AND SO, IT COMES AGAIN

And so, it comes again, that time of loneliness and hunger - when the streets are bitter-cold.

The time it is so clear that no one really wants you when you’re tired and getting old.

I tried so hard to keep the light of love alive within my heart,

I tried so hard to get myself a job and make a brand-new start.

I tried to keep my self-respect, despite the endless days of walking, - with no place to go.

I went from factory to factory and all they ever said was “No!”

I watch the happy shoppers underneath the garish lights, - so filled with Christmas cheer.

The wind cuts through me, but at least I begged enough to buy a sandwich and a beer.

I used to get some money from the state,

But then they stopped it when, one day, I turned up late.

I sold my watch a long, long time ago,

And now it’s just the kindness of the passers-by who keep me from Death’s gate.

I’m thinking this might be my last cold winter on these rain-soaked streets.

I’m old and worn like these old clothes, which hardly keep in any heat.

I am pretty sure I smell, but after all this time I can no longer tell.

If cleanliness is next to Godliness, - I guess I’m bound for Hell.

But then, I gave up on religion a few harsh years ago,

When my rich religious landlord threw me out into the snow.

I was once a man with pride who walked with shoulders broad and straight.

I stood with eyes that gleamed with pride beside the barracks gate.

I fought in wars that made me wonder if my loyalty had somehow been misplaced.

And then the fear that overtook me caused me to be cashiered from the army in disgrace.

 I got some work on zero hours and rented out a flat, but when austerity kicked in the work got thin and quickly ended that.

So, now I walk the streets - I once fought to defend,

And I call out to a God, whom I'm no longer sure exists, to let my suffering end.

Patrick W Kavanagh
27/11/2018
Image by Leroy Skalstad, Pixabay

When Tears Will Not Come

 Sometimes, we are frozen. We are frozen by grief and frozen by shock.

Perhaps, we feel that we are being strong. We are ‘holding it together’ for ourselves and those we love. We keep a tight grip on our emotions to get us through the loss of a loved one, a broken romance or the unexpected ending of our way of living. We harden our hearts and struggle on, while each day a little piece of us dies.

Tears must come. Without them, we will never release the pain and find healing. Until we let go of the anger, frustration and grief inside of us we will never be fully alive again. Ten years ago, I lost my wife and I fell into deep despair. I withdrew from life and my health began to fail. Each day, I died a little more inside.

Then one day, the first poem appeared from somewhere beyond my conscious mind. I believe that it was guidance from the spirit of my departed wife. Each poem brought tears. Each poem brought healing.

I was encouraged to post my poetry on social media. The many comments which I have received over the past six years have convinced me that the messages which I have passed on have provided a source of comfort and healing to those who are suffering from depression and grief. Many also relate to coping with our own illness and that of loved ones. They seem to contain a wisdom which is beyond my conscious awareness and I believe that they can provide a valuable resource for those who wish to live a more inspired and fulfilling life.

Patrick W Kavanagh
November 2018

My Spirit Sings: When tears will not Come

My Spirit Sings: When tears will not Come: This book will bring tears. It will bring healing and it will, over time, help you to find peace and acceptance.  If you are struggling wi...

When tears will not Come

This book will bring tears. It will bring healing and it will, over time, help you to find peace and acceptance. 
If you are struggling with depression, grief or loss, you will find comfort and inspiration in these pages. I too was frozen with grief, pain and depression.
I was waiting to die until something beyond my understanding stepped in and I began to write. 
Each word brought me closer to healing. 
I have waited almost ten years to assemble this book from my writings, - if indeed they are truly mine. 
I was told to share my work on social media. 
I know that they have helped many people and I have included a sample of the most recent comments at the beginning of the book.

Click to read on Kindle or paperback:

Some comments from readers:

 

Donna H, “Thank you. This is such a beautiful testimony to real love.”

Maponos M, “This is really beautiful. There is so much truth and insight here...Well done... thanks for sharing it...”

Debi R, “Perfect, Patrick! Your words are always so evocative.”

Laura MacD, “This is beautiful, powerful and emotive. May I share this? There are some people I know who need these words.”

Eugene B, “Quite enthralling. Deeply moving.”

Sharon B, “Wonderful words and feelings, made me cry, beautiful”

 Sandra J. B, “Love it, you are the best, I have not come across one of your pieces that I have not liked. Thank you for sharing the beautiful writing you do, I feel very privileged to be reading such wonderful work.”

Candice W, “Thinking of one who has loved and lost...this is perfect.”

Donna H, “I do walk with you, Patrick. Your wonderful words take me with you as we take this journey called "life". Thank you for sharing them here so that I and others can "walk with you" a way.”

