scatteredthoughts2

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Homecoming.

The train pulls into Mullingar,

And I wipe away a tear,

It's my first time home in many years,

And no one knows I'm here.

The station looks the same,

But it's still a lonesome place:

It brings back a stab of pain,

Of when I last kissed your sweet face.

I walk up to the Green Bridge,

And look up towards Patrick Street,

I see Clarke's Bar on the left,

Where our family used to meet.

I look down on Dominick Street,

Through the blowing, swirling snow,

And though I know the town so well,

I don't know which way to go.

I go into Days Bazaar,

For a coffee and a scone,

It was the book shop that I loved,

The last time I was home.

And from my table by the window,

I watch the crowds go by,

Searching every face,

Hoping some will catch my eye.

But who's that in the Market Square?

With microphone in hand,

Joe Dolan sings out loud,

With his ghostly Drifters Band.

The Greville Arms I enter,

And my heart lifts up with joy,

For the first one there to greet me,

Is my old friend " Nodger Boyle ".

Nodger fills me in on the lost years,

When last I was at home,

We share a laugh and we share some tears,

And, when he leaves , I'm all alone.

All alone with just my thoughts,

All alone; there's only me,

All that's left for me are ghosts;

All my loved ones in the cemetery.

I leave and walk back to the station,

Wondering why I came back home,

Was I dreaming someone would be waiting,

That I would not be on my own.

The train pulls in and I take a seat,

And I leave Mullingar behind,

It was only ghosts that I came to meet;

Only ghosts that I could find.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Time.

Time on my wrist,

And time in my pocket,

Operated by battery,

Or plugged into a socket.

Time on a clock,

And time on a phone,

Time to go working,

And time to go home.

Time to eat up,

And time to be sleeping,

Time to be happy,

And time to be weeping.

Time kept to love,

And time left to hate,

Time to be early,

And time to be late.

Time on a dial,

As told by the sun,

Time on a spring,

All set to be sprung.

Time on a church,

High up on a spire,

A time to be living,

And a time to expire.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

WE'RE ALL HAVING BLOODY FUN.

My house is never silent,

And in the dead of night,

I see images so violent,

That fill my head with fright

Reenactments from the past,

Are played out in my home,

I am scared, my minds aghast,

And they chill me to the bone.

In the lounge when I nod off,

With a book upon my knees,

I hear footsteps in the loft,

And my blood begins to freeze.

Then there's creaking on the stairs;

The footsteps, coming down,

Then this ghastly face appears,

All painted like a clown,

And now I'm wide awake,

I see his mask is streaks of blood,

And the footprints in his wake,

Leave a trail of graveyard mud.

His grin is vile and heinous,

And his teeth, a bloody mess,

I pray to God to come between us,

And all my sins, I do confess.

And huddling on the ground,

Cowering, cringing by the wall,

His bloodshot eyes have found,

The reason for his call.

Two young children and their mother,

Crying, begging out for aid,

Holding on to one another;

Eyes wide and so afraid.

But I'm frozen in my chair,

I can barely move my head,

I can only sit and stare,

At the carnage of the dead.

As the evil clown bears down,

And his axe he wields on high,

But his smile becomes a frown,

As one little boy runs by.

But for the mother and one child;

They have no place to run,

The clown is screaming, swinging wild,

And he's having bloody fun.

And when he's dealt out death,

He comes and pats me on the head,

And my face he won't forget;

For I'm the little boy who fled.

Yes, my father killed my mother,

In this house in which I dwell,

And he slaughtered my kid brother,

In a night from out of hell.

And I know he's waiting for me,

And the night will surely come,

When he finally catches up with me,

Then he'll have more bloody fun.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Watching the Clock.

It is evening time, at a quarter to seven,

And just the sound of your voice will send me to heaven,

It has been so long, it's been such a long while,

And I'm making sure to charge my mobile.

An hour has passed, it's a quarter to eight,

But I'm not at all worried, you are just a bit late,

I am sitting here calm; I know you'll call soon,

And then your sweet voice will fill up the room.

The moon has now risen, it's a quarter to nine,

And I'm telling myself everything will be fine,

You probably got caught, in the traffic in town,

And I'm not feeling sad, no I'm not feeling down.

I look at the clock, it's a quarter to ten,

And I'm starting to think that you've done it again;

You have left me here waiting for the sound of your voice,

And the thoughts in my head are not a bit nice.

Another hour has passed, it is ten forty-five,

And I'm starting to wonder if you're still alive,

How could you hurt me and keep me waiting here,

The way that you treat me is not a bit fair.

Twelve forty-five, it is almost midnight,

And I sit in the dark, in the eerie moonlight,

My phone, it is silent, there is no word from you,

And I'm wracking my head, I don't know what to do.

