Falling In The Nettles-Personal Narrative

Falling in the nettles
I remember that,
Being told put on the kettle
I remember that.

The May procession in the evening air
I remember that,
The smell of lilacs everywhere
I remember that.

My first high heels
I remember that,
Helping cook the meals
I remember that.

My brother Ray being born
I remember that,
Feeding calves in the barn
I remember that.

Seeing Sean roll the pit
I remember that,
He was an expert at it
I remember that.

Mammy, with her apron on her
I remember that,
Daddy, starting the tractor
I remember that.

Mammy, making the bread
I remember that,
My parents – when nothing was said
I remember that.

Now I sit here in a daze
Forty years gone just like that,
I wonder what happened to those days but
I don’t remember that.

I know I’m guilty of lack of learning
But that has served to feed my yearning.
I know that Sylvia, I will never be
Except maybe in death, and then we’ll see.
No one is gold while they still suck breath
You can only be worthy, it appears, in death.
I splash my blood onto the page
Like an actor spills his upon the stage
And tick-tock goes my ample time
As I look for the perfect words that rhyme.
Anything archaic becomes a favourite word
Though some block their ears and cry, absurd!
If the aim of writing is to provoke
Then I achieve that as I prod and poke
Because anything provocative is exciting
And so I strive for that in writing.
I use words no one can understand
But these I gobbled from my country’s hand
And write in words common in my culture
And for that they circle me like a vulture
And toss me bleeding to the parquet floor
And boot me towards the nearest door.
What I want is to touch the every man
And make tears run, any way I can
Because he too, watched his father die
And until he read my words, he could not cry.
So I will write about broken hearts
And fractured families with all their warts,
Nurturing mothers, infant fathers gone –
And love gone dull that once brightly

When the body allows it to wander
It takes advantage and runs in every direction,
Places you never intended.

It makes you see ghosts and goblins
In every dark corner, and imagine
Every shadow a menace moving closer.
The mind mocks the desires
Of the sleeping heart and
The wandering mind is a scourge to the body.
It tells you to watch out for those close,
And move them closer,
That you must know your enemies
And always be one step ahead.
The wandering mind fills the heart with dread.

It tells you all will be well
There’s love out there, somewhere,
And before the heart is roused
The mind runs the reel of the old life
Snickering and cackling like an insane shrew
Bent over the cauldron of memories
Because it knows the heart is a fool.
A dangerous sociopath, this goblin
Of the itinerant freak show. ROBBED
(July 11, 2005)

Are there any pets?
Do you live alone?
The cop asked as he sloped
In slow motion
To my door, gun drawn.

I have no pets
From miles away
I heard a voice say,
But you might find
A spider or two,
And in a low tone
The voice confessed
To living alone,
Knowing such