New Triangles. Wear the new triangles, behind the chain-link fences, orchestra of crying children, dread anthem of the summer sun, Separate the little ones, no need to sew the yellow to their shirts, they wear their badge forever, on their skin, Build the wall and mend the wire, with bricks of fear send it higher,... Continue Reading →
Twelve feet above the deck,The smell can make you gag,Five hundred salt water soaked,Unwashed humans in forty degrees, Make a few bad jokes to cover up your shame,That your stomach churned at scabies riddled teenager,Sunglasses will hide guilty eyes,To mask your revulsion, Overcompensate later by giving an extra ration,To a brown-eyed child,Draped from shoulder to... Continue Reading →
On the 21st day of September, on the international day of peace, conflicts rage across the planet, people die from twenty cent Czech bullets, five Yuan Chinese machetes, two hundred Ruble Belorussian boots, six hundred Dollar vigilante assault rifles, as well as one hundred and seventy thousand dollar bombs, a response to headlines screaming terror,... Continue Reading →
Alone. In that empty lifejacket,adrift upon the sea,was lost child or brother,borne away so far,to die alone,reduced to a statistic, Meaningless data thrown up,racing endless streams of television,infographic footnotes risk all,carrying dreams,daring tomorrows,out on the waves, Driven by the eternal motion,as the grains all settle back,washing final footprints from the sand,no mother’s tears will wet... Continue Reading →
The Master's Dog Guilty looks from left to right, glancing over sunken shoulders, ensuring fitting purity for the words, filthy black bastard, it rolls out of yellowed mouth, hits the deck like a seagulls shit, always seeking their approval, like a dog aching for the Master's hand, such a common thing, delivered with the snigger... Continue Reading →
Nomad. Dancing in the shade of a warship, miles from anywhere, a weary little nomad, alighting to take refuge on the dark grey timber, worn out and staggering, Rest, be at peace, staring fascinated, remembering in the haze of this beautiful dusk, past summers spent at home, Lying in the rough grass, lost in the... Continue Reading →
The loss of loved one is one of the most tragic experiences which can befall a family. If that loved one is not recovered, then the grieving process can be made all the more difficult on those left behind. There is in Cork, a dedicated team of volunteers who have since their foundation provided hundreds of families with the solace of having their loved one returned to them.
Ever Present Danger. The smoke is acrid, thick and hot. It forms an oppressive layer above the lurid yellow helmets of the firefighting team. Heat radiates from the burning fire in the corner of the cabin in front of them. The noise of the water as it bounces of the deckhead and deck is deafening, the steel structure reverberates and the team leaders shouts out his commands through the life persevering facemask of his breathing apparatus. All commands have a purpose, each given with an intensity befitting the seriousness of the situation; while each response is repeated quickly and verbatim, once the command has been executed the team leader is informed immediately. There is no place for an individual here; only by working as a team will these five sailors fight their way through hatches and down ladders, deeper into the burning vessel they press on, negotiating the total darkness to find the seat of the fire. Their shipmates’ lives depend upon it.
Valletta.Sun burns down on city streets,bringing in the light, beauty,in the shadows, mystery,lost in ancient rows of homes and steps,cracked flagstones balanced one upon the other,or rooted into living rock,tight alleyways frame views of a wave tossed harbour,an artist might go blind from the wonders,or mad from the ceaseless wind.
Seen It
I have seen the love,when Father makes himself into a bed,to raise the weary child from off the deck,cradling all the treasure of the world,within his arms, underneath thin blankets.
I have seen the love,of brother held fast to brother,sleeping, no support but each other,I had not the words to ask,did they even share a Mother?
Peters Fish
Red, golden, green, the scales of Peters fish,stretched and nailed to the curve of the dome,held up by pious prayers, feverish pleas and hope of the wounded,the hospital arches of yellowed stone, barred with wrought iron,twisted and anchored deep into faith,by head and feet, anointed shells of men, bent battered forms.
The Tower of Il-Gardjola
We hear it all,the endless message,carved high into the battlements,conform and heed our call.
We see it all,the lidless eye is never sleeping,stays dry mid widows weeping,for the husbands who lay bleeding.
Paper Never Refused Ink! 
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