A Right Brain Mind in a Left Brain World (6 page)

It whispers quietly
In a corner all alone
Never lifting its head
Never taking the tread

But it hangs in the air
Its stale pungent smell
Stinging our eyes
And choking our throats

And gasping for air
We felt its hand dealt
A blow quick and hard
As a mouse in a trap

We are none the wiser
Aware things are different
But not asking for change
It will be another day
With out me

It’s the circle of life

In the twilight hour I sit
Here in the shadow of dreams
As they drift off into the seams
of witching hour
For what am I but mortal
No cape of steel nor mask to hide
This the place where demons side
The hour in which they come to stay
And hunt and haunt without my say
I pray the hour to move on soon
So I can leave this tiny room
To start the day afresh
Without the fear of groan and moans
That leave me shaking to my bones
But time it plays around
And dawn cannot be found
So I must sit and wait as bait
But then I blink and I'm awake
Now shadows of the twilight zone
Have left to roam another home

Thunder electrifying
Heat intensifying
Pounding to a beat
Sweat down to your feet
Clash bang it strikes again
Just as you think it’s over
As you scramble to your feet
The sky it bursts a chorus
Like a Jungle drum that is porous
As it amplifies its sound
Like a hound it goes to ground
Then a mighty crack it strikes
As the heavens open up the sky
Now deluge of rain pour down
Until the clouds then blow on by
It’s time to breathe again
You put your hand in mine
Our fingers intertwine
This the storm we have weathered

Pushed against the wall
Eyes are closed
With a blindfold
Hands are tied
Perspiration runs
You can smell fear
You can almost taste it
It reminds you of a bad meal
Something you would discard
Without taught or feeling
Now it is only feeling
Every hair on your body
Stands to attention
Come on you think
Get this over with now
You have the power
Take your best shot
But for a moment
I can smell your fear
Taste it in my mouth
So go on shout
Today might be my day
But yours is yet to come

War torn Cradles
Many fall
Senseless reasons
Media sensationalize
Gung ho attitude
No Gradation
For a war torn Nation
A lot of sentimentality
For a community
But no compensation
For this there graduation
We salute you Soldier
Father Brother Mother
Wife Son and Daughter

The eyes of a cobra watching me
Silently loathing my very being
Slithering sullen and vile
Hissing and wishing me nearer
Nearer death then I a feast
Reward I see my reflection
As the amber in those eyes spit fire
Fangs of might of sleepless night
Return to haunt
Leaving me gaunt and shaken
As swirls and twirls of movement
Hypnotic a flow it seems
A reprieve it comes with dawn
As I wish my lover gone
This deceit is not for me
Not with the cobra watching me

He sweep in invaded every pore every cell
He was the hand pulling me down
As fever raged with head pounding
Bile came to the fore acid burning its vital organ

As I wonder in and out of life
What was real and what was not
He tried to fool me while leading me in to another vortex
And down into another darkness I descend

The voices come and go
While the vermin try to nibble at my feet
I scream I think for pity sake help me
And then the blackness comes a comfort

The fever takes it's pitch again
And I long for the coolness
I feel my limbs move
But it’s not me I want to shout

You've turned a corner, I hear someone say
What corner, where am I
The darkness takes me once more
I see light and I smile

There you are says a smiling face
That swine didn't get you after all

If I had a wish
I would wish to be free.
Free from the chain that forever holds me
Free from the drugs, the bugs
and the medical thugs.
Free from the pain, to never complain.
Free not to fear all you hold dear.
Free to live a simple life, be a good wife.
Not always under the knife.
Free to be...
Just me.

I Wish!

She lays there staring out the window, how could her life have come to this? Having to wait for someone to come and turn her, to keep the bed sores at bay or wash the wasted muscle and bone that is her body. Her thinning hair, hallow cheek bones and black eye sockets, she has seen better looking corpses. And all of this through no fault of her own, well so she likes to believe, maybe she should have tried to stop taking the medication years ago.

Not now...not now that she is on the flat of her back her body powerless. Waiting for some god forsaken nurse to sit her on a cold bed pan or catharsizes her to relieve her bladder. Another failed bodily function, another one of life’s little jokes but only at her expense. As bad as things were before, they are even worse now, this tome that she is now encased in, these four walls are all she sees’s day in and day out.

Her twisted spine crying out for help, but there’s none to come not anymore. Having lived the last fourteen years on this morphine drug her body now refuses its aid. So she lies there powerless as every fibre, tendon and bone screams at her for help. How or when will it stop? Please she begs them, do something. There is nothing left to do but play the waiting game. Now she waits for death, she is sure it will come soon, it must come soon.

She wants to close her eyes and never wake, just let the blackness envelope around her take her away, free her from the pain shut the door on it. She prays for it has asked every saint for it; rather to linger like this. A nothingness as it surely can’t be called a life. She is sure of more compassion in the morgue and she would willingly go there now...

