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Most gracious Swit,

I agree fully. Love is and remains the only real answer.

Thank ye, Swit, for the sweetness.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

When Alone I Sit Quietly and Ponder

Generally enthralled in the many gifts of the ribald, risqu� thoughts of those otherwise stirring inner emotions,
Fashionable, meant to alert and then to elevate the body of my harnessed, solid inner wealth of being,
I am without the class importance of these deeper held feelings of love beyond their stirred commotions,
Sunken and weighted down, digressed, steeped in dark blue oceans, beyond all that remains worth seeing,

The act of my giving is neither for the dead or the living - here inside the quieter halls of the ancients,
Where it is a more gentle rebellion can be heard as if spoken in the far islands of my chants and my words,
Like the living distance of a faint sounding bird, winged and made to cry out without will or due patience,

I crow loudest, incessantly, in the deeper blue darkness of night - so that alone in life's stillness I may be heard.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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A Carlisle Retrospective

Born of the long list, born of meaning, love is the warm blood of the master of profound union,
Unmistakable echoes found in tunnels in which many gather to rest - and to hide where I hide,
Women of the woodlands grand, spacious, born unto cold frightful winds, hidden in soft communion -
Fed of the fire and the smoke, in wonderment meant to provoke, those who've sinned, or have tried,

I would say in retrospect, as I reflect, I see now I should not've allowed this grace and this goodness,
This freedom of a new day born in the green fields of my deeper self - exit to please my inner person,
All hail the deeper unworldly self, broken words spoken, found in the parlours of those seeking forgiveness,
Where it is hidden among the lengthy diatribe, those more fervent concerns left to smoulder and worsen,

And in the name of all things holy and monumental I should not have gone into that fire, No!

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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'Tis Bog Time Again

Every year that turns around new turf is dug up from the ground,
Bending and stooping every day, in fields of peat, and without pay,
Blocks that burn in fireplaces o'er Ireland - so often easily found,
'Tis turf time again, my friend, time to rise and crawl into the day.

Thom Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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PS: Well now, sho-snuff it's bog time again. " Here, here's a stack of turf for ye - for you're fireplace . . . "

A Note From The Author:

I'm sure this piece lacks in noticeable areas such as editing and general overall form, but after writing it and including it here in this noted forum I've decided to leave it as is. My work in this life will always be in dire need of a good professional editor. One guesses we all know that by now. But once I'm in touch with a good, solid, bona fide publisher, an editor should be forthwith.

Thanks all and be well,

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( tommy boy moran ) - Ireland Proper

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I Sit in This Windowless Alley

In a gesture I blow smoke from my mouth while sitting here loosely against the crisp city air,
With my warm coffee at hand at a Dublin outdoor cafe for wayfarers and downbeat poets alike,
Atop my table? Gathered and unkempt, are lined leafs of paper and my pen sitting at rest near,
As I gaze at the stagnation, and the passers-by, who like the serpent I sit coiled waiting to strike,

Aye, 'tis windy this day and the sun hides beyond the buildings only partially revealing itself to me,
The gusts of wind blow coldly rustling my hair like some ancient soldier on trumpeted fields of fire,
But I digress hithertofore, for my real and only meaningful purpose, that which was meant to be,
Is to tap away at the gloom and those restive, unrepentant respondents, caught up in their stinking mire,

Ah, the many fake expressions shown on the faces of those living this day,
Those clay-lumps, those masses who've yet to expire.

Thom Douglas Carlisle (Irish Tommy Moran) - Ireland

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An Ode To A Friend and Birthday Girl ( IamwhoIam )

In the middle of this grand sumptuous day into which all flowers burst through the soil and must soon bloom,
The earth moves in dance reaching toward the gracious blue of the sky - looking back with a smile for you,
Gracious maiden, Warrior Queen, restive, pensive and wanting - sitting there in the corner of your harmonious room,
Outside crowds reel rejoicing in your honour, heralding your sweetness suffused with love, all that you imbue,

Sun, holy and gracious light of the centuries, shine your warm and bright gift upon the face of this loving one,
For another year passes and soon she will account for the warmth and gladness, and her compassion shown,
Soon she will look back o'er her shoulder at the measured and quieted wealth of all she knows she has done,
And her birthday wish will once again be that she give of her heart to all she has known. To all she has known.

Happy Birthday, IamwhoIam. Another good year awaits ye. Wear it well.

Thom Douglas Carlisle (Irish Tommy Moran) - Ireland

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The Final Movements in My Poem Drafts

Forest dwellers magnificent in your simpleness, all second beings in value throughout society,
I feign strength at the knife whose blade remains title bound and in whose hands slice deeply, ripely,
Through these endless bloody times with the grace of a King, aggrieved, locked deep in his impropriety,
And who glistens the tear from the eye of the priest, at death's calm knell, shaped so very concisely,

I cannot fall into that dark garden, no! Nor fathom the damp cold pit of lowly despair, uttering liberal platitudes,
And I shan't crawl as if a wounded deer - through forests of sane, pure and brightly lit shaded, fainted paths,
Weeping in pain o'er the course of my gently feathered, softer repose, expressing considerable latitudes,
Those which make up the saintly and blessed scope of the freedom of my actions or thoughts and gaffes,

( Lo, I shall lay at the feet of the holy, face up as the rains find me, and await the final movements in my poem drafts. )

Thom Douglas Carlisle (Irish Tommy Moran) - Ireland

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Happy birthday, Iamwho,

tommo / Ireland

Pac,

I see. Thanks for the update. During my career years ( 18 years, ) in order to survive I pursued Law Enforcement, went to the police academy, joined a Sheriff's Dept. in northern California and to this day remain attached to many of my fellow officers. In fact, we still communicate often - on line. So, I do understand what your saying. Still, and again, your writing talents are very good. Honed to some larger degree. I'm impressed, pac.

Be well,

tommo / Ireland

Wow, so very clear and concise. You definitely go girl! That was pure. I am enlightened.

Thank ye,

tommy boy moran / Ireland

An Ode To A Friend and Birthday Girl ( IamwhoIam )

In the middle of this grand sumptuous day into which all flowers burst through the soil and must soon bloom,
The earth moves in dance reaching toward the gracious blue of the sky - looking back with a smile for you,
Gracious maiden, Warrior Queen, restive, pensive and wanting - sitting there in the corner of your harmonious room,
Outside crowds reel rejoicing in your honour, heralding your sweetness suffused with love, all that you imbue,

Sun, holy and gracious light of the centuries, shine your warm and bright gift upon the face of this loving one,
For another year passes and soon she will account for the warmth and gladness, and her compassion shown,
Soon she will look back o'er her shoulder at the measured and quieted wealth of all she knows she has done,
And her birthday wish will once again be that she give of her heart to all she has known. To all she has known.

Happy Birthday, IamwhoIam. Another good year awaits ye. Wear it well.

Thom Douglas Carlisle (Irish Tommy Moran) - Ireland