Patrick William Kavanagh Poems

Sitting at the bus stop all alone, acting busy, toying with my mobile phone,
No mail, no texts, just playing games, and just pretending I don't feel alone.
A smile from you would mean so much, - but I can't catch your eye,
I think you're lonely just like me, - I smile at you, but you can't see.
...

The Barn burned well I thought,
watching from my Eyrie in the trees,
Timbers cut by my own hand,
the hard-wood roofing tiles from many lands,
...

When First we met, all I had left, was ashes in my hand,
You touched me deeply, in a way, that I may never truly understand.
Heart to heart and mind to mind, as if our very souls were joined,
It seemed that long before we met, our fates already intertwined.
...

What a charming couple, almost regal as they walked into the crowded room,
Unaware, the merry drunken group just seemed to leave a quiet space around them as they moved.
I couldn't help but stare, a little rude, but still their ageless beauty held me in its sway,
They caught my eye, and even when I tried,
...

I gaze out at the frosty winter scene from my little bubble of warmth,
The golden tint of morning touches skies of baby blue, framing trees and bushes wrapped in winter-white.
In my mind I see the faeries dance and fly amongst the trees,
A prayer that masquerades as song, is softly playing, and I fee
...

The Lord and Lady glide about the forest, as the softly sighing leaves are whispering in the silver light.
The dwellers of the woods are quiet and still, and dark eyes gaze upon the scene entranced,
No man, nor beast would dare disturb the ritual of this night.
Above, the Goddess lights her emissaries, as the moon and earth enjoin in Sacred Dance.
...

Why does sadness overtake me when there is so much cause for joy,
And how can I be joyful in a world that is so filled with tears,
Do I close my eyes to all the pain and deprivation, just walk quickly by,
Can I be deaf to the wailing of the children of the world,
...

I think of childish prayers, and all the silly promises I tried to keep.
Looking back on all the dreams I had, and how I thought my life would be.
How could I have ever realised the journey, stretching far ahead,
That, up to this quiet winter evening,
...

What is a poet, or a writer, or a shaman, or a priest,
Are we the bringers of good tidings, or the spectres at the feast.
Or, are we those who simply Will not drown, Despite the words and images that flood into our minds,
Bursting out like some huge, and boiling, bubbling spring,
...

Please don't lie so still, so silent and so cold,
I told you love was just a game to pass the lonely times,
We laughed and played and hugged and kissed, and made up silly rhymes
We built a world of smoke and dreams and moonlit walks,
...