Ian M, “Powerful words Patrick. Yet again your lines sum up the subject matter better than a hundred-page essay.”

Eternal Light

I never knew you grandad, though they said that you were brave.

They say you went away to fight for freedom but instead, you found an open grave.

It stretched for miles and filled with blood which soaked into the ever-present mire.

While tattered remnants of your comrades and your so-called enemies festooned across the wire.

My nanna said your sacrifice was all in vain, - as nothing really changed, 

Except the poor got poorer and that many came home crippled and deranged.

The eldest sons of wealthy lords still held their rich estates,

While younger sons were sent to lead us straight through Hades open gates.

It makes me sad that you, and millions more, were not to have their moment in the sun.

I watch the empty bench where old ghosts sit and wonder what we’ve done.

We’ve drenched the Earth in blood a thousand times and in the streets, the poor are dying, still.

It seems as if Mankind have never learned a single thing of worth and maybe, - never will.

Yet somehow in the haze of my own tears, I seem to see an angel’s wings.

And in the whisper of the trees, I hear a choir of angels sing.

The follies of the rich and greedy were no fault of yours,

And though you died a wasted death your hearts were kind and pure.

Your bravery was real, and, in your hearts, you fought to make a better world.

Your honour was impeccable and even in a foolish war, you showed your worth.

And now, you have a moment in the sun, but in a world beyond this world of pain.

And though we all will meet someday; this world will never see the likes of you again!

Patrick W Kavanagh.

09/11/2018

Image by Tina Kavanagh

The Faery King Take 4 WIN 20181020 13 27 50 Pro

No one said it would be easy

No one said it would be easy

No one said it would be easy when the doctor slapped your ass and sent you on your way.
No one said it would be easy when the preacher filled your mind with terror as he spoke of judgement day.
No one said it would be easy as you struggled with the bullying and jeering every day you went to school.
No one said it would be easy when your teachers called you ‘idiot!’ or ‘fool!’

No one said it would be easy when you took a job and earned your first weeks’ pay.
No one said it would be easy when you left the life you knew behind to live in your own way.
No one said it would be easy when the bills poured in and work left little time to rest or laugh and play.
No one said it would be easy, but you knew you’d somehow, someday, find a better way.

No one said it would be easy when you raised a family and first discovered sleepless nights.
No one said it would be easy when the love you knew became an endless line of silences and fights.
No one said it would be easy when your vigour and your strength began to wane.
No one said it would be easy when your body turned into a wrinkled shell beset by aches and pains.

No one said it would be easy, but you lived your life with courage and with pride.
No one said it would be easy, but you always did your best to show your better side.
No one said it would be easy, but each moment of compassion was a burning beacon which you left upon the way.
No one said it would be easy, but you’ve earned your rest and you are free to go or free to stay.

Stay a while, now that you’re free to sit and watch the morning sun arise while others drag themselves into the day with sleepy eyes.
Stay a while to tell your tales and see the look of wonder in the little children’s eyes.
Stay a while, - The world you left behind is yours alone to cherish and to savour every happy memory.
Stay a while,
and share your wisdom,
with a world that’s yet to be…

Patrick W Kavanagh
05/05/2018
Art by Bill Oliver
.

My Spirit Sings: Image by Tina KavanaghThe King of the Faeries....

My Spirit Sings: Image by Tina Kavanagh The King of the Faeries. ...: Image by Tina Kavanagh The King of the Faeries. It was actually through my partner, Tina, that I became reacquainted with the Faeri...

The King of the Faeries.

It was actually through my partner, Tina, that I became reacquainted with the Faeries after years of knuckling down to raise a family. I was in a very bad place after the passing of my late wife and did not even want to rise above my depression. Tina dragged me to Cabourne Parva, which is a farm in the Lincolnshire Wolds where they invest in new methods of organic farming and cater for festivals, weddings and various Mind, body and spirit events.

It was a drumming workshop by a local druid, and I was extremely sceptical. The druid, whom I will call Kevin, led us out onto a labyrinth which had been laid out with chalk and white stone on a grassy area. This labyrinth was basically a spiral path which led to the centre and then returned to the outside of the circle.
We took turns to walk the maze while the others drummed in a circle around it. My turn came and I was feeling silly and self-conscious as I drummed my way into the labyrinth.

About one-third of the way in I heard a voice beside my ear. It said one word, - "Laughter!". It was a real voice and outside my head. I was shocked, but just carried on and said nothing to anybody about it. The rest of the day was strange too, but that is another story.

