procrastination station

i sat and watched a kettle boil,
as several lifetimes whipped by
no heat passed through the coil,
i dreamt i was standing on a mountain’s edge,
next i was clinging to a skyscraper’s ledge,
i pictured myself suspended high up in the sky,
like my disbelief — how’d my mouth get so dry?
this cup of coffee will surely deliver
the kick that i crave to grant me a sliver
of muse-driven traction:
a cure for inaction,
i checked the kettle again
but it wasn’t plugged in.


i bite myself
because i miss being bitten,

i’m no longer smitten
with myself,

and this begs the question
how can i let anyone else in?

these scratches on my back
and craters on my psyche
are an elaborate ruse

i was taught
to not take things lightly,

the differences between us
are quantified in light-years,
time spent alone is just drifting,
frankly, it’s frightening

but i force it sometimes.

i don’t have the nerve
to give into this urge,

infinite angels surround me.

i feel blessed by their presence.
i can’t cause them pain.


to sunshine tickling the flora,
the oaks and the pines
manifesting an aura,
the chills down your spine
run rapid like bobsleds,
in a race to the finish-
line up and be placed
on society’s conveyor belt
or see through the hoax,
our vision was tunneled,
our best efforts coaxed,
the focus on what’s next,
steals soul from the moment,
pilfered and pawned off
to a future that only
exists in idealist mind-flurries and fawning
at the hope one can own it.
lay still now and ponder
wonder and awe –
lay still now shapeless until the dawn,
through razor sharp bone-rattling winters –
lay still now until you feel fit to

hard truths — mental health, stigma and the transitionary nature of life

“have you ever stopped to consider how many people didn’t screw up for you to be sitting here tonight?”

mental health is a topic that is much more comfortable to avoid. it is a hard truth. as down as one may feel, i fully believe that the nature of the universe is an on/off system. everything is constantly in transition. even us. especially us. but yet, this is a topic we don’t want to address, and i get that to an extent. where i come from, we don’t talk about this. we are emotionally repressed. traditionally it has been more one-sided, with 8 out of 10 suicides in Ireland being men. recently however women have caught up in this tragic race to the end. Ireland now ranks among the highest rates of female suicide in the EU.

so in honour of Womens’ Day, i would like to express this: the tide is turning. somehow, we are becoming more repressed and unable to deal with the struggles of life. i love the bones of every single one of you. i am blessed to have you in my life. not everyone has this — as Terence says, there is only one true problem — “we are inappropriate to ourselves. we are ill with ego. we have a narcissism that we can’t put down. the thing that makes you happy eventually makes you unhappy. nothing lasts.” to all my brothers and sisters out there, please realise the transitional nature of life. our state can change very quickly, but never, ever lose faith. practice gratitude and appreciate what you do have, for we are truly lucky to be in the situation we’re in… looking at the bigger picture.

please don’t be ashamed or afraid to speak. there is no shame in feeling down and out. isolation can never be the answer. there’s already been too many promising young lives ended prematurely, for reasons that many of us will never be able to comprehend. please, know that you are appreciated, and know that you are loved, and the one thing we all have in common is that we suffer. suffering is relative so don’t compare yours to others — as Roosevelt said, “comparison is the thief of joy”, and this is a two way street. do what you need to do but please, don’t give up. you are valued and you are loved. stay strong. x

blistering indifference


i rolled out of my bed this morning,

i admired the garden and picturesque awnings,

whether trough or crest – well, i’d still be yawning,

arabesque decor spells out “culture whore”


it’s a sad fact that the wealthy ignore,

that nobody; not one person is keeping score,

sweet fancy moses — i would loathe to be bored

at opulence compounded, could i ask for more?


i gave it all up and was branded a loon,

tossing shit from bay windows; labelled a baboon,

tranquilised by a society of material fools,

inside jokes all satirical like Siegfried Sassoon,


so i beat on my chest and i howled at the moon

and prayed revolution would be coming soon,

times then were different: i was yet to attune

to accept blistering indifference that leaves lives in ruin.