Joseph Plunkett

Séan MacDiarmada

Thomas Clarke

Thomas MacDonagh

Eamonn Ceannt

James Connolly

Padraig Pearse

David Bowie

Amy Winehouse

Francis Ledwidge

Siegfried Sassoon

Wilfred Owen

Rupert Brooke

Wagner

Verdi

Tchaikovsky

Schubert

Shostakovich

Rossini

Ravel

Rachmaninov

Puccini

Mozart

Mahler

Liszt

Grieg

Faure

Debussy

Chopin

Brahams

Bizet

Beethoven

Bach

Jess Glynn

Beethoven

Marcus Aurelius

"Our life is what our thoughts make it."

The Lost Poems

The Lost Poems

I wrote them down

I made them rhyme

Parts come to mind

But lost in time

A New Year's Day

A New Year's Day

I etched my name upon the sky.
I put it there for all to see.
The year came round to wonder why.
I hoped that you may like to see.

I Walk with the Wind

I Walk with the Wind

It is the wind that holds my hand

When I walk.

It is the music of the wind that is

My companions talk.

It is the fragrance of the wind that

Brightens my heart.

And it is the strength of the wind that

Determines my chart.

If only the wind had your name.

A Moment of Life

A Moment of Life

Oh can we dance

In our hearts and our arms.

And swirl through the colours

Of more enchanting days.

To dance, to rhyme.

To hold you in the rain.

And waltz through reflections

For a moment of life.

Rain

Rain

What is rain,

But an apology,

For something

It has not done.

Beethoven

Lowry

The Occurrence

 The Occurrence

I had forgotten something,

As I searched a hollow pocket.

Rummaging in the lining silk

And across an absent locket.

But not for something lost,

Nor mislaid, but bereft.

An invasion of my senses told

I had forgotten to forget.

Larkin

Larkin

Larkin, Larkin!

The chorus of the starving.

Chanting at the Lockout Gates

Through the cold, carving.

 Larkin, Larkin!

The slogan on the picket.

Hobnails on the rainy cobbles

Music of the Striking thicket.

 Larkin, Larkin!

The echo of the slum.

Resounding in the Dublin streets

 Against the baton’s drum.

Larkin, Larkin!

From those who trade the dawn.

For tenants in a pauper’s grave

Or ghosts upon the Somme

Larkin, Larkin!

The voice no longer speaks.

The Irish heart is dead and gone

It dwells beneath the clique.

Robert Frost

Robert Frost

There is a scene

 That is a rhyme.

That dwells in a place

And reflects a time.

Perfectly!

Madison

Madison
Oil on Canvas 16" x 12"

Madison

Madison
Oil on Canvass 16" x 20"

I Was As Two Acquainted

I Was As Two Acquainted

I was as two acquainted in a dream

With memory and musical waters

I caressed the folds of an alizarin stream

With trembling hands that falter

And sought the seam and journeyed slow

That flows from black to shadows

The poetic hand did rhyme below

And sang amidst the meadows

I whispered soft on golden braids

But not in words but prayers

And sought the parting of the shades

Beneath the edge of crimson layers

And then as one acquainted in a dream

In depths of rhythmic flow

The beating of the hearts supreme

Between the hues that cry and glow

Then sunrise came and time returned

No wine to cheer or feign

Save one hope, all others spurned

That I could sleep and dream again