An Irish Beat Poet's Dilema

About to put pen to paper
it hits me, and I wonder
how many poets have wrote
about going to some party
with a guy called Dean Moriarty?

My recent visit to Yeats' grave
when Benbulbin hid
in low cloud
I found confusion in the question
of why someone so profound might want
to be buried with a gift shop so close by?

I, no horseman, still passed by.

I Don't Like You Any More!

Can you not feel my pain!
Your words sting
I am falling
soaked with tears
like being chased by bees in the rain
each of us looking for shelter
but we harm each other
because of nature
we fall to drown
me and the bees
they stung my heart
I broke their knees.
because I mistook them for you.

Inside on the Outside.

Reminding me that her friends are her friends

and that some of mine are now hers

I see them gather outside the shop I'm in

and all go away together laughing.

The overactive blow heaters whir between

drying out the air and letting it soak

The sun blasts through the windows

dividing shadows up between itself and the strip lights.

I won't walk home when I leave here.

I can have wine in the park by myself.

In The Park

I've set this website up to share my poetry with everyone.

When you and I near meet together lip to lip,

Through the intoxicated haze of mingled breath,

what seemed inevitable is interrupted

as your parting mouth let’s slip

a question whether this would be clever

and what felt like it could only be true love

or something seen on television

becomes suddenly something unshared,

and tomorrow, to avoid embarrassment and upset,

we will agree to forget it, as a drunken thing.