see Ambrose HarteScattered Thoughts 2

I whispered in my brother's ear,

" it's time for you to go my friend ",

But you all know what Charlie was like,

And he fought until the very end.

He was known by everyone in town,

In his taxi that he loved so much,

He would never ever let you down,

And he always had that friendly touch.

Charlie loved his music;

Rod Stewart and Creedence and songs from the past,

Christy Moore and the Wolftones,

And rebel songs that he loved to blast.

I remember as a young lad,

He'd go hunting quite a lot,

With all the dogs he loved so well,

And bring home rabbits for the pot.

I look around me now,

I see Pauline and Alan, Charles, Stephen and Elaine,

And I share in your hurt and grief,

I can feel your inner pain.

I know Charlie was proud of all,

All his grandkids he loved so well,

And now his taxi has come to call,

My daughter came to visit today,

But I was locked inside my head,

Just staring out at clouds of grey

And begging God to strike me dead.

She sits beside me and talks to me,

She holds my hands; she tells me things,

But that I'm locked up, she cannot see,

I'm a butterfly, but I have no wings.

I'm talking away but she cannot hear,

I make no sound because my lips are sealed,

I want to ask her to ease my fear,

So that's what's inside me can be revealed.

She wheels me out to sit on the deck,

The clouds have lifted, the sun shines down,

Whilst inside my head, I am going berserk,

I'm so trapped inside the face of a clown.

She is leaving now, she will call next week,

And maybe the others will come to call,

But what's the point when I cannot speak,

I'll just wheel myself down this lonely hall.

@Ambrose Harte

I wish I was back in auld Mullingar,

And my first stop would be Aidan Moore's Bar,

Just a bit up the road from the Dublin train,

And again, I could walk down memory lane.

I would hear talk of dogs and the times that they'd done,

Of the races they'd lost, that they wished they had have won,

Characters there of every type,

And if you didn't drink porter, you could buy a fine pipe.

My Uncle Frank was the head barman there,

And myself and Joe Glennon would pour you your beer,

" Banana Kelly " and " Jimmy the Hat ",

Would soon let you know if the Guinness was flat.

The " Ton McDonagh " was a favourite of mine,

A gentleman so true, a gentleman so fine,

Many's the laugh and the joke we did share,

And many's the time that he bought me a beer.

Joe Conway and Mick Doyle had everyone dancing,

Old couples swooning and once more romancing,

Ted Burke and his brothers, Fianna Gael, to the end,

Fianna Fail, Aidan Moore, would " stoutley " defend.

Jim Dalton, Sine Fein, stayed quiet on his stool,

And debated which one was the far bigger fool,

And the " Little Red Hen ", ( Liz Collins by name ),

On her roost in the corner, said they all were the same.

" Love Letters in the Sand " sang our friend Jimmy Finn,

( As my uncle Frank reached for the bottle of gin ),

In Aidan Moore's Bar, there was laughter and craic,

It brings tears to my eyes when e'er I look back.

Those were the days that we left far behind,

But I just close my eyes, and they're fresh in my mind,

Many's the pint and the pipe that I sold,

And many's the story and tall tale that was told.

@Ambrose Harte

Perhaps I should only cry,

If what I write is true and sad,

Of all the times I have said goodbye,

To all the friends I have ever had.

My sweetest and my saddest tears,

Are for those I truly loved the most,

The memories of all those years;

So bitter sweet, the years I've lost.

And yet! Somedays I find,

Serenity comes over me,

Thoughts and words of the sweetest kind,

Brings me back to where I want to be.

And then I look around;

I'm on a barstool in a darkened bar,

And the inspiration I have found,

The simple things in life,

Have a meaning I so love,

My daughters, sons and wife,

Are a blessing from above.

When I hear their friendly bantering,

I put my book down for a while,

Their laughs are so enchantering,

And I can not help but smile.

I wish that I could tell them,

How much to me, they mean,

Because I hear them oh so seldom,

And I'm not the dad I should have been.

But God works in mysterious ways,

And He has given me the time,

To make amends for my wayward days,

You were my friend, my bestest friend,

And then ,one day, it came to an end,

I remember the day, we went out to play,

And the very next day, you were gone far away.

Nobody told me, and I searched through and through,

I went to all of the places that only we knew,

But the places were empty, and I felt so lost,

For the love of my life, now is only a ghost.

@ Ambrose Harte.

( Leonard Cohen )

I can not go on,

With these thoughts inside my head,

I am what I am,

And I wish that I was dead.

I don't know what to do,

I'm afraid to say goodbye,

I want to keep on living,

And yet, I'm wishing I could die.

You meet me in the street,

You say I'm good and strong,

And I try to do what's right,

But you know I'm doing wrong.

I see pity in your eyes,

When you stop to say hello,

But you know who I am,

You know where I'm going to go.

Why is a man like me,

Doing this unto himself,

When the man you think I am,

Is just dust upon a shelf.

My room is full of books;

In their tales I try to hide,

Sometimes, I am the hero,

But I'm the villain deep inside.

Yes! I am the only one who's guilty,

Yes! Me! And me alone,

A monster through and through,

And that's why I'm on my own.

@Ambrose Harte

An old friend I met the other day,

Asked me to write a poem,

About old Patrick Street, where we did play,

And all the people we have known.

Looking back was bitter sweet,

And I cried nostalgic tears,

For all of us in Patrick Street,

And the passing of the years.

I closed my eyes and I could see,

What we were like in years gone by,

When we were wild and so carefree,

And never thought that time could fly.

We lived in the day; one day at a time,

And we wandered near and far,

Along the canal and the railway line,

And all over Mullingar.

For us, these days would never end,

We never thought about tomorrow,

We didn't know what lay around the bend;

All the heartache and the sorrow.

We thought back then that you couldn't die,

And that life went on and on,

We laughed and played 'neath a cloudless sky,

Our days filled with endless fun.

Declan and Joe, Ber and Sis,

And the Farrels down the lane,

All the friends that I now miss,

Fills my heart with gnawing pain.

For now I know, that life is brief,

And we are only passing through,

Days mixed with happiness and with grief,

For the friends that we once knew.

For Ber.

@Ambrose Harte

But I know that time will change a man.

Picture me for instance.

I missed my children growing up. I was never there for them.

My wife, my beloved Sheila.

She was there for you all the time.

Through thick and thin, she was there.

And where was I?

I was walking home on a winters night,

Ice crystals on the road,

When my eyes beheld this ghostly sight;

And my story will now unfold,

The Pooka walked beside me;

A stallion, grand and black,

And so surely he enticed me,

To climb upon his back.

I was the worst for drink,

Sure I only had a dozen,

And my breath did surely stink,

Amid the air around me frozen.

I climbed upon the Daemons back,

( but I thought it was a horse )

But when I realised what I had done,

By Lord, you should have heard me curse.

The Pooka took me miles from home,

( I only lived just down the lane )

And I swear he smiled and winked at me,

And I woke up in sunny Spain.

Now, here I had a problem,

To go home to my contrary wife,

Or stay on here in Spain,

And enjoy the sunny life.

I think you know the choice I made,

For I'm still here to tell the tale,

And if you can't get onto the Pooka's, back,

Be sure to grab his tale.

@Ambrose Harte