There are some days such a chore- that you wish you’d studied more,
Gained a middle-class rapport- and a part-time job as teacher.
There are others that restore- your belief there’s something more,
Find the will to go explore- that essential inner creature.
She flies blindly, all aflutter- through a head so full of clutter,
Pauses now and then to mutter-that it’s all just so unfair.
He will ignorantly stutter- stagger into every gutter,
Well aware just what an utter- bitch it is without a prayer.
There’s that song that leaves you dreaming- of a first love, once was steaming,
But you found your love left, scheming- left you desolate once more.
But some seconds have such feeling- that your head itself leaps, wheeling
From that glass until you’re reeling- yet demand a little more.
Find those moments that go sealing-every sore that begs for healing,
Leave behind the less appealing- get back where you were before.
I sucked bullseyes and chewed grass-while a bastard probed my arse.
We’re all old and tired and crass-so fuck off with your lies.
Now I’m talking in a mime-my tired body is a crime,
And my head just will not rhyme-kiss my lips and close my eyes.
© Noel Loftus
BBC broadcaster Stuart Hall pleads guilty to sex charges
Noel Loftus is a member of ward9writers based in Mayo and enjoys very short bursts of inspiration tempered by long periods of work.
