The Drumming Of A Soundless Rain

The Murder of Youth

Remember last year?

When eighteen flames

Quivered over your name,

Scribed in icing, it was,

Now, here we stand, heads bowed

As the driving rain beats on your coffin,

Can’t understand a ’cause’

That applauds

Your murder; sees you as nothing

More than a way to put their name on some sods.



Cross-hairs, knit grasses into green,

Your x-ray, unseen,

The sky;

A naked blush of blue,

Fumes high,

Sunburnt shadows flee

To autumn’s burning trees,

Shapes shift to guises struggling under guns,

You snatch a round,

Watch it sink without a sound,

Death smiles, another brother found.


Birth Of Borders

Spring jewelled from Dónairt’s mossy crown,

Winter’s bloom drowned neath a grassy gown,

These meadows know no bound, nor forest fear the fence, dug into ground,

It scars not earth,

But scars those minds behind the cursed

Birth of borders:

Their lines disordered;

Unlike the graves; those lines of lives, wasted.



A furnace lies behind your eyes,

Its heat, a vigil in your hand,

Long after the last scream dies,

You, who cast blood on this land,

Fasten your eyes on the mourning Sky.

Each star: a wake.

In your mouth the Eucharist

Is nothing more than Semtex,

Death: the sunrise of your morning.


A Lesson In Murder

Like a soundless rain,

Hearts, unstained,

Smash on barren ground,

As songs of thunder

Thump the air with carrion

Fists, gnarled, bare,

A brutal brush unfurls

Palettes of crimson

Clouds that hurl

Themselves into the mirror

Of a child’s eye,

And ever

Shackle dream’s rise

To nightmare’s grinning guise.


A collection of my is poetry available at:



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