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.
Saturday, 9 May 2020
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.
Thursday, 19 December 2019
Spanish Rock
One day to
lay down
be a
passive rock
in time
allow moss
to explore
and cling -
a beard of sorts.
Tiny moss
hands
find holds
in crevices
and thoughts
whisper
secrets
into dreams.
One day in
time
to soak up
eternal sunshine
like the
rock
heat penetrates
blocks the
doubt.
To find the
silent song
so strong
all ears
can hear
and decide
to pay it
no heed.
One day to
be a wall
a spine, a gated
arch where hands
your hands
might
linger, touch, remember
the fields
once rested in.
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