The next day I accidentally smashed a very old piece of china which my late wife had treasured. Instead of my normal angry reaction, I burst into laughter. For several months afterwards everything bad which happened to me provoked laughter instead of anger and it slowly lifted my depression. During this time, I was inspired to write poems and stories about the faeries and I felt them around me.
They helped me on many occasions. Once when the clutch on my van went and I was about to lose my agency job because a replacement clutch was not available for two weeks and I had no way to get to work, which was 50 miles away. I tried all day to borrow a vehicle but none were to be had. I asked the faeries for their help and then dozed off on the sofa. I woke up as the phone rang. the garage had found a clutch and the van was ready to collect. it was £250.00 instead of the £1000.00 originally quoted. just then, Tina's mum knocked on the door with a gift from a friend for us. It was a picture similar to the Cottingly faeries photograph!

The stories which they gave me were mostly in rhyme and they varied greatly in content from humour to wisdom. Through their teachings and help, I began to put my life back together.
I had been neglecting them recently because I was so engrossed in publishing a photo-journal for two friends. Everything went wrong. Files would mysteriously shrink and the project became a nightmare. Then The idea popped into my head that I should collate and publish a Faery book first to appease them. And yes, The other book suddenly ran smoothly through the publishing process. For those who are interested in 'The King of the Faeries', I will post a link to the book below. But I just wanted to share my story to let people know that the little people are still very much around us and are happy to help us! All we have to do is say hello and develop a relationship with them. Brightest Blessings!
Patrick W Kavanagh
01/05/2018

Link to book on Amazon...   THE KING OF THE FAERIES

Image by Tina Kavanagh

The Precambrians

The Precambrians

It was in June 1985 that this story really begins. I was separated from my first wife and sharing a house in Dublin with four builders. My partner and friend, John Heaney and I were walking across an open space to our workshop when a page from a newspaper blew across the courtyard and landed at our feet.

John looked startled as he bent down to pick it up. It had a picture of his uncle and a statement about him being taken into care and later released.

The Newspaper was about two years old. Johns uncle was mentally ill and had made it impossible for John’s wife to cope. They had bought a new house and left johns two uncles to live in his original house, rent-free.
John told me that he had a feeling that his uncle was dead but could not bring himself to go back to the house. He asked me to do a Tarot reading to see if he had passed and I agreed to do it that evening. We 'shut up shop' early and I went back to my house with the newspaper to try and find out what I could. Rushing to finish it before the others came home, - I simply laid the paper on the table and spread the cards without putting up any protection or grounding myself.

I did the reading and was certain that Johns uncle had passed when the room began to go completely dark, - even though there were several hours of daylight left. There was a horrible atmosphere and it took all my strength to push the darkness away and cleanse the room. Johns uncle had passed. But it was not his spirit which had tried to overpower me. He was a harmless gent who collected rubbish and brought it home. We later cleared the house and it took weeks to remove all the rubbish which filled every room.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep a face, appeared in front of me and startled me. It was almost black and more outline than solid. It appeared every night for about a month until a friend who was an exorcist stopped by for a cuppa one evening after a group meeting. He saw the entity immediately and asked me about it. I explained that I had been unable to banish it and he promised to help. He removed the entity, but it followed him home and he said. Later. That it had taken three months to get rid of it.

Then in 2016, Bill sent me a picture of some bubbles and asked me if I wanted to do haikus and poetry to photographs. I agreed, and we posted a few, but then I became unwell and we shelved the project for almost 2 years. Then recently, Bill and Michael sent me the files to create a photographic journal. Bill was becoming convinced that something or someone was playing tricks with them as the bubbles were morphing into incredible shapes and odd events were happening. I got a shock when I recognised the face in the picture as the entity which had haunted me so many years ago.

Producing the book became a nightmare with files constantly shrinking or disappearing. It took a ridiculous number of attempts to finish the project. The files were far above the DPI needed for Kindle, but they were suddenly too small to use, so I have shelved the Kindle version until I can fix it.
There is something strange happening, but I must leave to the readers to decide what it is. All I can guarantee is that you will be mystified and intrigued by the photographic evidence and astounded by the beauty of many of the images.
Patrick W Kavanagh
19/04/2018

New evidence has emerged and the photo-journal is now published on Amazon!

New Evidence...

Click to view or purchase "The Precambrians"

This book will inspire and amuse readers and viewers of all ages. We have selected more than100 pieces of our most popular artwork and associated poetry at the request of our online readers to allow it to be enjoyed by a wider audience. Within these pages, you will find many worlds. Things past, present and future will dance before your eyes in the company of many creatures and mythical beings. There are angels and aliens alongside laughter and tears, - but always with a brighter hope ahead. Many have found comfort in our work as well as inspiration and enjoyment. We hope that you will enjoy this book as much as we have enjoyed creating it over the last couple of years.

