Darren says ‘car’ He has no other words No words like ‘love’ Darren likes ice-cream on Bray seafront on a windy day Darren will break your heart He never meant to He never knew he did or could Again, Darren says car It is not all he means It is not all he needs Darren is 13 He will never be older Despite appearances For him Loved ones don’t reside, so the givers give love. One day He let me touch his face He never let anyone He rested his head on my chest I dared not to move I froze, I broke, I could not take his kindness Darren looks out from behind the veil of his window As I drive off into my world Darren says car He has no other words

I was strolling the streets of The Coombe Dublin’s celestial womb I’d the hunger in my belly And my legs were goin’ jelly I was in search of a bite When by chance on Francis Street Libby and her little sis Ruth I did meet “What brings you round here?” I say “Ah did you not hear?” they say Come gather round and listen There’s a Rambling Session beginning Kerry’s descended upon Dublin In Tony McMahon’s den When we’re open to chance We’ll know the way When we know the way We’ll dance So I ambled onwards Towards this Rambling Session Passing markets for horses and hops And oh there’s the heroine Auld Anne Devlin muralled by Maser Having strolled these streets herself In bygone days sure I wonder what verse Vincent Caprani Would’ve penned for the oncoming Gaiety Then just off the Gray Street My comrades I did meet For this was a party of pipers, poets, paupers And Workers’ Party politicians This wasn’t Inniskeen Road But it was a July evening This wasn’t Billy Brennan’s Barn But the bicycles were aligning Leaning up against stone walls Where geraniums were hanging Either side of the doorway Where I sat on the wooden floor A throne for this castaway When we’re open to chance We’ll know the way When we know the way We’ll dance Steve says, “What’ll we start with?” Not me, another Steve, a myth And we’re off and on Jigs, reels, polkas, tunes, no song I open my eyes and ears wide You sense the pride There’s Gas laughs and by-golly hysteria Gas lamps from bygone eras Cobwebs catching the light I spy a spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air Built on its own might There’s dusty bookshelves And Parisian paintings taking us away There’s writing desks, step-ladders Ironing boards and not a word, just tunes heard Young and old ears Attuned to an ancient pitch 4-32 a tone your grandparents and Verdi knew Every key further unlocks this open house The pendulum on the clocks even stopped But it’s right twice a day This is The Pure Drop No lips go parched And some are even puckering up For the mistletoe still hanging in the kitchen Buddha gazes on, spreading good karma Bulbs blown, don’t dim, thanks Jah I’d a chinwag with Ita from Cabra Beside the fireplace there’s an aloe vera plant And I can’t even begin to thank the world for this blessing There’s a ringing in our ears and bare feet are tapping While rain lightly taps along in time on the windowpane No hurt here for now, no pain for now I abstained from the overwhelming offers of sandwiches But with a China tea cup I toast to Tommy Potts A fiddler and fireman Aptly over the fireplace and I swig a sup For those not here for the blas The fairy music is flowing and I’m all áthas with living We’re all alive As the spirits arise to share this space The White Lady is in the window And the blue-haired woman is in the corner As Gaels speak the teanga isteach sa teach Agus amach, amach, outside Outside of me A tear rolls down my face As sweat pours down Cormac’s concertina He plays within himself Honouring us in this outer realm A raven bellowing out beautiful airs of Blasket boatmen We are taken there We are no longer here In this room In Dublin’s Liberties We are at prayer At church Just around the corner from Vicar Street Ascending all the concrete Attune to a new frequency And frequently we are Out of our hearts Of ourselves We are liberated We vibrated to each other For each movement a ripple I am in no fixed state When I say I, I mean we We can’t stop now Take it all in And let everything go We’ll never be able It won’t end here Here now Without you We are on the air A spider slowly, silkily, descending into an air C’mere you were told Bring a bottle and your ears to the affair Come get there early or you’ll be lucky to get a chair Come gather round and listen There's a Rambling Session beginning Kerry’s descended upon Dublin In Tony McMahon’s den When we’re open to change We’ll know the way When we know the way We’ll not feel strange When we’re open to chance We’ll know the way When we know the way We’ll dance

