Thursday, 28 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: UFOs:
Danny Fahey's Writing: UFOs:: Perhaps we have been visited they came, they studied, they fled – what would be the Latin for that ( venerunt studuerunt fugerunt )? Or ...
UFOs:
Perhaps we have been visited
they came, they studied, they fled –
what would be the Latin for that
(venerunt studuerunt fugerunt)?
Or else they have yet to arrive
but will and see our catastrophe –
highlighted for me by a sign
during the time of viral spread
armed protestors with a placard
that read our body our choice
and I could not help the ironic thought –
do these gun wielding protestors
think the same applies for women who wish
to exercise choice over their bodies?
I think not –
control of the feminine
has always been at the root
of the barrel and bullet brigade.
Did their mothers, like alien beings,
unsuited to the task of life on earth
study their child's ways and then flee?
Perhaps in their saucers of life
they found it too hard to continuously give
love and comfort
to these little gun-toting boys who rose from beds
with hurt and killing thoughts
buzzing in their alien heads.
they came, they studied, they fled –
what would be the Latin for that
(venerunt studuerunt fugerunt)?
Or else they have yet to arrive
but will and see our catastrophe –
highlighted for me by a sign
during the time of viral spread
armed protestors with a placard
that read our body our choice
and I could not help the ironic thought –
do these gun wielding protestors
think the same applies for women who wish
to exercise choice over their bodies?
I think not –
control of the feminine
has always been at the root
of the barrel and bullet brigade.
Did their mothers, like alien beings,
unsuited to the task of life on earth
study their child's ways and then flee?
Perhaps in their saucers of life
they found it too hard to continuously give
love and comfort
to these little gun-toting boys who rose from beds
with hurt and killing thoughts
buzzing in their alien heads.
Danny Fahey's Writing: The Letterbox:
Danny Fahey's Writing: The Letterbox:: the letterbox is deep green stands on a small circular metal post that rises up from the concrete to meet the centre of the bottom compar...
The Letterbox:
the letterbox is deep green
stands on a small circular metal post
that rises up from the concrete to meet
the centre of the bottom compartment
that, stork-like when open, waits
for the letters to drop in. The letterbox
is broken, unhinged top free
from bottom, in the wind
the top is sometimes discovered
meters away, on the ground
a deep green bird that has landed
behind and above
the nest open to the elements
the letters wet, any message
lost in the expansion of ink
and weakening of transformed tree
stands on a small circular metal post
that rises up from the concrete to meet
the centre of the bottom compartment
that, stork-like when open, waits
for the letters to drop in. The letterbox
is broken, unhinged top free
from bottom, in the wind
the top is sometimes discovered
meters away, on the ground
a deep green bird that has landed
behind and above
the nest open to the elements
the letters wet, any message
lost in the expansion of ink
and weakening of transformed tree
Wednesday, 27 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Conspiracy:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Conspiracy:: Let us first set the groundwork, 5G has no place in this terrain except the way any surreal fear festers and enters so that it joins the...
Conspiracy:
Let us first set the groundwork,
5G has no place in this terrain
except
the way any surreal fear festers and enters
so that it joins the vaccines that are the land
or the land's absence truthfully.
Let us then look at current plights
and it is almost enough
to
set a smile to this contrary heart
and make a prayer find its way towards lips
devoted to an atheist standpoint.
This virus has led to a rolling up of sleeves
arms thrust forward
and
veins throbbing for the needle’s kiss
once silent voices to call out
me…me…me!
Where now the protest,
the denial in science, how easy
it
is to forgo and claim a higher insight
when there is no fear of reprisal, no invisible devil
to drag the body down to hospital.
5G has no place in this terrain
except
the way any surreal fear festers and enters
so that it joins the vaccines that are the land
or the land's absence truthfully.
Let us then look at current plights
and it is almost enough
to
set a smile to this contrary heart
and make a prayer find its way towards lips
devoted to an atheist standpoint.
This virus has led to a rolling up of sleeves
arms thrust forward
and
veins throbbing for the needle’s kiss
once silent voices to call out
me…me…me!
