient Aches of Yore

Ancient Aches of Yore

What I wish upon without the worldly wants of wanton 

whatnots, that which shall appease and please my parted past, 

prepondered present, the proposeth place of peace, to the far-

flung findings of a future that finds me floundering in the 

feckless face of faithless fortune.

For there I base my future on those from whom my fervor 

flowed fleetfully forth, on those who wove the seamless strands

 of sentient sense and self which formed me ‘fore the Father fit 

my fate in flesh, to honour those who had no power to honour 

but the Hallowed He.

I will stand upon the sturdy shoulders of the souls I sent to sue, 

the mithered morrows in the mire that wrench my wandering 

witless wish of weak and wilted woe, and free them from the 

fatalist fable of feeble feminist foes and find for them a favoured 

fiat to finally fill and flow.

All these tinkerings through tailored days filled with thoughtless 

truths, that lead me ever longingly to lost lynched love left 

listlessly beside the lucent lake, where yawning youths of 

yokelish yore yank yielding years no more.

My forever since the beginning of eternity doth ebb and earn 

and echo, it lays beneath the soft sweet soil of seven sorrowful 

spheres, where passing pricks doth pierce its pride and perturb 

its pierced presage, and make the mangled meagre me moan 

miasmal melodies.

I write these witless wishful words of wistful wailful weakness, 

knowing now and nary, nevermore, this needless naïve 

nonsense, shall e’er again be given flight to fall upon the floor 

forsaken by the favoured fella whose fervor flamed then fled.

The tortured toss and turn of night as still I thirst for thee, to take 

thee in these tender arms, to care and caress unceasingly, to 

comfort thine careful cause, to give these gifts of grateful graft 

to grow gracefully grey with glee.

All the while, the aching axiom, thine abject anger at me, thine 

harboured hateful hubric heart that heaps its horrors hereto, 

while thinking itself a thoughtful type though tangled in 

thankless turbulence, trapped in tawdry tenacity, the desperate 

depths of deceit.

And so the morrows shall move once more, the yesters shall 

disappear, the deep despairing desperate days shall hide amongst 

the years, among the ancients to ash appointed alone and aching 

to die, never to greet thine grace again nor grant this grief some 

peace.

Warrior Princess

Endless Days

Endless Days

The days I do not see you are the worst,

For I miss you all the more.

They are the never ending days that leave me ever cursed,

Their never ending ills, your perfect smile could cure.

The day I see you are the worst,

For I miss you all the more.

They are the ever ached for days that leave me fit to burst,

Their ever fleeting thrills, your perfect soul doth lure.

Warrior Princess

1 year 47 minutes

1 year 47 minutes

The all of God contained within the 47 minutes of the never ending contented Mass,

Wherein the story of a life or two wert told with the sombre pleas and benediction of the never ending foretold lass.

The ever vacant mirth of the doleful supplication shattered in the pious coloured glass,

Whereupon the tales of their ever-failing obsecration doth the vibrant seams of endless worriment amass.

The all of a wink contained within the 47 minutes of the never ending year of hope,

Wherein the story of a life or two wert told with the giddy heart and overfilled soul of the never ending retold dope.

The sparkling depths of despair rest contentedly in the bosom of the soul’s vacant scope,

Whereupon the tales of its ever-softening velvet noose strings tightly like the ever withering anapaestic trope.

The all of us contained within the 47 minutes of single heart beat’s song,

Wherein the story of a life or two wert told with the discombobulated apperception of the souls of two as one.

The loss of time and life within the era of the seconds sacrificed up to the fun,

Whereupon the hearts’ were rent upon the soul’s misshapen briars wrought from the devil’s burning prong

The all of nothing contained within the 47 minutes of the never ending year of doom,

Wherein the story of a life or two wert told with the giggles and raucous laughter of the never ending untold gloom.

The shadows of its sunlight bit by the sweetest melancholy of the hearts delighted tomb,

Whereupon the tales of their withered and decrepit happiness grow like the ever festering springtime bloom.

Warrior Princess

Claddaghed Lamentations

Claddaghed Lamentations

In the haze of the rays of the sun’s dying phase,

I miss the blaze of the maze that thine eye displays.

