This Belfast, finally met / And so the people on the streets … / Just see

And you listen to good music,

And the people on the streets walk on by,

And the lyric rhymes nicely with the side of supper

You might have chosen once – but had to let go, sly.

And the stealthy ones are them; or so you suspect.

But it’s OK, because 

If what you wrote is any good, in any way,

At least when you’re dead 

Your kids will be proud of you.

And it doesn’t matter if you hurt whilst it happens

Because if there is worth,

There is reward –

Even if the reward is only for them,

That time, I mean, when you’re dead.

And the people on the street walk on by,

And the younger folk clasp hands and love, 

And later probably sigh,

In the evening of basking Belfast:

The Belfast you finally met.

And so maybe you’re a fool,

And maybe you were a tad ill, after all –

Some time after the walls you built,

And they built,

And more particularly she built,

And – truly! – we all built;

But that time is no longer.

And the wrongs you survived

Have revived your truths,

And made you the man that becomes 

The futures you will be.

Just see.

poetry, trails of thought

Today’s gone and done 

As I wander through my thoughts 

My wandering makes me 


At loss over loss.

And the cost has been essentially tremendous.

And my innate cautiousness 

Has made me loosen myself from so much 

My life could’ve provided me with.

But no matter:

For that was a yesterday.

And today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And therein lies –

And therein truths – 

The grandest of 

The grandest of 


I did so much wrong through inaction, 

But now can do no more than apologise –

And then change where I am able.

And always remember that

Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And always remember that 

Yesterday is today’s 

Well gone and 


poetry, trails of thought

#Pride [in] #BelfastPride, #Belfast

I repeat myself and

find myself and

see myself so happy.

And as I successively saw

on the streets of the city of today

the generations and recreations,

and genial joes and

junior gals, and

toes and legs and smiles and eggings

on, with nothing lost and nothing

gone, I realise now

why life itself I find in the

wondrous of


of all its land

and once sorely banned.

Above all else, I see at last how true

will be

the sexuality of any gender cool,

conceived as it should be in utter liberty:

and how such an inception must necessary

lead for

thee and me

and you and we, and

such as now,

to wisdoms of all our realities.

For the freedom of the few

never is freedom for the few;

for the only freedoms worth fighting for

are the core humanities

of liberties for all.

And only when we each may fuck

the duck we cherish

and love in luck

will heaven on earth replace

the hell they asserted – so

bald and crude and

lewd, you know! –

as future punishment

and awful threat;

and yet, in truth, reserved

quite wilful for current

hell and spell.

No surprise they wish

to impose

regime as hasty as they deny:

when all is done and seen, the love they reclaim

only maims and resigns

the kindest of moments for the bitter

and the broad of hurtful guilty read;

of all that terrible instead,

in fact.

And when all is been and dreadful said,

and time it is for head – yessir! –

and evening sex

and morning told

and afternoon romp at office desks

sustain our desires

to pursue so grand the wisdom of those fires

so fab

which drive us all this




remember this thing and remember it fine:

I prefer to admit how I covet your ass

than be an ass myself!



trails of thought

Impasse, NOT!

Have reached not an impasse but the opposite (the word for which, since am so unaccustomed to such things and states, I am utterly unaware of …).

As long as I have something to think about, and something new to photograph, and maybe a thought or two to poetise (hey, now that’s a word I bet you didn’t hear before), I can make do with most of what life throws at me.

That I shall now never be comfortable with money is part of me accepting myself as I am.

It is no longer my job to improve on what I always have been; rather, far more, my role to say: “Fuck yous!  If you want change so much, change yourselves!!!”


Am weirdly happy today.  Weirdly so.


poetry, trails of thought

It is.

It is a tad lonely being on your own.

But then some ready I now believe myself true,

Where clearly I once was not.

And if someone kind appears one day

And maybe likes me as I am

And allows me clear to like them back

I’ll not justly be together as before I awful wasn’t,

When alone I was in cold cold bed, 

So bad-shared sad and hard it was …

… so hard and sad 

bad-shared that bed …

But also I’ll become sure happy as never.

For I live in 


And love in 


That such a been 

I’ll one day scene …

poetry, trails of thought

Life [re]born[e]

Life born[e] on wings of 

wingdings, galore –

curiously either/or;

never worn nor carried out,

nor sorried with,

nor – any

more – curried unkind, in any way 

at all.

And the rhymes of observation,

also strangely squared,

circle around me like vultured 

cultures of rare ingenuity:

I no longer care to live alon[e] this way;

I no longer care to bear –

all by myself –

the grizzly consequence

of insubstantial existing.

Instead, let me tend to you

as I tend to myself;

let my love – for your 

beautiful weird – 


right my life as entire as could be.

Let me see your body

as tender skin; as 


as cunt fine and deep:

no hunting,

no longer, 

for that solace cruel,

in ever so empty bed.