A man goes to the coast of an island to be alone He has gone as far as he can for now It’s called retreat A great distance is not always far enough When the mind is as restless as the ocean You’re sleeping beside This man is seeking solitude And in so doing has brought the loneliness Into his own heart Sure he knew this would be the way of it But he still put one foot in front of the other You’ve to face it sometimes, learn The barren landscape has seen worse He reminds himself of the continued struggle And erosion that is life He thinks that’s a clichéd metaphor A famine village is deserving of more He looks out at the ocean all too often The primal part of him wanting to rage in the deep blue Yesterday was Valentine’s Day And around the table he was told a tragic love story Of a man who, after he buried his love, Climbed to the top of Bolus Head And threw himself to the depths After this story, the man made the same trek It would be so easy to climb the rock walls And pass by the sheep in the fields and dive Never submitting but knowing it’s a fight Never to be won, once submerged There’s something honest in that though, he thinks Is there? Never submitting Those rocks are patient hunters How much violence have they caused by simple stillness Then birdsong called through the air Like so many times it’s called him away from a dark edge Like so many times it is the simple things in his life That save him, fond memories, curiosity He could have sworn he saw the Fibonacci sequence In a spider web earlier This reminded him Those rocks can wait for now Instead he’ll walk into the wind Which numbed his face yesterday While a warm heart pounds on beneath all the layers You can go so far and it’s never enough You can learn to be still and it’ll come to you You can think of moving rocks, battling nature Or arranging words in some fashion aiming for legacy This is redundant You know this Leave your ego at this pagan peninsula Echoes of trauma are just that Time for silence You are here It’s sunny outside The man notices the bruise on his knee is fading The salted air is already healing Later he’ll eat eggs and light a fire Later good things will come to pass He reminds himself of this right now As he sits still warming his feet Ready to wander

I’ve had lovers And I’ve had loves But when I love again I will love like Michael Furey Is it unrealistic to love like a fictional character Who’s been conjured up in the mind of Jimmy A young Traveller Who serenaded his love in the dead of winter His lungs frozen with a snowy song of ache Unable to rest with the yearning to proclaim I want to proclaim all my love with fury I’m done with tepid encounters Sparks and dying embers only warm the souls in passing Flames can only extinguish lost feelings burning me up Let’s not insult each other with kind kisses Let’s tear out our hearts or nothing at all

She turned to me and said Do you think I am happy And I heard a question I didn’t want to hear I knew the answer I have listened to the cry But to face it, it made me uneasy But I felt the bravery I felt the realness in the moment So I answered You see, she is a gardener Who has great plans, but works with what she’s got She loves creation Sees beauty and wants to share it with you Sees the cruelty of nature and understands its power Yet it fills her with wonder Have you tried her rhubarb fresh from granny’s garden You should Maybe there are prettier roses But she’d rather be a cooking apple Or better yet a gooseberry Her hands are worn The flesh loosened by age She held my hand in church today For the first time in too long Her eyes are still young Still life to be lived This Jo Bangles is not condemned When there is breath left Still seeking that happiness God love her People before profit, she says A modern day Guevara or Connolly As a nation lets her down Working 34 years in a job Draining away her very essence For what? To feed me Educate me Clothe me But not stopping there I remember She took me to Mrs Prendergast’s near Butlins When we couldn’t afford to go to Butlins Caravanning in Roundwood with takeaway Chinese The Isle of Man, the cinema Jazz after church every Sunday As we did today 28 years on Taught me to notice the sunset Her bondage A sick child and a broken marriage All this, and I don’t know how to speak to her I always want to hug her and I don’t know how So a veiled kiss laced with courtesy will do She’s been learning how to stop living inside her own head Gets up, goes out Half the battle No panic attacks for a while Still manic, but calmer now Still pretending Still xenophobic Homophobic Not meaning to be Lost marbles down gutters like dreams The anger, it’s fresher though Built up over years of false dawns and mistrust Reduced expectations, frustrations Wants contentment now Quiet Yes, quiet Peace Or perhaps a bird song In her garden Where she will grow Apples, pears Strawberries Raspberries Gooseberries Watch them bloom again And return to the soil But not before she has lived a life deserving My mother told me today She pretends to be happy What do you say to that Let’s watch her flower now, I say And bring her some water

The elderly woman scans the items As the conveyor belt relentlessly pushes the pace She rings the bell There’s some confusion over a reward card With the woman in front Or something to that effect The computer says no All too often A supervisor comes over Eyes rolling, keys rattling Inputs the codes All resolved for now Nobody means any harm Moments later the bell is rung again It’s just the pace Is relentlessly pushed Her name badge displays the name Jacki She has a wedding band and simple jewellery She is more than a scanner of items But she has checked out Literally and metaphorically Ages ago Who could blame her Her arthritic hands send the items my way I pack them into my recycled bag I used to never go to her queue The slowness frustrating me Not fitting for these modern times Now I ask What's the rush? I ask how she is Willing her to look up Connect Take your time Ring that bell if you need to Never mind those Rolling their eyes and rattling keys Jacki is here She has made it this far What have you done? I am reminded of my Granny James Who once packed bags when she was in her eighties But before all that she was a seamstress on Suffolk Street She had four beautiful children and many grandchildren If I deserved it She would give me Mars bars as a treat She deserved the time of day Before she was found at the bottom of the stairs In her home alone Now did you get all you were looking for? Jacki asks I did, thanks And more I had to slow things down for a moment As the pushed pace is relentless Now, anything else? she says