Dusting down the drawers of life
The cobwebs mingle with the lining
Moth-balls heavy scent choking the stale air
Each drawer leading to my life's pain
Some creek and crack
Others in need of repair
Some beyond life's expections
But they are all just holding it together
The contents of my soul
Folded neatly into each drawer
I wonder as often before
Should I give in and find another
A newer finer piece maybe
But I know I could never for
I love this old piece for all its faults

The smile wiped off my face
But it's no disgrace
I believed in you
It was too good to be true

You reeled me in to play
Now how I hate this day
I thought I’d found a friend
But you just drove me round the bend

I answered to your call
I thought I'd have a ball
I wish we never met
I feel like someone's pet

But now it's time to see
Who will be the one to flee
I've questioned your charade
So let’s see how you evade

Now it's time for me to see
Who you are trying to be
Your friends tell me you’re bad
But I just think you’re sad

Life Games

To have played the game
To have set the tone
To have dreamed the dream
To have been the best
To have sang the song
To have danced the dance
To have hit the top
To have played the part
To have written the script
To have lived the dream
To have lost it all
To have died a death
To have said the prayers
To have closed the lid
To have wept and cried

To be remembered

Mirror
Refection
Profile
Lips
Gums
Enamel
Corrosion.
Brush, Brush
Stains of life
Tough
Fungus
Scrap, scrap
Wash, whish
Spit
Profile
Reflection
Mirror

The dream is to be the best writer one can be.

But alas I fall short the memory is just not there
All these words floating around in my head.
Waiting to jump from there onto the battle field
In the army's rush I lose some of my soldiers.
And some that I do get through
They are either injured or severally disjointed
The people criticize asking why I insist in carrying on
I tell them I will fight for what I believe in
I will carry on if not for me
I will do it for them the others
So dogged down by this so scared
Why must we be made to feel inferior
It is our make up who we are
What we are to become
Many like us have become world leaders
But sadly they are silenced
So it leaves little hope I feel I have won a war of sorts
I will not let my comrades down
But I refused to work by this companys rules
My ink will be that of the injured and wounded
I will not defer from this
And if I am beat so be it
After all it is my head that will roll
My only hope is it will filter through
There are those few who may awake and see the light
Then I will have felt victoress in my attempt.
The war of injured words will not have been in vain

He looks at me with eyes of scorn
He lets me see his disappointment
Why take on ideas profound
Why not wait be patient
Not listening forging forward
Anything to save her
Now anything to bring her back
No it's not possible this time
This was a war we could not win
Holding hands around a table
Now there is a small light
Bitter but not desponded
Now we are back to reality
Tears are flowing the process begins
Each step one to twelve
I count with bated breath
But the light shines brighter
Your eyes bright and alert
And I see the hope for me
You tried so hard to find me
In my lost state you stayed and held my hand
As I grieved for an Angel
Remember sweetie to sing a verse for me

So until we meet again farewell

Another night of shit weather, Tommy Dunne thinks as he parks his Honda CBR Motorbike in the parking lot of Finnegan’s Bar. But someone, it seems, has beaten him to his spot under some trees. Now there, sitting in his space, is a black Honda Hornet. It’s just as well he wore his rain gear tonight. Otherwise he would look dreadful on stage later. It certainly won’t do his image any good with the birds if he is up there singing looking like a drowned rat now will it. Tommy never misses a Saturday night karaoke at Finnegan’s if he can help it.

Of course, in the summer months it can be a bit difficult as most of the motorbike rallies are held over a weekend. Tommy wouldn’t miss a bike rally even if it was to save his life. It is somewhere he can talk none stop about his beloved bike. For hours with likeminded souls like himself. And it keeps him up to date on all the latest gadgets that are available to help with the performance of the bike. His latest accessory is his carbon filter exhaust pipes which he has just fitted to the bike that morning.

It is an easy enough job for Tommy, being a mechanic and all, or a grease monkey as he likes to call himself. But when you have your nosy next door neighbour hanging over the fence giving you advice of which he knows nothing about, it can be a pain in the ass. Especially when the said neighbour doesn’t have the faintest clue about mechanics. Of course, owning a Harley Davidson, Tommy supposes this is what gives the guy ideas about himself.

I mean, the only time you see Frank out on the bike is when the sun shines and let’s face it, those days are far and few between. Tommy would guarantee that the hardly driven bike has never seen a drop of rain. Now, polish, that’s a different thing. The guy is obsessed with polishing it. It must drive his poor wife nuts. How Frank ever ended up with such a sweet girl like Sarah, Tommy will never know. But if Frank ‘Suits’ Maguire, as Tommy calls him, can find a girl surely there is hope for him too.

I mean, Tommy feels, he isn’t a bad looking guy. Okay so he is bald and has been since he was about twenty one. But now at thirty five he feels it suits him well enough. Apart from his lack of hair, he is good looking. He is a good five foot nine inches in height with a good strong chin, eye’s not to far apart a straight nose, well almost straight. And most important no belly pouch. There is nothing worse, Tommy feels, than to see a fella in an allin-one leather bike suit with a bulge sticking out in the middle. He dresses well. The casual look is what he calls his Wrangler navy cords, a blue check shirt and a navy sweater topped with his black leather bike jacket.

Tommy always shaves early on Saturday mornings so he will have that five o clock stubble, or is it shadow look, that all the girls go for. But there lay Tommy’s problem, finding the right girl these days is a very difficult task.

I mean take the last girl he went out with, Terry. She was nice enough and she didn’t seem to mind Tommy going on about his beloved bike. They talked all night about all the rallies he went to, and how he was hoping to do a tour of Europe next summer. They had arranged to meet the following afternoon. There was a local rally being held by a few lads Tommy knew about ten miles out the road.

Terry had given Tommy directions to the flat where she lived and he was delighted with himself. Maybe he finally found someone who shared an interest in his passion.