The Year of Resolve not Resolutions!

Another year has come and gone. January 12th 2015 is upon us and I, I am still unfulfilled. Not completely, not irrevocably but unfulfilled nonetheless. I want this to be the year. The year I start my PHD and in turn my career in Literature. The year I take the chance and find the balance between a creative mind and a creative bank balance! The year I refuse to give in to the hum drum drone of in-between and forge on upon the unknown path of discovering who I am and who I am destined to be. The year I love my body as well as my mind. The year of nature, of poetry, of family, of recognising what is truly important in this transient life.

The year my love comes home..




You asked if I’d felt this way before,

My heart laughed at the thought-

For your sweet mind was mad to try

& imagine this love born twice.

It’s not just I this love first touches

But this city, this country, this Earth-

For God has blessed us with a purpose

To reveal real love’s rebirth.

I think of great men sent to change us

When the world has fallen down-

& conceive it is through their suffering,

That change is eventually found.

Devastating as this truth may be

Despairing we face the cost-

For you and I were sent to teach

A generation where love is lost.

Stronger than the mountain Ox,

Deeper than Mariana’s trench,

This love will cause the lost to flock

As their thirst for love is quenched.

I will always be beside you love

Through the struggle & the glory-

For I was created from your rib

To tell the world this story.

You asked if I’d felt this way before,

My heart laughed at the thought-

For your sweet mind was mad to try

& imagine this love born twice.

Cultural Escapism <3

ImageI love those rare mornings when you wake unknowing of what the day will hold. Your mind quick to list the things that should fill those coming hours and yet some small part of you screams for a break from the mundane, a holiday right at home. What better way to escape reality than to delve into the mysterious depths of ancient artifacts, artwork and literature? I roamed the streets of Dublin at 8am contemplating this  fact when a dear friend, once my lecturer in Joyce came to mind. A fellow fanatic of all that is cultural. To my delight he too had greeted this morn tres tot, and so we collaborated for a day of cultural escapism.

We began with light thesis chat over strong brewed coffee, sweetened by honey, his morning cigarette, and my morning contemplation gazing across the still water at Georges Dock. A morning as biting as I have felt so far this autumn, sent us red nosed and blush cheeked across the river Liffey with a weak and yet bright rising sun at our side. ImageOur expedition began with the National Gallery, wandering and pondering through an array of paintings dating from the 13th to the 20th century. Reliving Jack B Yeats’ transformation into the abstract as if it occurred in front of us, and falling in love with the beautiful Lady Lavery, posing as Kathleen Ni Houlihan (female personification of Ireland)…Image

& Walter Osbourne’s beautiful portrayal “The Streets of Dublin”Image

Following this visual feast we made our way to the Chester Beatty Library where we gorged on his extensive collection of artwork, largely French painters, admiring especially the vitality of Ziem’s Venice…


Dizzied by the beauty and innate grandeur of so many astounding works we walked the memorial gardens of Dublin Castle, collecting our thoughts in silence and soaking up the now striking afternoon sun.

ImageOverloading our greedy souls with one final colossal collection of East Asian, Islamic, ancient Egyptian and Western artifacts. Among my favourites being the rare slabs of jade inscribed with Asian poetry…


and a collection of historic books dating from the beginning of leather binding.. Image

showcasing some of the most beautiful books I have ever laid eyes upon…


“Inebriate of air” as Dickinson so perfectly put it (a mystical state that she experienced through her soul’s awareness, so overwhelming & uplifting that she felt as one does intoxicated by alcohol) we left full of history, myth and renewed artistic dreams.

If as Marcus Garvey states, “A people without culture… is a tree without roots” I am now firmly planted in this rich Irish earth, ready to spend winter preparing many shoots for spring bloom.

Think Thesis!!!


AAAHH!! It’s that time again, only this year it’s a masters thesis which is another way of saying its much worse!!

Okay moaning (as enjoyable as it is) won’t write my thesis so how about a little brainstorming…

Fleeting thought 1. The Scourge of Heaven, Victor Hugo.

(note to self) a first class grade was never received for simply analyzing, I need a point, something to argue!

Possible idea 2. The poet, the outlaw, Rimbaud.

Ugh there is so much puberty in Rimbaud’s poetry! Teenage boys are ewwy!

Theory 3. Poetry, the Philosophy.

Will I philosophize myself into a black hole? Where did my brain go?!!!


I wonder how he is today…


I should write a symphony

with intricate strings

breath taking timpani

and my soul in woodwinds.

Dialogue and harmony

crescendo’s and rest’s,

but what if more-

seems to mean less?


I could build a safe house

with bare hands that bleed

from the scratching of brick

and prayers my heart pleads.

Locks where there’s bolts

and safety in us,

but what if it’s me

you no longer trust?


I would run for days

to the place that you are

fight body and being

to travel that far.

Sprinting and gasping

until I reach you sore,

but what if you don’t

wish to open the door.


…all I can do is sit

with these broken, mended wings

hoping with time you’ll miss

the song that our hearts sing.

Know that I’m incomplete

without you my “sweet somebody”

until you can believe

just how much, I’m sorry.