A quarter to one, there's no more to be done,

The waiting is over, there's a text on my phone,

You said you are sorry, that you're finished with me,

That you want your life back, that you want to be free.

It's a quarter to two, and I'm lying in bed,

My phone is all smashed, all broken and dead,

I know I won't sleep, I'll just lie here and weep,

I loved you so much, but your love , I can't keep.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

THE HAVE ALL ESCAPED.

I thought I had them locked away;

Safely under lock and key,

Never again to see the light of day,

Never more to torture me.

But somehow, they have broken out,

Somehow, they have all returned

Now inside my head, they scream and shout,

Crossing bridges I thought I'd burned.

I had them buried, oh so deep,

I had them hidden where no light could shine,

But they all escaped whilst I was asleep,

Telling me, they would e'er be mine.

I knew this day was bound to come,

Yet I told myself it would be alright,

It's easy whilst you're in the sun,

To forget about the dark of night.

And now they're here, they are here to stay,

Whispering, screaming, reminding me,

All the memories I had locked away,

My memories have been all set free.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

PHOTOS.

An album of photos,

an album of pain,

Wounds that I open,

again and again,

Laughter and smiles,

all there from the past,

Friendship and love,

that was not meant to last.

Photos of sunshine,

and playtime and games,

Photos of people,

without any names,

Photos of strangers,

on a vast human sea,

And photos of you,

smiling sweetly at me.

Photos to look at,

again and again,

On a dull afternoon,

when the clouds threaten rain,

Photos that hurt me,

with sad memories of you,

Photos with echoes,

of the dreams we once knew.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Time.

Time on my wrist,

And time in my pocket,

Operated by battery,

Or plugged into a socket.

Time on a clock,

And time on a phone,

Time to go working,

And time to go home.

Time to eat up,

And time to be sleeping,

Time to be happy,

And time to be weeping.

Time kept to love,

And time left to hate,

Time to be early,

And time to be late.

Time on a dial,

As told by the sun,

Time on a spring,

All set to be sprung.

Time on a church,

High up on a spire,

A time to be living,

And a time to expire.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Once.

I used to dance,

but the music's gone,

I once had love,

but I'm now alone.

I used to sing,

but I lost my song,

I used to rhyme,

now the timings wrong.

I used to work,

but they shut us down,

I love the country,

but I live in town.

I used to smile,

now I cry instead,

I once had feasts,

now I've only bread.

I once had children,

but now they've grown,

I used to laugh,

but now I moan.

I once was clever,

but I lost my head,

I used to sleep,

now I've got no bed.

I used to swim,

but the sea's dried up,

I once drank water,

now there's n'er a drop.

I once was good,

but now I'm bad,

I had a soul,

now I'm empty and sad.

I once was fearless,

now I'm filled with dread,

I used to live,

but now I'm dead.

I had directions,

but now I'm lost,

I had a body,

now I'm just a ghost.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

NIGHTMARES FALL.

There's a sadness that's come over me,

Don't ask me why, because I just don't know,

Why it is, I'm on bended knee,

What it is, that makes the sadness grow.

Maybe, somewhere along the way,

I opened up my stupid mouth,

And said some things that I should not say,

And I can't remember what came gushing out.

I wrack my brains , but I can't recall,

What it is I've said and done,

In the dead of night, the nightmares fall,

And my misery just goes on and on.

Whatever it was, it must have been bad,

Whatever I said, it must have hurt to the core,

If I have hurt you so much, then it's right that I'm sad,

If I've made you cry, I deserve this and more.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

The First Day Back ( a rewrite ).

The first day back was the hardest; I had never gone to school alone, And when they asked me where you were, I just stared at them with eyes of stone. I stood alone in the playground noise, I was lost and hurting and I cried, I searched for you in every face; You were only six and should not have died. A nun I knew asked me why, Why I was alone and sad, And when she held me close, It was the sweetest cry I ever had. I could scent the mothballs on her robes, As she gently held my head, And a look of horror veiled her face, When I told her you were dead. She stayed with me all through recess, She stayed with me and held my hand, And her eyes were brimming, full of tears, As she turned her golden wedding band. The school bell  rang; recess was over, She said she was sorry that you were dead, And I asked why God had taken you, When he could have taken me instead. ——————————————- Marius Harte 30/ 9/ 1959  -  10/ 8/1965 ——————————————– I am older now and the years roll on, The seasons’ change and the fruits mature, Sunshine and snowflakes are where you lie,  And we’ll meet again; of that I’m sure.

A rewrite. For my brother Marius. ( my avatar )

Ambrose Harte Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Whole World Screams.

