O'Casey

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Joyce

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Kavanagh

Oil on Canvas 12" by 16"

Pearse

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

Behan

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Yeats II

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Yeats

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

O'Gara

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

O'Connell

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

O'Driscoll

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

Christine

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Shay

Oil on Canvas 16" by 20"

Roy Keane

Roy Keane Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

Clare

Eric Cantona

Oil on Canvas 20" by 28"

Bob Paisley

Oil on Canvass 18" by 24"

Bill Shankly

Oil on Canvass 18" by 24"

Kenny Dalglish

Oil on Canvass 18" by 24"

Denis Law

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

George Best

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

Bobby Charlton

Oil on Canvas 18" by 24"

Paul Newman

Oil on Canvass 18" by 24"

Pete Postlethwaite

Oil On Canvas

Twilight

Oil on Canvass 45cm by 60cm

The Gendered Day

The Gendered Day

And thus it was born.

The birth of recognition

That man was of woman

As child is to need.

The cruel inventions

That set us apart

Man is to death

As Woman is to life

And what of balance

Venus and Mars?

One gets a day

The other a year.

A day earned

Instead of taken

Is a day worthy

Of a year and a day.

Fidelis

Oil on Canvas 50cm by 70cm

Roman Centurion

Oil on Canvas 50cm by 70cm

Rembrandt's Soldier

Oil on Canvas 50cm by 70cm

Titus of Rembrandt

Caitlin

Beethoven In Bronze

The Busker

Decisions

The Lily Wilts

The Lily Wilts

And there he cradles, with rifle aimed

The ideal nurtured from history pained.

And spoken to by public men

The righteous goal to fight again.

And now to choose from life apart

To live as is or die to chart

A means for man to share his bread

For simple end, that all are fed.

In his trench, his communal grave

Ideal words, those deaths, forgave.

All is well, those others say

But in that trench your dream must stay.

The world you gave, but could not cross

Has now decayed for that loss.

The lily wilts, your bloom does fade

Whilst public men in silver trade.

Ocean Sunrise

The Painter's Pause

Donal (7) School Portrait

Autumn

Autumn

Strange the clarity

In the autumnal sigh.

A sense of pause,

To contemplate the end

Of expectant times.

The dawn is darker.

As the pillow complains

Of unfinished dreams,

Broken,

By an intrusive day.

A whispering grey

Permeates the stillness.

A dew drenched haze,

Proclaims the ritual

Of the weeping trees.

But all is cycle.

And in its place.

The relentless truth

Of life and change

And change and life.

And still there is laughter.

Challenge and ambition.

An indifferent defiance.

The varied voices of the young

Play amidst the fallen hues.

Tadhg (7) School Portrait

Bob Dylan

Emma's Portrait

In Time's Meadow

In Time's Meadow

There is a beatitude
In the timeless vale.
Where rhymes chime
And colours converse.

I walk there seldom.
Alone and not.
With canvass and quill.
The collective solitude.

And dialogue.
With perfect abandon.
Where even a glance
Utters its meaning.

There is a lot to be said
For not having to say.
A lot to rue,
Once it is said.

'Monday's Child'

Tom's Portrait

Between Time

Between Time

The world is awash
With breathless colours
Speaking chaos
To the hurried self.

This is life.
Ordained by others.
Orwell's regiments
Marching, grey and cold.

And then it appears,
By repentant chance.
An idle view
Of something free.

Like a child,
Brimming with simplicity.
A moment in harmony
With the precious, privy self.

Adagio

Adagio

Tranquillity
Dishonoured by a pace
Which utters treason
Against a rationale
Which knows itself well.

Socrates adjured us:
'Know thyself'
And for what?
If Plato cannot convince
Others need know it too.

I slumber long
In the great adagios.
The world is deaf.
I hear it clearly.
I hear it all the time.

Donal's Portrait

Bon Voyage

Bon Voyage

Tomorrow a plane
A journey east
An island recluse
A sanity feast

The Tipping Scales

The Tipping Scales

What is denied, recurs.
And erodes
Unprepared shores.
Life's rites,
Win or fail,
Must be lived.
Or islands
Cease to be.


A ponderous death
Is a wasted life.
The forlorn rebirth
Of what might have been.
The death knell balance
Gazes aft.
At sacrifice rebuked.
Life lived, and missed.

In Ireland's Garden

In Ireland’s Garden

Beside the grey the pastures lie

Beneath the mountain luring sky

With tempting hues of rolling light

And solace pledged in meadows bright

And colours to the halcyon eye

Dance amidst a leafy sigh

A barren beauty within our reach

Depart the grey, to life, beseech