24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hi My name is Kevin Brennan and this is my first time doing the poetry marathon. I am from Dublin Ireland. I am currently working on my second novel, a science fiction story that starts in the present and goes fifty years into a utopian future where the human race saves itself and the planet thanks to a worldwide shift in attitude. My nickname comes from the title of my first book Gurriers. I perform poetry in The International Bar in Dublin every Wednesday at a fantastic event called Dublin's Underground Beat. This is a music and poetry open mike night where all artists are welcome. We get lots of overseas talent. Last night we had a poet from Chicago, a blues guitarist from Salt Lake City and a harmonica player from Germany. Any poets who come to Ireland should come and join us for a session.
Shepherds pie into oven 2:30 am
At 3 prompt is food, must be an omen.
My culinary strategy
to eat dinner at quarter past three
in the morning has paid off for me
in ways I could never foresee.
For, as well as solid nourishment,
this pie inspiration sent.
My fuel and poetry content
in casserole dish imminent.
The pen across the page does fly
while fork makes patterns in the pie.
With this piece done maybe I’ll try
to grab a quick nap on the sly.
The fork in the road
The decision in life.
Each individual
but all divisible
to the common
denomination
of the fork.
You know your decision brother.
The risk of one road,
the reward of the other.
Maybe in your case
safer is better.
Risk not worth taking.
Too much danger.
Chances are it isn’t so.
Chances regretted most
being chances not taken.
To follow your heart
is the thing to do
and the road less travelled
is the road for you.
No traffic, dry road, take the bend fast.
Heart quickening, adrenaline pumping crazy.
No braking here, throttle at half mast
hard lean left dragging bike with me.
“HELL YEAH!” Just won’t stay in
the fire of passion rages so bright.
The thrill of poetry in motion
The life empowering danger delight.
Instinct tightens grip as throttle is opened
wrenched wild and fast, speed demon style.
Adrenaline junkie grabbing that which I want
enjoying my fix with my speed demon smile.
Deep, dark predatory desire
shirks detection deep in your gaze
striking primeval chords of fear
distantly related to your prey’s.
Gently, you move on soft silky paws
peaceful, but prowling just the same
always but an instant from deadly claws
that so viciously kill and maim.
The mirror is a time machine,
each tiny wrinkle sending you back
over all the places you’ve ever been,
the reflection of your whole life’s track.
The tiny scar invisible to most
from the lesson learned that awful night
by the stupid kid, now memory’s ghost
needing to be taught how to not fight.
The nose, after five years in the ring,
even though they were just teenage years,
flattened somewhat by persistent punching.
‘Blood and snots’ memories bring tears.
Thirty Dublin winters on two wheels,
protective visor barely down.
I know how sandblasted pollution feels
from driving motorbikes in this town.
Orthodontal overhang and whistly breadth.
I should have been warned before the braces,
But all in all I don’t regret.
Mine is not the worst of faces.
Writing poetry is exorcism
of ideas or emotions.
Whichever has the lead
is seasoned with the other
then slapped onto the page
to see which way the words splash.
Politicians drone on about what we need
with smiling popularity contest behaviour.
We must vote for them, they convincingly plead,
we need their leader to be our saviour.
What we need isn’t a dapper smooth talker.
Maybe he wears t-shirts and sports a goatee.
We need a leader who fights for our corner
and treats us all with respect and dignity.
Who we need won’t charge us for water
or dish out contracts without a care
crushing our protests with the hounds of the law,
further swelling the coffers of one billionaire.
Who we need won’t accept business predation,
won’t accept banks charging for being poor,
will put nothing ahead of his population.
No such politician ever knocked on my door.
To those in power a little reminder.
You should remember, ‘cos we won’t forget.
What we need really is a saviour,
and what we need, we haven’t found yet!
Crash! Natures clash.
Lifeless liquid with momentum.
Plant bullseyed with a bash.
Pushed to equilibrium.
Motionless moment.
Forces cancel briefly,
but are ever present,
battling bitterly.
If the next move isn’t death
plant life wins.
It must be…but yet!
Movement begins.
Slowly at first, but picking up pace
the moment of danger for plant will pass.
Gravity beats friction and then release!
The raindrop falls off the blade of grass.
Companion for life, loyal and true.
Devoted and diligent, entertainingly so!
He’ll centre his whole world around you
worship unashamedly on show.
Walk him often and enjoy the exercise
feed him well and treat him right.
Cherish the love in those big doggy eyes,
relish your reward in canine delight.
The best way a person can feel worthy
is if he owes his existence to you,
if without you his life wouldn’t be.
The only way to get a dog? Rescue!
The sixties, and the movie scene
When celebrities needn’t live so clean
Studios controlling all that was seen
Public never saw actors being mean
There was one legend of the big screen
for acting and action ever so keen.
A man’s man and a woman’s dream
most credible hero ever seen.
Did every stunt in which he was seen.
Replaced ‘cos of danger he’s never been.
Even jumped over fences on a war machine
in the best motorbike stunt ever seen.
This legend whose name luckily rhymes so clean
The one and the only Steve McQueen.