Where now the protest,
the denial in science, how easy
it
is to forgo and claim a higher insight
when there is no fear of reprisal, no invisible devil
to drag the body down to hospital.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Blemish:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Blemish:: The desire for a clean line the cornice free join uninterrupted vertical folding into horizontal the less wall space the better all ope...
Blemish:
The desire for a clean line
the cornice free join
uninterrupted vertical folding into horizontal
the less wall space the better
all open, as if freedom can be bought
through absence.
The quest for a perfect finish,
mirror surface, gleaming white to catch
light, clean reflections, unending connection
out of sight
hidden behind secret cupboards
unknown, patient refrigerators.
Houses in rows, streets without powerlines,
gardens, plastic lawns, identical plants
over and over again –
the repetition of ideas sold
to thoughtless individuals so careless
lose their singular identities.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Watchers:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Watchers:: Heart gourd plucked by fragments tormented by events, unplanned or challenged, round cupped hands hold life’s blood even as it spills up...
Danny Fahey's Writing: Watchers:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Watchers:: Heart gourd plucked by fragments tormented by events, unplanned or challenged, round cupped hands hold life’s blood even as it spills up...
Watchers:
Heart gourd plucked by fragments
tormented by events, unplanned
or challenged, round cupped hands
hold life’s blood even as it spills
upon the sand, each cherished drop
as precious as any moment in time
the least, the best, the pain, the song,
the laughing dance, a child’s tears,
a mother’s face. Watchers stranded
at the shore, hold emptied shells
pursed lips or hands, fingers right
atop fingers left, a catcher’s mitt
that cannot hold all the journeys
fearful watchers never undertook.
tormented by events, unplanned
or challenged, round cupped hands
hold life’s blood even as it spills
upon the sand, each cherished drop
as precious as any moment in time
the least, the best, the pain, the song,
the laughing dance, a child’s tears,
a mother’s face. Watchers stranded
at the shore, hold emptied shells
pursed lips or hands, fingers right
atop fingers left, a catcher’s mitt
that cannot hold all the journeys
fearful watchers never undertook.
Tuesday, 26 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Skyscraped:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Skyscraped:: I am here in this city of unstitched seams in this concrete and steel shell where desire and ocean-breeze chase the tail-lights of parke...
Danny Fahey's Writing: Rainbow
Danny Fahey's Writing: Rainbow: Between teeth and tongue with heart, with lung, come a multitude of sound each broken then reformed each labelled and torn down. Love ...
Danny Fahey's Writing: Passage
Danny Fahey's Writing: Passage: Cradled below the branches by ropes woven in winter knowing the sun would return as it must if hope is still to be found like the bloss...
Passage
Cradled below the branches
by ropes woven in winter
knowing the sun would return
as it must
if hope is still to be found
like the blossoms that return
and small buds, first green
then red; the apple that promises
all will pass through hell
and find again
that space of air and sunlight.
I swing in the hammock
tease a collision
between body, rope and tree trunk
recall a season, eons ago
when my son was four
and the oak leaves of another garden
in another house
littered the ground, became a plaything
for my son and I
and she watched from the porch
smiling then, love still present
in her green eyes.
It faded,
like the hammock’s rope,
though I never noticed
not until it was replaced and I fell,
she is now absent, my son too
a man, the child long gone.
by ropes woven in winter
knowing the sun would return
as it must
if hope is still to be found
like the blossoms that return
and small buds, first green
then red; the apple that promises
all will pass through hell
and find again
that space of air and sunlight.
I swing in the hammock
tease a collision
between body, rope and tree trunk
recall a season, eons ago
when my son was four
and the oak leaves of another garden
in another house
littered the ground, became a plaything
for my son and I
and she watched from the porch
smiling then, love still present
in her green eyes.
It faded,
like the hammock’s rope,
though I never noticed
not until it was replaced and I fell,
she is now absent, my son too
a man, the child long gone.
Rainbow
Between teeth and tongue
with heart, with lung, come
a multitude of sound
each broken then reformed
each labelled and torn down.
Love is and isn’t, hate was and wasn’t
god died and regrouped, ate his child
loved her daughter, speared a thigh
held a head on a silver platter
is before and is after.
Between hand and fist
lies the bullet and the gun, some
use fear, others a deceit
to fool the multiple believers of news
where there is none.
Truth was singular now shattered
is liquid when once a solid
twists words into wire
sounds into return fire
bodies litter a would be haven.
Between eyes and ears
between the spleen and the intestine
coils the serpent of screams
its jaws crushing its head
to release all rainbow dreams.
with heart, with lung, come
a multitude of sound
each broken then reformed
each labelled and torn down.
Love is and isn’t, hate was and wasn’t
god died and regrouped, ate his child
loved her daughter, speared a thigh
held a head on a silver platter
is before and is after.
Between hand and fist
lies the bullet and the gun, some
use fear, others a deceit
to fool the multiple believers of news
where there is none.
Truth was singular now shattered
is liquid when once a solid
twists words into wire
sounds into return fire
bodies litter a would be haven.
Between eyes and ears
between the spleen and the intestine
coils the serpent of screams
its jaws crushing its head
to release all rainbow dreams.
Skyscraped:
I am here
in this city of unstitched seams
in this concrete and steel shell
where desire and ocean-breeze chase
the tail-lights of parked cars.
I am here
in this jungle of arid dreams
in this plastic and glass bucket
that chloroforms the mind to lose trace
of the many paths once sought.
I am here
in this refuse of encrusted screams
in this cardboard and interactive boredom
where time, cross-legged, seeks to replace
rituals from other cultures.
I am here
not alone but with a million memes
lonely in the myriad greetings
in the hand slap and double-edged face
waiting for unseen suns to set.
I have been here
since adulthood-themed
I earned a key, a briefcase
a set of files, faded, debased
unread by eyes blind to the ink.
I will be here
until ash becomes my scheme
is my attire, I retire then
to the hollowed mound embraced
asleep into someone else’s future.
in this city of unstitched seams
in this concrete and steel shell
where desire and ocean-breeze chase
the tail-lights of parked cars.
I am here
in this jungle of arid dreams
in this plastic and glass bucket
that chloroforms the mind to lose trace
of the many paths once sought.
I am here
in this refuse of encrusted screams
in this cardboard and interactive boredom
where time, cross-legged, seeks to replace
rituals from other cultures.
I am here
not alone but with a million memes
lonely in the myriad greetings
in the hand slap and double-edged face
waiting for unseen suns to set.
I have been here
since adulthood-themed
I earned a key, a briefcase
a set of files, faded, debased
unread by eyes blind to the ink.
I will be here
until ash becomes my scheme
is my attire, I retire then
to the hollowed mound embraced
asleep into someone else’s future.
Monday, 25 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Entrance:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Entrance:: The voice begins the chain or is it the smell… the invisible pheromones that drift on the unnoticed breeze, alight, enter, alter… not the...
Entrance:
The voice begins the chain or is it the smell…
the invisible pheromones that drift
on the unnoticed breeze, alight, enter, alter…
not then the voice, rather, the face –
light is faster than sound, those twin lips
serpent-stretched into that smile, the eyes,
twin orbs, not windows, but a tarot deck
of all the hanged and towered hopes; finally,
at the end of the line, hands on waist, head
tossed back as legs kick to the conga tune,
heart sets the rhythm as heart always does…
secret drummer of the world, twirling sticks
and stones to the voice that fitted, elegantly –
a puzzling piece clicks the picture into completion.
the invisible pheromones that drift
on the unnoticed breeze, alight, enter, alter…
not then the voice, rather, the face –
light is faster than sound, those twin lips
serpent-stretched into that smile, the eyes,
twin orbs, not windows, but a tarot deck
of all the hanged and towered hopes; finally,
at the end of the line, hands on waist, head
tossed back as legs kick to the conga tune,
heart sets the rhythm as heart always does…
secret drummer of the world, twirling sticks
and stones to the voice that fitted, elegantly –
a puzzling piece clicks the picture into completion.
