* 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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