I miss the tone of the drone of thine exaggerated groan,

As thou intone and rezone thine endeavours yet unsewn.

In the glare of the flare of the e’ens cooling air,

I miss the care of the prayer slipping thy stare.

I miss the joys of the noise of thine logical ploys,

As thou employs with a poise, making egos envoys.

In the ease of the breeze of dusk’s cool wheeze,

I miss the tease of the sprees thine mind doth seize.

I miss the spiel of the zeal of thine mooted appeal,

As thou reveal the ideal to the point of surreal.

In the depth of the death of the day’s last breath,

I miss the coquet that beset the heart’s duet.

I miss the fires of desire that thine soul transpires,

As thou acquire and rewire my being entire.

In the ways of the strays that love hath razed,

I, disowned and dethroned, hath become a discarded rib bone.

In thine snare, I despair at the ache I can’t bear,

At the boy who deployed and my heart destroyed.

In the disease of the lees of thine ardour’s freeze,

I repeal at thine heel as before thy mercy I kneel.

I am beset that we met and consumed with regret,

At the squire that conspired and my soul retired.      

Warrior Princess

The 409

The 409 

Sitting on an airless bus on College Road,

Trudging past the stadium with its breathless load.

Open windows offering victims to the relentless rain,

Bus and weather oblivious to this first world pain.

The smell of sweaty pits marinating beneath damp coats,

The haliotosed embraces the breaths of the oversmoked.

The lingering wift of the remnants of last week’s OAP’s OAB,

Reminds one of their ever urgent need to pee.

The lack of oxygen turns many eyes to sleep,

While causing inexperienced toddlers to relentlessly weep.

A close study of the powder blue of Galwegians open gate,

As in misery the bus from its pane the rain it tries to shake.

In quarter turns the wheels fight us through the traffic,

As the blue screech from an ambulance grows ever frantic.

Passengers disperse as GMIT calls them back to class,

Until finally Merlin magically waves us past.

And now we merrily trundle past Rosshill,

As I reminisce upon a summer’s ne’er-to-be-forgotten Moped’s thrill.

Knowing that all too soon the spring rain will whip my cheeks,

Once swiftly this bus shall reach Doughiska’s peak.

Warrior Princess

The wild fog of Pontoon

The wild fog of Pontoon

The wild fog of Pontoon drifts in from the vergeless lake,

Washing over emptied hills vanishing in its wake.

It softly whispers silence a welcome to embrace,

And in the muted morning the two all else efface.

The mountains turn to dust, their shadows fade away,

The treeline in the nearland gently turn to grey.

Wrapping its silky white fingers around hedges, grass and goats,

As a nomadic ethereal spectre through every sight it floats.

The sunlight pounces down, to try and pierce the veil,

The willowy watered haze, it brightly doth assail.

The world is turned to ochre with silhouetted haw,

A new domain before me appearing without a flaw.

I wish my hands could capture the beauty afore mine eyes,

And place upon a canvas this wishy washed out guise.

Don’t tell me God is fiction, or my belief but an affliction,

For in this newly sketched morn, my faith is again reborn.

Warrior Princess

By the Trials of Sisyphos, Catullus

By the Trials of Sisyphos, Catullus

The endless closing vacuum swallows the silence of the searing shredding of my aching soul,

Within vacant Echo’s infinite chasm my soul doth wander among the breathless shadows that inhale it whole.

As all my world is crushed to dust like the grains of sand lost upon the heaving tides of time,

I look back upon the road we briefly walked and think of how thou fell so certainly upon that deceiver’s comely crime.

Thy knowing mind cast sense and love aside and sought instead the comfort of the evil slanderous maw,

Thou threw thineself upon its ugly gaping fiction and thrilled thineself in its shiny shallow awe.

Oh my Catullus, may the thunder bolt of Zeus wrench the lies from the mouth of the wench,

And with them cast her into the Phlegethon wherein the depths of Tarturus will they quench.

May the gods appear before her empty eyes and rip the sins from their frozen deathly vice-like grip,

May they all become the fodder beneath the helotry of Hades’ fiercest Field from which the damned shall never slip.