Dublin, you are grey brick upon brick Full of tarmac and hipster pricks, just face it All other places Pale in comparison You are more than some former Saxon garrison Dublin, your warmth came too late for John Corrie Dublin, are you even sorry? Dublin, you are divided by more than the Liffey You said YES to equality and it’s about Blooming time Yet, Dublin, you always Proclaimed to cherish all Dublin, your Panties are on Capel Street Compromising any Papal feats Dublin, Jedward, awkward Dublin, you are more than a settlement on the Poddle But, Dublin, what’s the craic with coddle It’s shite, why don’t we just admit it Dublin, you brought back Sam again But when did you go from the clash of the ash To exchanging gold for cash? Dublin, Dyflin, Eblana, Baile Átha Cliath And 180 other tongues your citizens are using to name ya So céad míle fáilte to all Dublin, where the power is held by too few in the Dáil Dublin, when will you revolt again 1988 wasn’t your true millennium Despite the 50ps and milk bottles Dublin, you’re mine, but I’m happy to share you Dublin, from RTÉ, TCD, UCD, U2, SIPTU, IFSC And acrimonious Temple Bar STDs, ODs ODs… ODs… and OMGs No longer the second city, yet you play second fiddle To Google and Guinness To Facebook and unsociable twits Dublin, look at yourself Your tower blocks and tenements Are an excuse for a solution Dublin c’mere ‘till I tell ya You can be more than rapid DirtBirds and banjaxed bowsies And alrigh’ story bud and yeah sure it’s all good Jaysis that’s scaldy Why Go Baldy I’m excira and delira Dublin, I cry for ya Dublin, you’re a tough bastard Yet you’re full of the softness of all the people on your streets Margaret Dunne dancing on O’Connell Street The Diceman Tom McGinty miming on Grafton Street Pat Ingoldsby with his poems on Westmoreland Street And your Mollys: Malone, Ivers and Bloom To Daily-Sally-Sandy-Mounts From the gospel of Kelly, Drew, McKenna and Sheahan To Borstal Boys like Brendan Behan Two Gallants reJoycing and Eveline looking out to sea Snow falling slowly on The Dead in Glasnevin Glen and Markéta Once strolling To Christy Brown willfully controlling a foot To paint pictures and poems to your heroines Brenda Fricker, the city’s mother And Maureen O’Hara an enchanting other Dublin, you are boom and bust Running Wilde and Swift Dublin, can I trust you? Dublin, your true blue is Harry Clarke’s cobalt Dublin, from a Thin Lizzy, Dicey Reilly To a floozy in a jacuzzi God fearin’ Dublin shooting down Veronica Guerin! Dublin, you are Bang-Bang, Fortycoats Zozimus a blind street poet Dublin, you are all of us And all who are yet to come So let’s go to the Gravediggers and have a pint Dublin, remember Stardust and all your waltzing lovers Dublin, Big Jim’s arms are outstretched to a Risen People Yet are we under the thumb again? Dublin, your GPO columns are scarred from The Crackle of gunshots Dublin, your CCTV will never yield your essence Like the shots of Arthur Fields’ Man on Bridge You are the Poolbeg Towers And the poor showers Begging on Bachelor’s Walk Dublin, you’re all talk, yet you have my attention From Robbie Keane to Paula Meehan Dublin’s calling ooh aah Paul McGrath While some say ‘Up the RA’ Dublin bridging caps with Joyce and Beckett And finally to Rosie Hackett Dublin, Paddy Finnegan was forced to sell The Big Issue on your streets While Daffodil Mulligan was played to bodhrán beats Dublin, you say delish Dublin, you are full of the Polish And Brazilians speaking Portuguese And now the Chinese Have turned Parnell Street into Chinatown Dublin, don’t let them down Don’t forget: no blacks, no dogs, no Irish Dublin perish the thought of you being racist Dublin, Cú Chulainn has fled the GPO and is heading for Monto Dublin, your bay embraces despite the Sellafield Sea Your mountains frame all your natural beauty Dublin, a wailing banshee stricken with TB Dublin, you’re European But you could be Craggy Island in disguise Gabriel Conroy is heading west because of an epiphany Just sayin’, Dublin, you only painted your post boxes green Is The Abbey doing all you’d dreamed? Dublin, you are Notorious for clampers, senators and seagulls To Celtic Tiger and septic tanks To singing High Kings and rampaging Vikings Dublin cm’ere Take me for a Teddy’s and a romantic stroll down the pier Dublin, you are a dancing place A sprawling space of villages and many faces On the edge of an island that’s been eroded by the Atlantic Battling with being romanticised Dublin, are you dynamic? Struggling with identity? Changing for the better? Changing for us? Don’t be scared to change Don’t be scared! We’re with you Always My friend My home Mentioned 50 times in this poem We live in you With you My city Mo chroí I love you Most of the time, you see Dublin, You Are Me!

