Quiet darkness envelop me within

winged intruder, lights dissolution

soar beyond day’s raucous din.


Leave me now in somber solitude

seek solace in myself, soul still intact

though lacerating tongues may allude.


Reviling, others call “nevermore, nevermore”

unwashed congregation, nor unholy pact

may pull me toward a life forswore.





Lonely Walk



Cold gray dawn, mist overcoat

comforting as damp muslin gauze

shrouding the eyes of the detached and departed.


Decrepit footpath, cracked and neglected

as the mothers graves across the field

backs cracked by careless footfalls no doubt.


My own gone these many years now

the Belfast cemetery not far from here

her stone unfound after searching.


Somber Irish mist, where legends and relatives mingle

sometimes seen, always there,






Invoke in me a sense of wonder

One last time before I leave

Rip this tempered soul asunder

Leave no stone unturned to grieve


In time our hearts grow hard and cold

Disappointment takes its toll

Dreams of grandeur fail and fold

No legacy to bestow


A thousand faces I have seen,

Friends and foes that I have known

Lives full of hope and fervent dreams

Remembered now only in poems


Invoke in me a sense of wonder

Not despair and shattered dreams

One more time to rage in thunder

From the cliff-top with valiant screams


The Wall



Feral roses, all colors and hues,

atop a broken stone wall,

clinging vines of color,

the way that I recall.


Summer days at twelve years old,

held in times embrace,

climb the weeping willow tree,

ever the eternal scapegrace.


In fields of buttercup flowers,

I gently cupped your face,

between young trembling hands,

a single kiss was placed.


Autumn now fades to winter,

lace crystal snowflakes fly,

memories held within my heart,

of a kiss that was never goodbye.


We Poets



When all around is quiet

hold me in your eyes

I will speak to you


In couplets and entendres

depth of heart words convey

I will share with you


Thoughts lovingly penned

your meaning to my words

I will accept from you


The poets greatest gift

set free upon this page

I will give to you


Stephen (Stoic)


Paradise Still Lost



Ashen snowflakes descend,

tears of sorrow for the fallen,

angels weep in sorrow,

gifts of divinity forsaken.


Squandered seed spilled in rage,

machine of man, far from Eden,

takes matters into his own hands,

fruit of the tree forbidden.


Garden of bounty held in trust,

the jester, trickster of illusion,

sleight deceiver, seller of lies,

the rapist of paradise, unforgiven.


Lost in the eyes of the blind,

man devouring man, sorrows coven,

time immemorial, crosses mark,

a barren wasteland, filled with the fallen.