Sunday, 24 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Nelson
Danny Fahey's Writing: Nelson: Now, a few weeks after, I still expect your face at the gate, the wait you gave every single day for me to arrive the time of day when ...
Nelson
Now, a few weeks after,
I still expect your face
at the gate, the wait
you gave every single day
for me to arrive
the time of day when you decided
I should rouse and feed you
the grunt
as you lay your old bones
onto the mat
behind where I write
your fellowship, given freely
from the first moment we met
through the fifteen years
and though time
stole most of you
casting you as a ship
rudderless, windless, oarless, adrift
still you managed enough
and sometimes would dream
the pup you had left
yelp and chase
when you no longer could…
Time’s swift brutality
shocks me still –
how did I get here then, Nelson,
grey-haired, aging
in my sixties and you already
gone these past few weeks?
I still expect your face
at the gate, the wait
you gave every single day
for me to arrive
the time of day when you decided
I should rouse and feed you
the grunt
as you lay your old bones
onto the mat
behind where I write
your fellowship, given freely
from the first moment we met
through the fifteen years
and though time
stole most of you
casting you as a ship
rudderless, windless, oarless, adrift
still you managed enough
and sometimes would dream
the pup you had left
yelp and chase
when you no longer could…
Time’s swift brutality
shocks me still –
how did I get here then, Nelson,
grey-haired, aging
in my sixties and you already
gone these past few weeks?
Thursday, 21 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Invested:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Invested:: Too late for a return that road behind has gone much like a promised change disappears under the weight of habitual responses. Too lon...
Invested:
Too late for a return
that road behind has gone
much like a promised change
disappears under the weight
of habitual responses.
Too long to move forward
to turn the wheel and hope
the new road
takes the driver to a valley
different from past lapses.
Too stay still, to not move
but rest in this place
in the shade of planted thoughts
to eat the labour’s fruit
to listen to an absence of noise.
And if in the end you rest here
with me
we can hold each other and remember
the dreams shared, the time invested
not so poor after all.
that road behind has gone
much like a promised change
disappears under the weight
of habitual responses.
Too long to move forward
to turn the wheel and hope
the new road
takes the driver to a valley
different from past lapses.
Too stay still, to not move
but rest in this place
in the shade of planted thoughts
to eat the labour’s fruit
to listen to an absence of noise.
And if in the end you rest here
with me
we can hold each other and remember
the dreams shared, the time invested
not so poor after all.
Wednesday, 20 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Sunflowers:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Sunflowers:: Some hand broke it free this ridiculous head of a sunflower its face of seeds like the eye a gigantic musca domestica , common unless i...
Sunflowers:
Some hand broke it free
this ridiculous head of a sunflower
its face of seeds like the eye
a gigantic musca domestica, common
unless in bloom, then anything but
the way the head turns, filled with majestic thoughts
as it stands guard, observes the sun’s passage
as well as any would-be Galilean astronomer.
I plan to bring it home,
crumple the face so that it resembles
a child
not having won its way;
scatter the seeds spilt in that act…wait
through the long lonely blight of winter
until the first tendrils push clear, sprout
straighter than the truth, the Merrick’s-head
larger than seems possible, ready to topple
given the right circumstance,
and the colour, the yellow…
no wonder Van Gogh cut off his ear…
some glories are so painful
they almost cannot be borne.
this ridiculous head of a sunflower
its face of seeds like the eye
a gigantic musca domestica, common
unless in bloom, then anything but
the way the head turns, filled with majestic thoughts
as it stands guard, observes the sun’s passage
as well as any would-be Galilean astronomer.
I plan to bring it home,
crumple the face so that it resembles
a child
not having won its way;
scatter the seeds spilt in that act…wait
through the long lonely blight of winter
until the first tendrils push clear, sprout
straighter than the truth, the Merrick’s-head
larger than seems possible, ready to topple
given the right circumstance,
and the colour, the yellow…
no wonder Van Gogh cut off his ear…
some glories are so painful
they almost cannot be borne.