Oh to have another pair of eyes For a different perspective and ways of seeing this world What colour would yours be? Mine a greeny-blue, a hue not lost on you Teenage trauma led to a black eye And an eventual cataract Blurring my vision And depth of field Ironic, poets are meant to be prophetic But I didn't see that punch coming Nor did I expect to be knocked By the answer to my question “Would you like grandchildren?” I asked my father “I’d have liked a daughter,” he said And with that A loss I never knew existed My unknown skin and blister A sister A figment of imagination A regret An unborn sibling One to rival with Be the apple of his eye No matter how hard I’d to try So I write this for you, sister On this saintly day So I’ll call you Bridget Mary of the Gaels Goddess of Poetry Yarner of Tales Singer of Spring Druidess of Oak Holy Fire Smoke Teach me of brotherhood, sorority Take anything you want from me I don’t remember how we first met Because it never happened But did you hide my bike? Help me with homework? Push me off the tree? Was I overbearing with my love Protecting you from your partner? Did I do unspeakable deeds When you told me what they’d done? Or was I overjoyed at being The Godfather to your first son? Making me an uncle Will I, would I make you an aunt? Who was told first or were we both there When cancer was uttered? Did we take it in turns going to the hospital? Were you younger or older? I the pupil or the master? I’d selfishly rather die first Than read at your funeral Are you pagan in tradition? Shining Imbolc colours White and silver For snow and ice Pale gold For the passing winter sun Jade green For the first flowers of spring Garnet red For the lambs to be born Amethyst For protection and the birthstone of February With the suns growing strength You brighten each day And here, you found me, half-way Between the solstice and equinox I am a strawboy to your cross And I sense your healing At this time of rebirth You’ve been born Revealing my blind ignorance Sister, now I find All we have is the imagination To play happy families in the mind One thing’s for sure though I know you’d be kind

I’m sitting in Slattery’s Bar And there’s an old man across from me with half a pint in front of him He has cataracts in his eyes He checks his watch by ear to hear the passing of time Zips his coat, sinks some pint, sizes me up, I think Senses me somehow, sits straight up Hands with strength search softly for a blind man’s cane Barman says “Daniel, you OK? Do you need a hand home?” Daniel replies with an inaudible whisper and barman says “Sure you’re right, you’ve half a pint in front of you” Despite no sight The weight of the jar is still measured perfectly by his hand I’ve an urge to talk to him Yet I want to leave him to his own devices Daniel coughs a little I order a pint and think about ordering one for him But instead I leave him be And we sit opposite each other for a while All in the world is fine for a moment Daniel ups and leaves after draining the remains of his pint The person who offered to get the door Got put in their place, as well they might Daniel walked his way to that door more times than they’ve darkened it Barman goes out after him with good intentions I’m alone now Surrounded by strangers Yet knowing I’ll be sitting where Daniel was in another forty years And I’m just fine with that Barman tells me Daniel is 89 and was born in Mayo He now lives up the road Cooks all his own meals And is totally blind after being kicked by a horse at the age of 23 I’m only sorry I found out this information second-hand And not from the horse’s mouth, as it were Apparently he loves a chat I should have bought him that pint It was upstairs in this very bar Going back about eleven years That I recited my first poem in public Where’s the time gone? The journey poetry has taken me on has been epic And tonight while having a jar by myself The poems are all over the place They’re hanging from the ceiling Dripping from the taps But mostly living in the eyes And swilling in the mouths of all the souls here No doubt many a muse still haunts this space I may as well be at the foot of Parnassus I should frequent this place more often It’s good to come back to what you know So I came back the following Friday seeking pints, poems But mostly Daniel and he did not disappoint Never letting on that it was me Sitting across from him the previous week When he appeared we chatted casually Shook hands, exchanged names I helped him get a stool and he sat in his spot Mostly though it was about letting him talk And he did So I listened He was totally blind So when he went to learn braille Off a young girl working out in Bray She asked, “Daniel, have you worked with cement?” He had as a young man And the touch of the lime, the calcium carbonate Had scorched him of any sensitivity The feeling of sight was lost to his fingers from the stacking of brick So on occasion someone reads the paper to him Or the wireless connects him to other worlds While other worlds all around me flow in conversation The fullness of his life, his resilience Even the twinkle still left in his opaque crystalline lens Captivates me Cancer took his wife, his children joined the diaspora The stories and wisdom of this bar-bound Buddha Casts Zen out to all who’ll listen So I listen and look at his hands His majestic hands Burned to the touch Daniel has strength in his hands Daniel says it’ll all be grand Come now and hold our hands We understand We’ll all be grand We’ll all be grand