You say to me; - how can you write of things you do not know? if your heart was never broken how can you let your feelings flow? -  You ask of me; - how can you speak of things you have never seen? - and I reply; - does a blind man know the grass is green - You say to me; - how can you forgive when you have suffered so much pain? - and I say to you; can you feel the healing power of the falling rain? - You ask of me; - can you hear the whole world scream at me? - and I answer; - not all in life is a tranquil sea -  You say; - what if today  the world did end? - I take your hand and say; - I have you for my friend -  You say to me; - do you wish I would leave? - I shake my head and say; - if you leave me now I will deeply grieve - You whisper; - I have to go away - I whisper back; - I cannot make you stay - You weep and say; - I never meant to cause you pain - I smile and say; - can you feel the healing power of the falling rain? - You stand and say; - life is never how it seems - I whisper to your fading shape; you will haunt me in my dreams while all around the whole world screams -   Ambrose Harte Scattered Thoughts  

[scatteredthoughts2]

MY MASTERPIECE.

In the early morning light,

And everything is quiet,

The silence is profound,

Not a squeak, nor e'er a sound.

Everyone's asleep,

The silence is so deep,

As the night still lingers on,

Pushing back the dawn.

Thoughts and dreams,

Are released with ease,

Pen dipped in ink,

Poised while I think.

The pages wait,

While I hesitate,

My pen is ready,

My hand is steady,

My words released,

My masterpiece,

The words keep coming,

My brain keeps running,

Across the pages,

My pen just rages,

My flowing ink,

The pages drink.

And then it's done,

As the rising sun,

Lights up my room,

Eats up the gloom,

And my masterpiece,

That I wrote with ease,

Are words so true,

Saying I love you.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

BEING CREATIVE.

Get your magic pen and write,

Get your journal out and scribe,

Write away all through the night,

And make the pages come alive.

Write of faeries and goblin men,

Write of witches on their brooms,

Write of Vampires spilling blood like rain,

As moonlight fills your dreaming rooms.

Go riding through the haunted wood,

As mist and fog swirl through the trees,

The baying hounds ice up your blood,

And leave you wobbling at your knees.

The undergrowth is filled with noise;

Of the critters you don't wish to see,

And the ghostly howling and the chilling cries,

Of cackling hags filled up with glee.

The dead don't sleep in peace no more;

The moon awakes and calls them out,

And they'll come knocking on your door,

Not knowing what it's all about.

So get your pencil out and scribble,

Get your journal and create,

On your pencil, chew and nibble,

Do it now! It's not too late!

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

letting go of precious people

It hurt me so,

but you'll never know,

The tears in me,

you will never see.

Inside I died,

because I lied,

Though alls not well,

I will never tell.

I prayed you would say no,

I prayed you would not go,

I prayed you'd go away,

I prayed for you to stay.

I prayed you would ignore,

The waiting, open door,

I prayed and prayed that you,

The door, you would go through.

Now I'm on my own,

no messages on my phone,

And, though I asked for you to go,

right now, I'm praying no.

But the words I said,

won't leave my head,

And wrong or right,

I will cry tonight.

letting go of precious people,

praying 'neath a churchyard steeple,

wishing, hoping, eyes closed tight,

that you will talk to me tonight.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

our swansong.

I wasn't going to write today,

I thought that you might want to talk,

I thought you might have things to say,

And maybe we could take a walk.

The air is cold, but its nice and dry,

And there's no one out; we'll be on our own,

And maybe we can figure why,

Why we were not meant to make a home.

Through the trees the breeze is wailing,

And the sky is dull and dark and grey,

Our life, our love, is slowly failing,

And we cannot chase the gloom away.

We hold hands as we walk along,

Kicking fallen leaves aside,

And this is it; our sad swansong,

The love we had, has gone and died.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

TIMES WE SHARE.

I would rather talk with you a moment,

than not speak with you at all,

And let our words break down the silence,

and not build a soundproof wall.

If we froze up in the winter,

we could thaw out in the spring,

If we suffered through the summer,

what relief the fall would bring.

A few moments of your laughter,

would fill me up with joy,

And your laughter would sustain me,

until the sadder times passed by.

A few moments of your time,

would be worth the world to me,

And the words that you would say,

would paint the world I want to see.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Wondering

I wonder if you still think of me;

Because I oft times think of you,

But your love for me was not meant to be,

Whilst my love for you was true.

I wonder if you ever call my name,

If something brings my name to mind,

You see, my love for you is still the same;

And of the most enduring kind.

I wonder if you dream of me,

Do you see me in the night,

Because in dreams I'll always be with thee,

Until the early morning light.

I wonder if you are moving on,

Because I'm stuck in the same place,

And though I know your love for me is gone,

Your lips I still can taste.

I wonder if we'll ever meet again,

If our paths will ever cross,

Because without you here, I am gone insane,

Without you here, I'm lost

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts