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A message from Me.....

Hi, all Hope you are enjoying my poems, there are many more to come but i'll let you digest these ones first before adding more.........

I would love to hear your thoughts and comments on my work, so please feel free to be as open and honest as you can..........I can take it :-)

Thanks guys,

Kind regards,

Steve "the poetry addict"

Last Choice.

I wrote this a while ago, I work with a lot of children, this was inspired by a story told to by one of them.

He walks; face down, hoodie up, not wanting to be seen
revs high, at curbs edge, voices shouting, words obscene.
Temporary deafness, faster strides, he hopes they'll disappear,
screech of rubber, mounted path, youths approving cheers.

Back door opens, girls hand beckons, familiar voice within,
disappointment, sinking feeling, as she asks him; climb in.
Awkward silence, hesitation, addiction hard to break,
conscience calling, broken promise, bad decision, hard to make.

Choices made, he sits beside her, engine roars to life,
hip hop booming, hand on knee, guilt begins to fight.
Handbrake pulled, doughnuts spinning, smell of tyre smoke,
heartbeat tripled, adrenalin pumped, marijuana chokes.

Town to country, limits broken, disrespect of law,
emotions fired, tongues entangled, drivers foot to floor.
Farmyard entrance, tractor turns, reaction slowed with dope,
over steering, flipped on roof, thoughts of life provoked.

Silence deafening, smell of fuel, lifeless bodies lay,
mobile ringing, mum on screen, tear rolls, from his eye.
Breathing shallow, pulse slows down; girlfriends' eyes are wide,
thoughts of loved ones, and bad decisions, shuts his eyes, and dies.

Published 2010/05/08

The legend of old Maeve.

I went for a walk up a local mountain called Knocknarea, with the mountain comes great stories and mystery.This was inspired by the many stories and legends that haunt this great mountain, and the unbelievable scenery and views from it while taking my walk !!!

To some it's a challenge, just a mountain to climb,
With breathe taking scenery, a place to spend time,
To others its magic, a place of great mystery,
Of classroom stories, and old Irish history.

Old Knocknarea, black and green,
Holds a tomb, of a Connacht queen,
And Legend of, a violent battle,
A bad attempt, at steeling cattle.

One thousand feet of earth and stone,
A resting place, of a warrior's bones.
To her cairn, there leads a path,
Of shifting rock and mossy grass.

A challenging climb, to reach old Maeve,
The ten meters of limestone, that covers her grave,
Its breathtaking landmark, of natural beauty,
Spectacular scenery, of Sligo County.

Surrounding mountains, Blue Ocean, and land,
Staggering shorelines of dark golden sand,
Picturesque villages, and forests full of trees,
Nothing compares, to the sites that are seen.

Facing Northwards to Ulster, across Strand hill bay,
In full battle regalia, she stands facing her prey,
Murdered by Furbaide, her nephew, his revenge to appease,
Struck down with his slingshot, and a hard piece of cheese.

Now the legend I've told, and scenery I've described,
I've even been to the mountain, its climb I survived,
Yes I was stunned by the views, amazed and in awe,
Of panoramic visions, of the things that I saw.

I felt no presence, of a haunting spirit ghost,
But I was possessed, when looking down, at the amazing coast,
So if there is a spirit, frequenting her grave,
Maybe its Mother Nature, disguised as old Maeve.

Published 2010/05/09

Old famine house of Ireland.

In Ireland there are thousands of old eighteen hundreds famine houses scattered across the land. Each one of these relics tells a story...........

There’s an old famine house by a tree and a brook,
With dark caved in thatch work, and a chimney with a crook.
Its old wooden window frames, once solid, and holding glass,
Hangs from the stonework, the shattered glazing in the grass,
A hearth, capped with oak, stands exactly how it was,
Its soot covered opening, holds rotting rusted pots,
The greenest pea green moss, across the relic richly spanned,
Camouflaging crumbled walls, into the backdrop of the land.

In the daylight it’s some artwork, shaped and moulded over time,
A mix of vivid colours, Mother Nature in her prime,
From afar they come to visit, taking pictures where it stands,
Some eighteen hundreds history, entombed into the land,
It sings its silent memories, of the tragedy and the blight,
The down fall of the countrymen, and sad stories of their fight,
Around there lays the evidence, of how hard, life must have been,
Hand plough and sickle in the weeds, and broken washboard in the stream.

