MYSTERY

You walk the
Lit candle
Out into still
Night.

Stop.
Stare into
It��s bright circle.

And then,
If you beckon
It to
It will dance
For you

If you believe
In Mystery.

Thom Carlisle / Irish Tommy Moran / Ireland.

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Big Joe, ( thebricky ),

You-Da-Man!

tommo / Ireland

Let's Suppose

Let's suppose the truer question would be - where are those remnants, those deeper threads of our ancestry?
Without doubt we lack this influence as the silences of nature fall to the ears of those who would turn away,
And without proper aforethought we of the hidden forests, inside our natural climaxes, are unable to find our way,

In the springtime our rainbows are no more brighter or colorful than those in the hot dry days of summer,
Following the raging storms that fall over our heads in their wet arrogance - played against a warm sun,
And we cast out from the shore our boats against the sparkling tides of the sea, like diamonds from under,
The classless body of subterfuge swallowing all of us as we swarm against the sea when daylight is done,

In these rich, pure, rare inklings of my only meaningful ether-moments, let's just suppose we are all one.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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Big Joe ( thebricky ), red_lace,

Thank ye both for taking your very important time out to peruse this slender piece. I had fun with it. Ye both do know it's fun to frolic and bath oneself in loose wordplay, like some young child with friends playing in a mud puddle. I slosh the puddle with me hands and bring up all the sludge from beneath. And in doing so, I find stability and the english language. All meant to provide me with difference and a cool splash. All meant to stem - verse.

Be well, both, and thank ye.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

red_lace, IamwhoIam1,

I am so deeply pleased with the both of you. Thank ye, you've both shown me you know just how to touch me inside. I feel true warmth, and, as we all know that is one rare commodity.

I'm so very pleased with you.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

Thank ye, Swit.

tommo / Ireland

Aye, yash78910, I am that.

My best,

tommo / Ireland

* Newly created graphics for previous, recent works . . .

" The Final Movements in My Poem Drafts "

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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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* Newly created graphics for previous, recent works . . .

" I Sit in This Windowless Alley "

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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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In This Calculus

In this calculus royal floral beauties newly housed in the silence of my mind's dark garden bloom,
In this calculus rare ancient beauties, blue flowery gifts, stemmed, under an emboldened sun acquiesce,
In this calculus atop an ancient shelf I pluck my parchment leafs and bathe in the warm fire of my room,
In this calculus I sit and write, and reminisce, in the soft feather of gentle words I feel cause to address,

Fortuitous concatenation this, the sweet and untold, the angels of pleasure gathered above my chair,
Beckoning down at me like white doves from the unworldly above, waiving, gentle, still and glowing, and silent,
And I cannot presuppose what it is among them - is their calculus meant to ease me from my despair,
But as with my ancient babies, my royal floral beauties, they bloom for me in a world singularly less violent.

Forever I resemble the slothful servant in the parade of the parable - acquiesced,
Left to the quest - like all the rest.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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Thumbs up, Mo!

tommo / Ireland

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Something We All Must Know

With the rains, a sense of peace and it's consequent splendor across the hot dry landscape,
Spent, native, and in the more meaningful sense, it's easing more comprehensive and authoritative,
Finds our time in the limitless corridors of natural bewitching darkness without the need to run to escape,
This summer sun above us, we of the blanched, arid earthen dream, we the mongrels, those lesser creative.

Something we all must know is this, our given right, is something more of life's pleasure than mandate.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

JaUkNz,

Of course by asking if you're promoting 'self' I mean this in a positive way. Yes, and as for me, I am always trying to promote 'self'. This is truly why each of us are here.

Continue to promote 'self', JaUkNz. For that's where other's will find ye in your deepest, most meaningful places. Inward. Always inward.

Ok then? Hopefully ye know I'm in full support of what your doing in here. You're poetry is deep and valuable. I like it!

Thank ye, and be well,

tommy boy moran / Ireland

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Swit,

Very, very, Very nice!!!!

Oyez, Oyez, All Ye Clans of The Irish and The Danes

Steeped in all the many important literary ingredients - religion, nobility, emotion, sex, and mystery,
I have given ye more of this self, these things, but I have no monopoly on the course of my Irish wit,
In the towns and brushed side roads of villages out along perimeters of ancient lore ladened history,
My traditions or beliefs, these learnings; knowledge, erudition, enlightenment - these illuminations I emit,

Lo, the many wrens in their fives and their tens, those loftier winged friends, flocking with me across glens,
Singing gently into the wind in soft, melodic refrains, across the many valleys and delightful celtic plains,
Songs that free men, planky among the church spires, irreverent, deficient in veneration beyond trends,
Those who aspire to long sought after heights, dug closely into the earthen promise, those for whom it rains,

" Oyez, oyez, I share these beliefs with ye from the land under the waves, all ye clans of the Irish and the Danes. "

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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JaUkNz,

This was indeed a powerful poem with moments of purity, truth and the desire to show aspects of deeper inner meaning. I noticed a few light typo errors although easily overlooked.

I'd say, JaUkNz, in this piece you're really trying to connect others with how it is you feel inside. I think if this is so you've done a marvellous job in promoting 'self'.

All in all, a job well done, JaUkNz.

Be well,

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

Embellishment

I embellish freely as I walk down these learned corridors, conversant with the few gathered at my side,
And we share our thoughts with books in hand, held tightly, as we round one hallway on into the next,
Robes flailing loosely in the shaded shallows, heads held high, contempt and laughter at those we deride,
For universally the collegiate body must always mock the singular ill intelligent, those born and bred - vexed,

Tales of loose arrangements prevail here at our ivy league Yale, and we laugh as we enter our next lengthy class,
And we sit quietly and open our texts as our professor of writers workshop laments,

" . . . In these fields of wetness rich and bold, blue hued with emerald green, you should've seen just what I'd seen,
- stretched out across the limitless rainbows of colors vast, born of masked ancient satirical views. "

Silence abounding we all sit speechless, opened mouthed, shocked as if one more word would leave us aghast,
And he continues,

" Ok, now shut up! All of you shut up and listen . . . "

Rather lengthy these classroom days. While yawning here at my desk, I open this literary guide's boring contents.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland


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JaUkNz, ayeihr,

Thank ye both so much!

tommy boy moran / Ireland

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