Tuesday, 19 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: gods
Danny Fahey's Writing: gods: I heard the old gods still walk the warming earth; whisper their sweet breath into the ears of children. Their golden eyes able to see ...
gods
I heard the old gods still walk
the warming earth;
whisper their sweet breath
into the ears of children.
Their golden eyes
able to see into the bloodied heart
and know the root cause of the despair
we mortals contain.
I heard they wish still
to hold our weight,
to feel our discomfort,
to experience
the pain of death as a breath
blowing forever into our dreams.
I heard their anger
will not relent;
it is the single event they maintain
that pitches them
against our indifferent intent.
the warming earth;
whisper their sweet breath
into the ears of children.
Their golden eyes
able to see into the bloodied heart
and know the root cause of the despair
we mortals contain.
I heard they wish still
to hold our weight,
to feel our discomfort,
to experience
the pain of death as a breath
blowing forever into our dreams.
I heard their anger
will not relent;
it is the single event they maintain
that pitches them
against our indifferent intent.
Monday, 18 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Progress:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Progress:: The tin box paper picture-covered for marketability inside the crumbled biscuits golliwogs or teddy bears broken into fragments of the o...
Progress:
The tin box
paper picture-covered for marketability
inside the crumbled biscuits
golliwogs or teddy bears
broken into fragments of the original shape
plucked by my fingers
or a sister’s, or brother’s
each of us seeking the largest fragments
not just out of greed
by because the largest took us closest
to the whole image, the teddy bear, the golliwog, the fantasy
of possessing the whole in form.
The tin box
purchased in the knowledge
the contents were shattered
cheaper that way, less competition, the whole
a prize for richer purses – mother always
found the cheapest example
to make her tattered purse stretch further
than our seven stomachs, ignored us
when we complained occasionally,
never acknowledged that we looked guiltily
at lunchboxes overflowing with colours
we had never seen.
The tin box
has gone the way of so many things
replaced in a rush
like so much
with plastic wrappers that are not
part of the journey the way that tin box had been
and cannot house
the small toy soldiers of mine
the swap cards of a sister
or the model kits of a brother,
cannot be banged as a drum,
unable to be used in a myriad of ways.
A wrapper is unwrapped
discarded, dead it lays,
a crinkle in time
to be crunched up
and tossed into the bin,
never seen again.
paper picture-covered for marketability
inside the crumbled biscuits
golliwogs or teddy bears
broken into fragments of the original shape
plucked by my fingers
or a sister’s, or brother’s
each of us seeking the largest fragments
not just out of greed
by because the largest took us closest
to the whole image, the teddy bear, the golliwog, the fantasy
of possessing the whole in form.
The tin box
purchased in the knowledge
the contents were shattered
cheaper that way, less competition, the whole
a prize for richer purses – mother always
found the cheapest example
to make her tattered purse stretch further
than our seven stomachs, ignored us
when we complained occasionally,
never acknowledged that we looked guiltily
at lunchboxes overflowing with colours
we had never seen.
The tin box
has gone the way of so many things
replaced in a rush
like so much
with plastic wrappers that are not
part of the journey the way that tin box had been
and cannot house
the small toy soldiers of mine
the swap cards of a sister
or the model kits of a brother,
cannot be banged as a drum,
unable to be used in a myriad of ways.
A wrapper is unwrapped
discarded, dead it lays,
a crinkle in time
to be crunched up
and tossed into the bin,
never seen again.
Sunday, 17 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Solid:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Solid:: Hands push through language tossed out as garbage, harsh vowels clash, sharpened swords thirsty for a touché! As the sun sets in...
Solid:
Hands push through language
tossed out as garbage,
harsh vowels clash, sharpened swords
thirsty for a touché!
As the sun sets into another evening
bottles rattle,
glass threatens to erupt,
to find the liquid lost in an alchemist’s trap.
Nothing changes.
Everything evolves into nuanced silhouettes
of the original,
a mannequin of airs and courtesies
that hide the daggers of truth and desire.
On the ground,
back to the grass and dirt,
ears listen to the whisper
of return.