When the darkness falls around, the picture changes face,
Colour turns to black and grey, with lurching ghostly shapes,
Beauty fades to emptiness, filled with threatening shadows,
Some say the family’s spirits haunt, from graves that are so shallow,
No one dares to go a calling, for it’s the lost souls time and place,
Not care do they to see, the look of suffering on their face,
The night time, is for the lost folk, to come and visit, when it suits,
The day time, is for their ancestors, for remembering their roots.

Published 2010/05/17

Lake Breeze.

An observation I made while walking along the banks of a local lake.

Placid undulation, cast across turquoise fresh tarn,
Greens dancing with green, upon a reflective motion,
Maturing lumber, pitches in rhythmical accord,
While feral game feathers ripple and flutter.

Whisper of foliage, obscured by mother’s breath,
Fluidic echo, submerging quaint resonance of shale,
Dulcet mantra of frequenting fowl, coalesce to all,
Nature’s voices merge and become as one.

Summer sky eyes

I don't know where I pulled this one from to be honest !!

Ive done a couple of projects on this subject in the past

while at college, maybe it stems from there ??

Broken, dazed, she sits alone,
receiver hanging, off the phone.
Her towel wrapped body, grazed and sore,
discarded cloths, on a blood soaked floor.

She waits in silence, oblivious of time,
sipping, occasionally, on a glass of wine.
Eyes transfixed, on the lounge room door,
a sickening anger runs through her core.

She loved him once, before all this,
his warm embrace, and tender kiss.
The way he smiled, lit up his eyes,
like a watery reflection, of a summer sky.

Why he changed, she would often ask,
what went wrong, it happened so fast.
The caring stopped, replaced with rage,
good to bad, with the turn of a page.

Months of violence, and mental abuse,
never a reason, never induced.
His constant drinking, was never explained,
she just stopped asking, her life force was drained.

Now she sits, on a chair, with a glass of wine,
with his blood, on the floor, oblivious to time.
she waits, for sirens, a bang on the door,
men with badges, spouting the law.

His body will be found, next to the bed,
with a hole in his heart, and a gash on his head.
They will follow a trail, right down the hall
into the kitchen, all over the walls.

She will recognise faces, reading her rites,
officers called out, to previous fights.
She shows no emotion, when cuffed on the floor,
by the same policemen, that chose to ignore.

As she travels in a car, with her wrists wrapped in steel,
the pills that she swallowed, will change how she feels.
Her last breath she will gasp, and a tear she will cry,
as she remembers her love, with the summer sky eyes.

Published 2010/04/19

The Geezer !!

I Wrote This Poem Just under two years ago,

when we found out that child number six was on the way.

Baby Chloe Anne was born in May 2010.

There once was a geezer that moved over the water's,

With his Irish wife and three beautiful daughters.

His mother-in-laws house was their first abode,
He followed her rules and very strict codes.

After only two weeks he found his first job,
Working for a man that coughed like a dog.

Right from the start they didn't get on,
In the bosses mind Geezer did everything wrong.

Two years passed and though his job was no fun,
Joy was found with the birth of his first son.

A further year and a bit along came child number five,
His second son, Geeze was the proudest man alive.

Now the time finally came when his job got so shitty,
That he gave up the plumbing and went working for a chippy.

His job was more fun and he was on better money,
But there was problems at home lack of room was not funny.

The problem was cured when god answered his prayers,
A letter arrived saying a brand new council house would be theirs.

In the next few years they moved into their home,
Geeze started his own business plumbing on his own.

Life was great his life was going so well,
But in no time at all it all turned to hell.

Geeze hurt his back which caused the business to go bust,
All he could see was his life turning to rust.

How ever this man was by no means a quitter,
And decided to take some time out to get himself fitter.

When his back got better he signed up for a course,
It was either that or end up getting devorced.

So back off to school is where Geezer went,
While the social services helped pay for his rent.

He trained in childcare and got FETAC qualified,
God knows he was experienced enough with his five.

This brings us to present day now Geeze has turned his life round,
Now he is working in a creche in the middle of town.

Now the Geezer is happy working with children all day,
And has just found out number six is on the way>>>>>>>>>