Kris Whelan (1971)

Kris Whelan (1971) Poems

I’m standing on the cobbles of a debris street
It’s written up so high, almost thirty feet
Must be as ancient as the ones that baked the clay
And it’s lasted there to this very day
...

The house just doesn’t look the same as it did when I was young
In the garden stood my favourite tree; now it’s dead and gone
It’s all replaced with concrete and a tarmacadamed drive
And I sit here like a long lost ghost; another family inside
...

You can smile at a breeze and I’ve seen it too
Dancing with life, there’s nothing ever blue
Life out of love and love amongst the trees
Nobody knows what a blind man sees
...

I don’t fear the dark just the daylight hours,
my beating pulse at twilight gives me extra powers
This is how I fell from grace landed in the basket case
I’m not the kind to hear dark calls or voices in my head or
thinking that I’m Christ reborn to resurrect the dead
But this is how I lost the race and landed in the basket case
...

Fish again on Friday how predictable is that
It’s getting to the stage I’d rather eat my hat
Gotta grin and bear it, have no other choice
I’ve tried to have my say, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my voice
...

My heart would beat so hard as the forty went to town
There’d be steam on all the windows as the driver drove us down
The nearer to the city the more my pulse would beat
I’d have to have a swift one; swallow it down neat
...

I was fifteen years old up on deck and dad was on the pier
Ticket in hand, luggage in tow, gettin’ outta here
I watched him stand, long as I could, until he disappeared
I was out at sea feeling free and the journey was agreed
...

Old school photographs and clothes I used to wear
Little bikes and little drums when sunlight bleached my hair
Socks up to my knees and sandals in the grass
Like the ink upon the picture, that memory faded fast
...

The river road is clear they said, except for all the fog
Two men are driving being treated less than dogs
Can’t see what lays before them, they think they’ve left the road
They stop to see what’s happened; all of hell unfolds
...

Heads bent low in a massive crowd; just to the side she still stands proud
She’s staring far above the clouds; they’re on their knees, heads are bowed
Just in view she’s standing tall, when all about her starts to fall
She’s staring out beyond the sky, to a long lost jewel she wants to fly
...

11.

Julian sits alone in his chair, a foreign boy that shouldn’t be here
Doesn’t say much he's the quieter type keeps to himself though he's young and he's ripe
Julian’s had some difficult nights, maybe not sure of his political rights
Pacing the halls just seems his way, hoping that someone will visit today
...

Extra butter on my toast with O’Dohmnaill Abu
And I’m guessing that the year was eighty two
Breakfast with my Father, I’m kneeling on my chair
He’s shaving in the mirror and I’m trying not to stare
...

Every fire has an everlasting flame;
we get fifteen minutes of fame
Every dog they say should have his day,
like every child should have its say
Every fool can be so easily led
But can every Jesus resurrect the dead?
...

It’s just me tonight that props the bar
Just arrived, didn’t come far
Decided on a party; had to be done
Gonna have my way, have my fun
...

Of saints and sinners I can say I’ve met a few
Myself I’m somewhere in between but you already knew
Way before the car crash you watched on your TV
I was on your radar for all the world to see
...

I’ve got a brand new empty wardrobe that's sitting in your room
It seems senseless now to have bought it since everything went boom
Not to mind the bed we bought you slept in only twice
I never seen it coming; should have taken good advice
...

There was no hidden message I threw it in the sea of love
But you answered me somehow and I always guessed you would
We were reaching outwards not knowing what to find
Grasping through the darkness trying to find our kind
...

These city streets where I was born where my old jeans got ripped and torn
I’m standin’ here in this ghost town but I remember what went down
Slipping and sliding on the pavement ice we were trying to make men of mice
Thought we were big thought we were strong, don’t make me laugh, very wrong
...

The druid stones still stand down in the valley of the Boyne
Ten thousand years of history that stand on sacred soil
It’s a place that always calls me the further that I roam
I never can explain it; sends shivers through my bones
...

I thought I’d found my sea legs, how wrong could I be?
I’ve been feeling rather queasy since we set out on the sea
There is no chance of shore leave, there's nowhere else to hide
It’ll be some weeks just rolling with the tide
...

The Best Poem Of Kris Whelan (1971)

Stone Upon Stone Upon Fallen Stone

I’m standing on the cobbles of a debris street
It’s written up so high, almost thirty feet
Must be as ancient as the ones that baked the clay
And it’s lasted there to this very day
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
I trip and fall; broken bone
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Streets of grease no sunlight here today
I thought I’d left forever when I broke away
But here I stand on these streets again
It’s written up high I just don’t know when
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
The author is unknown
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Old tramlines scar these streets carved into the stones
Remnants from a time when glue was made from bones
I can almost smell the slaughter in the air
The work horse got too old and was skinned for its fine hair
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Just who knocked the king from off his throne?
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone
Stone upon stone upon fallen stone

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