In the dark hours of night with the sodium glow
permeating the sky and making me feel low
I stand in the downpour and get soaked to the skin
I raise my face to the sky and let my senses reel in
they’ve been gone for a while, as I wandered in rags
accosting strangers and tourists, begging for fags
screaming at ghosts, clawing at the air
sleeping with women who weren’t really there
I met cowboys and Indians, liars and crooks
I met men who appeared from the pages of books
they taught me to see the real world that we’re in
I wanted to warn people, but they wouldn’t listen
they call me a madman, a hobo, a drunk,
it seemed like my senses were all in a funk
but the rain washes away my physical sheen
my body is ready, my mind is pristine
I’m watching them both from a really great height
And I know the rain can’t wash away the truth in the night
originally posted June 28, 2012
Here’s a song I wrote about five years ago when Somali pirates were the big thing in the news every day of the week. (I also wrote the first chapter of a novel, however I lost momentum when I discovered that Wilbur Smith had just published one on the same topic. Another unfinished first chapter to add the the pile.)
My smile is turning upside down
Like a clown left out in the rain.
I wandered through the empty town
And never saw your sun again.
I wanted to think about you and me
And the times when we were just all right
But instead the only thing I see
Are Somali pirates in the night.
Sailing in their motorboats
Their grins and guns give me a fright
I hope I never ever see
Somali pirates in the night
You left me with a head of dreams
Melting like some toast on cheese
My river now is just a stream
My trees, some paper leaves.
My thoughts turn to my memories
Like the time you set my fire alight
But the fire will only ever remind me
Of Somali pirates in the night
I’m a dried-out Paddy
In a land of warmth and sun
So when we get a drop of rain,
My reaction is ‘What fun!’
the city I live in right now has many beautiful things to recommend it, but if there is one thing which it is sorely lacking, especially for an Irishman, is water. Right now it’s the “rainy season”, and this wet street outside my work was the best I could do. The following photos are from last August. One in Ireland, one in Spain, both near water.
Kinsale Harbour, Co. Cork, Ireland.
A beautiful picnic spot on a mild August evening.
This was taken on the night of the ” Super Moon” walking on Malvarrosa Beach in Valencia. I used a portrait shot to attempt to capture the moon’s rays dancing across the water towards me.
The citywide party
For workers no joke
Its hard to think clearly for noise and for smoke.
Some streets are deserted while
Others are crammed
With revels and banter
The screams of the damned.
The darkness is hidden
Obscured from our sight
This city of sunshine
Terrified of the night
The Christian martyrs who
Burned in the fire
Are now paid lip service
In the form of satire
Yet on spite of these problems
An outsider sees,
The festival sentiment
Is the wood, not the trees.