Eyes push through the clouds
and unseen hope
into the fancy
everything is as solid as can be.
tossed out as garbage,
harsh vowels clash, sharpened swords
thirsty for a touché!
As the sun sets into another evening
bottles rattle,
glass threatens to erupt,
to find the liquid lost in an alchemist’s trap.
Nothing changes.
Everything evolves into nuanced silhouettes
of the original,
a mannequin of airs and courtesies
that hide the daggers of truth and desire.
On the ground,
back to the grass and dirt,
ears listen to the whisper
of return.
Eyes push through the clouds
and unseen hope
into the fancy
everything is as solid as can be.
Thursday, 14 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Understand
Danny Fahey's Writing: Understand: Balance a star in the palm of a hand, give in utterly to its demand awaken the enormity of distance understand. Stand at the edge of ...
Understand
Balance a star
in the palm of a hand,
give in utterly to its demand
awaken the enormity of distance
understand.
Stand at the edge
of two lands
animal…god
given every chance
given none.
Wings to soar
weights to drown
loves deeper than an ocean
yet offers to the same
a heart of sand.
Calculate a star
in the palm of a hand
be reckless to its demand
travel that immense void
understand.
Inhabit both lands
that which was
that which might have been
divorcing the two
dwell the choices made.
in the palm of a hand,
give in utterly to its demand
awaken the enormity of distance
understand.
Stand at the edge
of two lands
animal…god
given every chance
given none.
Wings to soar
weights to drown
loves deeper than an ocean
yet offers to the same
a heart of sand.
Calculate a star
in the palm of a hand
be reckless to its demand
travel that immense void
understand.
Inhabit both lands
that which was
that which might have been
divorcing the two
dwell the choices made.
Wednesday, 13 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Deserted:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Deserted:: The empty streets haunt place years upon my lungs and my heart, fallow now once verdant once full of rabbits and weeds of sunflowers s...
Deserted:
The empty streets haunt
place years upon my lungs
and my heart, fallow now
once verdant
once full of rabbits and weeds
of sunflowers standing tall and golden
smiling into the wind
singing in the rain,
untilled, quiet, a hush of years,
a weight of regretful actions –
I recall the evening
we fucked on the side of a country road.
It was dark
we were miles from nowhere,
young and full of ourselves –
and the question I have always wanted to ask
but of course
I did only know you that single night
and am never good with names…
the question remains,
would we have fucked
if that road wasn’t so unexpectedly long
the night so capably dark
and you had made choices different from
being in that place with me
a stranger
miles from home?
Monday, 11 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Chaos
Danny Fahey's Writing: Chaos: is the serpent in the word hidden within the ink and sound of tongue touching teeth the small poisonous lisp of S that begins the name ...
Chaos
is the serpent in the word
hidden within the ink
and sound of tongue touching
teeth
the small poisonous lisp of S
that begins the name never to be said
is the door at the end of the sentence
slammed as gently as death
footsteps upon the heart’s concrete steps
the whine
in the constricted hinge
of the gate being shut.
is the stare
out at the wallpaper that does not change
except to the mind’s lament
that can conjure a face
a smell
a remember caress.
is the god that howls
beneath the mattress
each crinkle coil of a yelp
given to the turning
to the all and away
as dreams sway time back to hope.
hidden within the ink
and sound of tongue touching
teeth
the small poisonous lisp of S
that begins the name never to be said
is the door at the end of the sentence
slammed as gently as death
footsteps upon the heart’s concrete steps
the whine
in the constricted hinge
of the gate being shut.
is the stare
out at the wallpaper that does not change
except to the mind’s lament
that can conjure a face
a smell
a remember caress.
is the god that howls
beneath the mattress
each crinkle coil of a yelp
given to the turning
to the all and away
as dreams sway time back to hope.
Sunday, 10 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Cope:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Cope:: Hands split the web relinquish the safe haven eyes shift from serene stare into the abyss. Oh, I remember my childhood Oh I most certa...
Cope:
Hands split the web
relinquish the safe haven
eyes shift from serene
stare into the abyss.