Lost and alone with memories now unknown may she eternally seek to retrieve from Lethe the cause of the chaff she herself hast sown,

May her fettles consist forever of the demons that she within her spirit with hubris herself hath grown.

May thou never know the truth of the pleasing course the Fates may one day to us both have spun,

Had thou in thine infinite disregard deemed it beyond the evil reach of one who so discernibly wished to see our path so pure undone.

Thine folly falls upon my heart like the rock of Sisyphos returning daily to remind me that thine heart was never mine,

That thou would quickly sell me out and buy the dirty fabric weaved by the mouth of any nasty swine.

As yet again eternally we shall swirl once more in the poisoned stew of what may or might but never hath the wings of life-filled flight,

For thou took thine bitter arrow from thine past and dipping it in thine venomous mire took aim and o’er our love did smite.

Warrior Princess

The Cloud Soaked Sky, Catullus

The Cloud Soaked Sky, Catullus

I see thee my Catullus, but I cannot bear to look upon thy gaze,

My love repels me and throws me into a terrifying maze.

The very sight of thee weakens me to my core,

I am drifting in deep waters, abandoned by my moor.

I cannot bear to lift my head lest thou art standing there,

I cannot endure to see the sight of thine ever scowling stare.

The pinched up anger in thine heart to hatred soon will turn,

To stoke the ever festering mess that thou dost always churn.

My heart is lost within this storm that thou hast cast on me,

I fight against the windswept pain and yet I cannot find my lee.

My soul despairs the loss of light beneath the cloud soaked sky,

And all the while this pain I know thou wilst fore’er deny.

Within my breast my heartbeat stalls when thou appear once more,

Ignoring thee dost crush my bones and defeats me to my core.

I was not born with will or whim to e’er from Justice cleave,

For love nor money ne’er shall I cause deceit and truth to weave.

The day will come when thee shall pass and enter the Gates on High,

By then too late for thee to purge the sorrow of thine lie.

The witch that lives within thy den shall turn to dust once more,

And on that day the wench shall learn she’s an amoral wicked whore.

Warrior Princess

The De Valera betrayal, Catullus

The De Valera betrayal, Catullus

And so it ends Catullus,
In the blaze and haze and dust filled lungs of Béal na Bláth,
The back pierced to the fatal end as traitors hail their misplaced grá,
Never again shall a song emerge to reach thine ears so black,
Those ears of tears who to thine friend, doth quickly turn their back.
And to thy shame thine acts sit loud before the throne of God,
For thou might think it all now dwells beneath thine oral sod,
But He above He knows the truth and ever shall thy crime,
Present itself before His Face and seek His righteous time.

Let’s see what He doth make of ye and all those slurs thou preach,

Thine false and fickle heart He’ll weigh beside thine sinful speech.

I have no fear that Justice yet shall rear her mighty head,

And though it might not happen yet, it will whence long I’m dead.

I wait with God in patience; weary and desolate though I be,

I know that God Himself alone the expounding truths can see.

I hope the yield thou reap, is worth the price thoust paid,

I hope the lies thoust told, are worth their weight when weighed.

For I know thou hast sown chaff and not the wheat you seek,

And thou hast proven yet again, thine love for me was weak.

Warrior Princess

I shall take out the trash, my Catullus

I shall take out the trash, my Catullus

Oh dear Catullus how my heart does ache,

When the bobolyne plays a game of piss-take,

Duping and deception, her perpetual game,

Your freedom of self, yet again she doth maim.

Setting you up in her web of lies,

Yet your inner wonder she doth continually despise.

Never embracing your marvel of grace,

Ever mendacious and straight to your face.

She inveigles and flatters and ensnares your will,

The helpless damsel is her poisoned pill.

I care not for her masks of gold,

I will forever shred her fraud untold,

She condemns and infects those that I love,

A devious depiction of me she doth shove.

I will stand tall and fight to the end,

For never shall I abandon those I defend.

Those that I love I will never betray,

Even if she manages to lead them astray

Hate me my love, if that is a must,

But this damned bitch, I’ll turn to dust.

Warrior Princess