For centuries a whiskey town Distilling Molloy's firewater And a Phoenix town Risen from the flames Of accidental destruction Caused by a hot air balloon; The first ever aviation disaster Here in Ireland.
Tullamore
After Dark
Steel on stone
Hydraulic hammers
Artillery like
Shake the ground,
Pulverising
Architecture
Of past decades
Too expensive
For renovation,
Too difficult
A Worn Mattress
What care you where he seeks to lay his head
Only the imprint of a man remains
Restrained, restricted, weighted down with chains
In that space alongside you on the bed;
At least he is living that once was dead
His few losses are far offset by gains
For he no longer feels those longing pains
Rejoicing to be more alive than dead.
Urban Longing (Sonnet)
To be born in a paradise of green
Rich crops in fields protected by scarecrows
Amidst trees, flowers and endless hedgerows
Below hilltops that overlook the scene
Stretching far across an idyllic dream.
Is to know, that urban longing follows
To escape from rural woodland hollows
Towards the big city’s magnetic gleam.