Oh, I remember my childhood
Oh I most certainly do!
the hand that clipped
the head bent forward
brain and consciousness tumble
together in the swill of errors.
I hold still
the turbulence of despair
resist the tide’s pull
the sight of other arms waving
even as bright eyes sink beneath?
Oh, I remember the evenings most all
the fear and desire
Oh, I remember wanting and hating in equal parts!
A bed wide as any word
small as any gesture
captures the soul
endures the dark's hours
hates the light.
To forget, to forget
To close the curtains on what has been!
relinquish the safe haven
eyes shift from serene
stare into the abyss.
Oh, I remember my childhood
Oh I most certainly do!
the hand that clipped
the head bent forward
brain and consciousness tumble
together in the swill of errors.
I hold still
the turbulence of despair
resist the tide’s pull
the sight of other arms waving
even as bright eyes sink beneath?
Oh, I remember the evenings most all
the fear and desire
Oh, I remember wanting and hating in equal parts!
A bed wide as any word
small as any gesture
captures the soul
endures the dark's hours
hates the light.
To forget, to forget
To close the curtains on what has been!
Saturday, 9 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Residue 1, 2 &3
Danny Fahey's Writing: Residue 1, 2 &3: 1 We should all stand on balconies and sing stir the air with memories that there is connection no matter how distant, how dead. 2...
Residue 1, 2 &3
1
We should all stand on balconies
and sing
stir the air with memories
that there is connection
no matter how distant, how dead.
2
Necklaces of time, each of us a pearl,
shinning bright,
string the lineage across and beyond;
back to the first fires, the first caves
the very first mounds that rose like voices in the night…
so sing!
Wave your hands and set the chest wide
let the sound of hope
collide with this terrible night.
3
My father is dead!
My father is dead!
It has been twenty years and more
and still
I am alive –
between us everything resides.
We should all stand on balconies
and sing
stir the air with memories
that there is connection
no matter how distant, how dead.
2
Necklaces of time, each of us a pearl,
shinning bright,
string the lineage across and beyond;
back to the first fires, the first caves
the very first mounds that rose like voices in the night…
so sing!
Wave your hands and set the chest wide
let the sound of hope
collide with this terrible night.
3
My father is dead!
My father is dead!
It has been twenty years and more
and still
I am alive –
between us everything resides.
Thursday, 7 May 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Echoes:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Echoes:: We will speak about this one day share words like sunshine and coffee while our hands like insects remain distant in the dark beneath t...
Echoes:
We will speak about this one day
share words like sunshine and coffee
while our hands like insects
remain distant in the dark
beneath the café’s scratched table.
We will hear the pain bellow
even as our smiles sparkle
like dew on the grass.
In the silences between the words
our tongues will lick lips
try to remove the hurt
that cannot dissipate
regardless of years passed.
share words like sunshine and coffee
while our hands like insects
remain distant in the dark
beneath the café’s scratched table.
We will hear the pain bellow
even as our smiles sparkle
like dew on the grass.
In the silences between the words
our tongues will lick lips
try to remove the hurt
that cannot dissipate
regardless of years passed.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Love:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Love:: Into his mouth thoughts of her shimmer, shocking eel images move beyond the apple of desire past the cone of dreams, into sacred hollow ...
Love:
Into his mouth thoughts of her
shimmer, shocking eel images
move beyond the apple of desire
past the cone of dreams, into sacred hollow
twist of tongue prayer, shift of teeth
and slur of spit offered in daily sacrifice.
Into the pool thoughts of her dive deep,
down to imprinted sand below; the floor
like the Timekeeper’s thigh, holds him aloft,
keeps his feet capable, his balance held, each step
of every day, passing seconds into years.
shimmer, shocking eel images
move beyond the apple of desire
past the cone of dreams, into sacred hollow
twist of tongue prayer, shift of teeth
and slur of spit offered in daily sacrifice.
Into the pool thoughts of her dive deep,
down to imprinted sand below; the floor
like the Timekeeper’s thigh, holds him aloft,
keeps his feet capable, his balance held, each step
of every day, passing seconds into years.
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