TO CHECK IT OUT AT AMAZON ON ANY DEVICE CLICK HERE.

Personal Meditations for Mastery and Self-knowledge. This is essential reading for those with an interest in the occult or spirituality. No-nonsense advice on the basics of Magic and Meditation is combined with beautiful and inspiring prose and art to facilitate successful meditation and spiritual development.

Now available in print on Amazon with stunning new images!
View now...

The Beggar

It was the coat that drew me to his side, that cold September day.
He leaned against the wall, inside a porch that barely kept the wind and rain away.
An army coat, just like my dad’s, that came back from the war.
I hoped it kept him just a warm as it kept me so many years before.

I dropped some coins into his cup to ease my passage, as I walked away.
But as I glanced into his eyes, I watched him struggle with some words he had to say.
“God is bleeding into life”, he said. “And life is struggling to escape the mud.
There is nothing in this world which can be made without our sweat and tears and blood!”

His aura stank of urine and insanity, and so, I walked away until he called me back.
“Your poetry is shite!”, he said, “You write of flowers and butterflies like some insipid hack!”
“What can you know, old man, of what I do and who I am?”
He said, “I’ve walked the lonely roads since mankind first began”

“You think that speaking nice and being good will save you from your misery and pain,
But you will walk as many roads as I and birth will come again and yet again.
Your life may be a fairy tale, but fairy tales are born in blood and sweat and slime.
The grimy, gritty glories of this world will last until the very end of time.”

“You bore me with your godly prayers and clean-pressed trousers on the shiny pews.
You tire me with your candles and your bells and all your failed attempts to be a better ‘you’
You drive me to distraction with your chanting and your whistles and your drums.
The only truth is you, - and what you do is what your life becomes.”

“I became this world which we both walk and we both share.
Each moment of my birth was made of misery and pain and dark despair.
You bleed my blood and cry my tears for you and I are one.
This is the mystery which Man has wondered at since Mankind was begun.”

“Forget your worries and your foolish plans and simply be!
You never will be greater than you are, for I am you and you are me.
The measures and the rules with which you gauge your lives are false beyond compare.”
I closed my eyes to still my spinning head, but when I looked again, he was no longer there!

Patrick W Kavanagh
25/03/2018
Art by Bill Oliver.

Tumbling

 The silence was unruffled by the muted ticking of the clock

upon the shelf.

She lay between us like a moody mist which hid the memories of every single kiss.

The years have brought a dreariness which wore away the passion that we felt.

And yet, - of all the losses which we gained, your laughter is the one I really miss.

It’s been such a long, long time since last I saw you smile.

The lack of lustre in your eyes reminds me of the pain we share.

We have not left this dusty dried up world within our own front room in such a while.

The world we used to know outside may long have ceased to be for all we care.


I remember summers, once upon a time, when there was magic

in a sunlit grassy field.

We walked for miles to find a quiet spot where there was no one else around

A tartan shawl laid on the ground became a battlefield where both of us would yield,

And fall into a peaceful interlude, as, cheek to cheek, we lay upon the ground.

But now we sit and stare as if we both have rushed beyond

the veil to share a musty mausoleum

Sometimes I rouse myself from reverie and try to speak, - but don’t know what to say.

The days are just a burden as we sit and wait for sleep and all its promises of dreams.

I wonder if you dream of when we laughed and played and tumbled in the hay.


I see you clearly now through all the years with straw

entangled in your hair.

Your clothes were in a mess and through the creases of your shirt, your passion pressed.

We slipped into the barn and in a stall, we made a nest of cast-off cares.

But when the farmer came we had to run away as maledictions

filled the summer air.

Perhaps we both have lived too long? What use is life bereft

of laughter and of song?

Perhaps we died a long, long time ago when we were struck by grief and everything went wrong?

Perhaps we should have fallen on our bended knees and begged forgiveness for the crime of holding on too long,

To memories of all we had which once had made the love we shared so strong?

We had a miracle and then the miracle we had was torn away.

We had a dream, but then the dream became a nightmare in a
single tragic day.

Our love created life and then that life was torn away.

The god we used to love had punished us for tumbling in the hay.

 Patrick W Kavanagh

16/03/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

Angels Born Sleeping

Angels Born Sleeping.

I am sorry that my passing caused you so much heartache and such pain.

Although my sleeping form looks still and cold, - I am reborn again.

