The Poet Faced Man Poem by Daniel McDonagh

I’m wishing for the dark Sky’s riches
That haunt terribly Sad men’s dreams,
And If I climbed the
Tall peaks of the Campsie Hills
Would I be the king Of the stars or
Robin Hood, to share wealth
With pleading hearts.
I’ve held my anger
At being a poor lad of
No trade, no fortune,
Who do I blame for
My handicap
Blind stubbornness
I don’t drag my feet
Alone through my Monumental city,
I have strangers for friends
Who walk enclosed in
Their own paranoid world
Finding life in dirty
Half full bottles of whiskey.
My life like old Glasgow Poets,
Is ignored and pushed
To the side of laughter and ignorance,
And trying to be a man,
I fight to be a man,
I fight but no one will
Take on my fist’ but
Fill them with a glass,
If I can’t survive at
What and who i am,
I Will travel the canal
Like a gypsy romantic
And sleep beneath the silver
Riches of Scotland, wondering
If tomorrow or one day
Someone will hand me
Opportunity or a bullet In my heart.

July 1988