Best Placesnight Poems
Let me tell you my story about my behind bars blues
For doing something I shouldn't, now too much to lose
It all happened quite a few years ago when I was a boy sixteen
Living on the Dublin estates, where you had to be part of the scene
Gangs became part of the culture, live here you'll see what I mean
Generation after generation, it appears to be in our genes
I close my eyes to recall, whilst a shiver runs down my spine
As I follow my steps that night, still scared of what I'll find
We, me and my gang, readily terrorised our streets
Frightened of no one we were, no matter whom we'd meet
Then came that Friday night down at the local bar and grill
A Rock Band played in the corner, Thin Lizzy, their guitars spill
Next thing all hell breaks loose, a rival gang enters en masse
No prisoners were taken, no creed, colour or class
Amidst the chaotic scenes you could hear the flick of a blade
Into flesh that was previously perfect, a member makes his grade
Scattered echoes resonate, shouting and cursing extends
Screams of fading life bellows, as another knife internally bends
Broken glass now glistens in pools of crimson red
Dishevelled clothed creatures, lie punctured close to dead
Sirens out of nowwhere wail, flashing blues descend
Another Friday night downtown, societies current trend
I stand in frenzied stare, a redded steel gripped in my hand
Me becoming one of many, that a parent had never planned
At sixteen years old I have been taken, but I see another day
There were three on that fateful night, who never came back to play
Liberty was never a word, that ever entered our thoughts
Or even the others we inflicked, whom we brought to nought
The day I stood in the dock, knowing behind bars blues were near
At sixteen years old going inside, it's now my turn to fear
* For Miranda's "Behind Bars Blues" contest *
Saga of the Lonely Cactus: "The Lonely Cactus In New York City" Third Part
by Miriam McCue
The Lonely Cactus in New York City.
He cries ‘cause his life is a pity.
He misses the desert every day.
In New York he does not want to stay.
His tears are so very strong,
So his barrel will not have water in it very long.
The dogs use him for a fire plug.
The street addicts like to give him a slug.
They bother him day and night.
All they ever do is fight.
They scream all night and sometimes day.
The cactus never gets to play.
The police wake him with sirens loud,
This is no place for a cactus proud.
But he hopes and hopes,
And at night he prays,
That someone will come and take him away.
Back to the desert to get some peace,
Away from the junkies and police,
Where the night is so very still and dark,
Three thousand miles from Central Park.
I watched the snow on the
mountain tops turn to liquid gold
as the sun set swiftly
as if fleeing from the cold.
So black was the night that
the peaks just disappeared
and everywhere was stillness
as the wraiths of night appeared.
So cold was the air that
it almost hurt to breathe,
so thin was the air that
my lungs began to wheeze.
Staring at the blackness
I saw a twinkling light
suspended in the air
in the darkness of the night.
Yellow, orange, red in turn,
like the eyes of stalking tigers,
I realized, astonished,
that the light was on the Eiger.
Some fools were on the mountain,
having almost reached the summit!
As I thought of their predicament,
I felt my stomach plummet.
The Eiger isn't pretty
like the other Alpine peaks,
it's stark and sheer and barren
and its summit's rarely reached.
The north face of the Eiger is
so sheer that snow can't cling,
I wondered, as I went to bed,
what would the daylight bring.
Morning crept up slowly
as I pondered what I'd seen,
now the Eiger was in daylight,
I guess it must have been a dream.
No one could survive up there,
or even climb that high,
it must have been an illusion
or some stars up in the sky.
And then I heard a throbbing noise
that echoed through the valley:
a chopper with a rescue crew
to count the Eiger's tally.
Four bodies they brought down that day,
those fools whose flame I'd seen,
and the northern wall was stone-faced
and the Eiger sat serene.
Throughout my life
I’ve always wondered
What is possible to asunder?
Can there be a way out if we can only shout?
Can there be a possible day,
A possible month that we could stay?
The month of hot
A night of light
To see what is really right
The month of trick
When we play
In the night and not of day
The month of thanks
And memories too
The way we give as we do
The month of Christ
And not the presents
We pray and stay to celebrate its gift
Then New Year’s Day
It all begins
The day we give away our sins
The year starts over yet again
And the months fly by…
Form:
I took a walk last night
among tall lamp posts
studded stars in the heavens
flashlight radiation from
passing cars
a walk last night
pavement slamming
echoing against
silent homes and allies
a walk last night
old friends
old loves
seashore swept silently away
forbidden ground exposed
caves of childhood long
forgotten
walking in the night
Insomnia, Me
and no one else
streets empty, lonely
the town a reflection
I took a walk at night
In the misty glens of Scotland
Meandering rivers run
Below the blanket of the clouds
Where the moon becomes the sun
The darkened green shadows
Of the pines, the evergreens
As they silhouette the skyline
A beautiful Scottish scene
Shapes fly through the light
Bats and night time birds
The sounds of their conversations
Some of the best the night has shared
So when you come to Bonnie Scotland
View our misty meandering rivers
For this country of the Scots
And her nature, can sure deliver
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php