Wednesday, July 13, 2016


See you, I don't want to get accustomed to the seasons, 

nor do I want to be complacent with this living and being alive. 

You see, I have seen the ghost-people who have done that 

they are locked onto this planet, trapped almost for ever

Or at least until some kahuna or druid cuts their bonds.

So I sit here with 73 years of cold toes in July waiting.. 

For my flight to the great non-consciousness. 

Join me and we could form a non club, If you like ?

© MRL July 2016

Monday, June 13, 2016


I wrote this on hearing about Orlando and today after hearing of the brutal murder of the Jo Cox MP.
Then this applies to all who grieve wherever they live and whoever they are.

Be brave my friend/s
Let your tears fall
Mingle with mine
To gather in a pool
Of lingering emptiness
For we are just people
Of different shades.
Who feel the pain….

© MRL 13-6-2016

Tuesday, May 17, 2016


There was a labourer of Bath
who got so drunk he propounded
he’d rather sleep on the hearth
For with stairs he was confounded 
All night he’d go up two down two 
till his little legs were tired 
So would he turn fall 
in a heap and go to sleep
a dying fire
he did

©MRL May ’16

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

On Discomfort and Pain

Any artist worth their salt would paint a different scene.

A poet would work his muse to sensibly soothe. 

A composer create a musical charm. 

A songster with vocal harmonics would bring comfort.

“Oh where are these masters of the arts ?”

© MRL April 2016

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

for Thea-Valerie

Come sit with me and let our minds drift
across a surface of polished water glass
Look deep beneath to see what arrives
Perhaps a memory of times past, 
An old yearning sweetly perfumed
As fresh as ever scintillates excites.

I sense your hand on my arm 
Warm and gentle your touch
As we walked a harbour side
It grieved me then knowing
That your dying was soon to be
On a date unknown to us both.

Today as I sit alone and not alone
I hear ripples of laughter,
her voice in deep bluesy songs
That echo from a hidden shore to mine
She is only half a whisper away 
so very very close yet I cannot see…..

© MRL 17-02- 2016

Tuesday, February 2, 2016


Some call her Mother. The Mistress of this land

Her body hidden haunts wild places for man

Whose calloused raw hands worked nippled

Cairns to stand proud on mountains

Hunted, fought bloodily among heathered tresses

Ploughed deeply her fertile plains to feed

Warrior lords, foreign, crippled with greed.

In Her a sea smooth cave, that once sheltered Fintan.

Crabs with dead mens fingers, sought a womb watery grave.

To rebirth rebellion - Freedom and the marrow

Of Her Favour!

She walks still this land breathing out love and inspiration

To those who seek justice for all of her people.

© MRL 1/2/16
last 2 lines added

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Can You Help


I read just now 

a message

That said 



her phone


is trying

to get home”

Perhaps to

Ireland ?

© MRL 26/01/16