Dermott Hayes's Blog: Postcard from a Pigeon, page 5

Death of a thousand Cuts

Don’t tell me it’s over

if you still love me,

that’s worse than

lime juice

in an open wound,

death of a thousand cuts,

open my heart,

spit inside,

like falling in a dream

into nothing

and nowhere,

a chasm so empty,

cries can’t be heard,

stripping fingernails

with rusty tweezers,

death without

dying.

But hey,

there’s more

fish tomorrow

and a sea to sail.

When love expires

there’s no time

to wait.

If you didn’t

say it,

then I would’ve,

too.

Waking Nightmare

Never, never, never

So you can lie and sugar coat the truth

the deaf can’t hear when all is dumb

The blind can’t see what’s right in front of them

The fools who’ll do your will can’t understand

The greater good they serve is filling your false hand

With spoils from wars and golfing trips

To feed your ego driven empty void

Until all they see is your visage

A chasm bigger than any chasm, ever

And standing there you hear faint voices echo

Never, never, never

The Haunting

A grumpy old spirit called Trump,

who thought the White House a frump,

so he put in a golf course, pool and casino,

now it’s his home and a dump.

Unrequited

Stumbling, stuttering,
falling, to shatter
those dreams and desires
that haunt my half woken hours
of that auspicious night
when I touched you,
a brush, a glance,
no matter for,
turned outside in,
the sky became
the path I trod and tread,
painful reminder
of all those days,
in bed, alone,
unrequited.

Samhain

You hung a stone in moonlight

you prayed for souls, removed

but wandering the world

one night , beloved




This is a night of praise

for the mortal and the dead,

one night they meet

their fate to greet




 beginning, not ending,

with ghouls and dancing demons,

a vestige of remains,

to the party, ascending.




But we can never stop,

everything’s upended,

throw dreams on the bonfire

to begin becomes the end.




No Flake Now

This spell will eventually break,

he said, clicking his heels

and waiting. Nothing.

It sure is a long way

to Kansas and you’re no

Dorothy, Senator Flake.

And what a name?

No misnomer,

wear it with pride,

It bears now the stamp

of those words of

enduring values

that last for as long

as men and women

are free

Nostalgia Avenue

A rattle of skeletons 

live in my closet.

it doesn’t bother me,

they were companions

from my past,

a memoir in a scrapbook,

a reminder we cannot forget,

to bring to life, to live, to love.

I like to take them out

and walk with them

down Nostalgia Avenue

and Memory Lane,

recall old friends 

and conflicts,

battles fought,

won and lost.

They teach me

every day,

remind me 

of their presence,

my transient existence,

my own impermanence.

About Time to Die

when I die

Don’t bury me

To rot and mould

In history’s demise

No, wrap me in

A blazing pyre

To spark and fire

With fury, burning

Outrage at the tides

A’turning

Fools’ churning,

Hate, unwarranted

Rivalries taunted

Fools undaunted

Dick size threats

Unleashed,

Truth diminished

Into tweets

or sound bites,

Don’t ask me

To die, respectful

Of fools or flags,

just mournful

That my birthright

The right to freedom,

Is no more than a phantom,

An asset for ransom.

What Should I Have Done?

What should I have done?

Shamed to say I didn’t know

We saw you run through the hotel lobby

Head down, distressed and angry

My first thought was, there goes my night

On the town with friends from work

You didn’t say, you wouldn’t, couldn’t

But your day was done, the rodeo ridden

You’d sing no more, going home

We talked all night, weed delivered

In the calm of a Manhattan dawn

You told your tale of commercial pressure

And a predatory producer

Write a hit, they said and do it fast

Our budget for this man won’t last

You were tough, alone, you always said

But a posse of men and a factotum shouting

Made you a girl on your own, surrounded.

We both went shopping, late that morning

The crying and sadness ended

Lawyers called, the phone kept ringing

First hers, then mine, we turned them off,

sought a place to feed us

Over lunch you made a call

You’d sing again if they’d agree

To limit contact with the offending grandee

The only other person there was me

We caught a cab to the Midtown studio

The tone subdued, the light, funereal

We joked, we chatted, smoked a doobie

Then played back last night’s hooley

A half written tune about dancing lessons

you sang, you cried, it took all day

I felt trapped and you looked grateful

The producer never said a word

you called his bluff, now he’s withdrawn

You thanked me then, I felt undone

the record was made, release date decided

you sang the songs, the promo tour

the producer’s name was never mentioned

You told me once this business killed you

but singing was always the reason you did it

but I’m shamed to say I did nothing

hamstrung by the power of silence

my inadequate defence was ignorance.

BRAVE

When you rise,

wipe your eyes,

feed your kids,

drop them to school,

when sleep is what you crave,

to curl up in a grave,

where no sound can reach,

no hurt can breach,

and nothing is nothing

but blissful, painless sleep,

there’s no bill unpaid

 and you’re holding no-one back,

because you look worn and cheap,

that’s what I call brave.