A higher call has summoned me to worlds beyond your sight.

And I am in a place of love and wonder, - and delight.

I will visit often, though you may not know that I am near.

But, if you listen carefully, who knows what you may hear.

My quiet voice will whisper words of comfort and of love,

For I have had the grace of being chosen by the one above.

Your sacrifice and sorrow will have never been in vain.

For our spirit lives forever and we all will meet again.

But I must be a messenger of hope and love to many who are born.
For I am now a light, to all who wait in darkness, for a bright new dawn.

Do not grieve too long for me or shed too many tears.

For I have risen far above all grief and left behind all sorrows and all fears.

I know you wished to be my guide and my protector and to share in all my joys.
But, soon enough, we'll meet again beyond the starry skies.

Patrick W Kavanagh.

16/10/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

Kiara  The early memories

Only a tiny person could see the entrance to Kiara’s world, and only a tiny person with true vision could see the green lady who guarded the entrance to the land of the Fae.
As is widely known, - but not so widely believed; - there are many physical entrances to this world, as well as the obvious routes on the astral plane. However, this entrance is very special; this is where Kiara first peeked out to see Jeremiah. This is when she fell in love and it is the moment that changed her life forever and also saved mankind from a terrible fate.

I was going to say it was the ending of her childhood, but, do the Fae grow up? Do beings with such a measureless lifespan have a beginning, a middle, and an end, - just as we do?
I do not know for certain. I have asked the Fae, but they have declined to answer. Trying to persuade a faery to be serious about anything is a difficult task. They love mystery and magic for its own sake and hate to explain anything in boring detail. In the end, I stopped asking. They are my friends and my helpers, and that is good enough for me. They are intrigued by our intellect and our ego’s, but they have learned from bitter experience that being too close to mankind for too long can have a corrupting effect. Somehow, it steals a little of their joy and innocence each time they give in to their endless curiosity.

How can I describe that world, whose entrances look so unremarkable to the human eye?
Many have spoken of the feasts and the music. There are also many tales of dancing and orgies too, - but perhaps these are the exaggerations of a medieval mind which was starved of joy and hope. Memory fails me where I need it most. Like the dreamer who struggles to recall their night of adventure, I am taunted by brief, half-remembered images of beauty and feelings of utter calm and peace. Even now, I can feel the gentle touch of leaves against my cheek. I can see a clearing where a soft light catches a multitude of tiny flying creatures. Are they faeries? I cannot remember. I can see orbs of many colours and I can smell the musty earth of the forest. The air is warm and moist. My clothes feel like they do not belong here, but I sense that to remove them may mean that I will stay here forever.

The flowers are beautiful. They are a strange mix of both tropical and temperate plants.
I sniff one and suddenly feel that I could shrink, if I wanted to, and nestle inside its cup-like petals. It looks almost like an upturned daffodil with a purple centre. Everything in this place seems to be asking me to stay. As I walk deeper into the forest, I come to a huge clearing. There is a river cutting through the woods, feeding a large pool that is sparkling in the sunlight. I can see larger creatures here. Wolves are blocking my path to the pool, but I do not feel frightened.  I hear the sound of a flute and look up to see a strange creature sitting on a branch playing a bright, cheerful tune on what look like Pan-pipes. He is much smaller that I had Imagined Pan to be. Perhaps he is a faun?

The wolves pull back to allow me to go forward. There in the pool are beautiful young men and woman splashing around. They called to me and invited me in, but my puritanical upbringing failed me, and the vision ended. I did return eventually, and I will share my memories as they return to me in a clearer form.
Patrick W Kavanagh 
Kiara’s later adventures can be seen at:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589028

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/618855

'Distant Shores' is a collection of those poems which have touched the hearts of many visitors to my online pages. Book one, 'Voices From Beyond the Veil' It is part of a series of short volumes on various themes. This, the first volume, - is about parting with those we love, and the eventual acceptance and peace which can come in time. I hope that it brings some comfort to those who are grieving.

Lovers Moon

Dance with me once more beneath the sleepy moon.
The dawn begins to peek above the purple mountains all too soon.
The night has passed too quickly, and the garish daylight looms.
For me, without your smile, - the brightest day brings naught but gloom.

Whisper to me, one more time, - of love that never dies.
Show me once again, that far off world beneath the violet skies.
Share another kiss for all the ones which soon I’ll miss.
For there is nothing in life, for me, - but this.

Many were the nights I lay alone, by choice, before we met.
My heart was made of stone, and would still be, - if we were strangers yet.
But not a heart exists which can resist a faeries kiss,
And now my heart beats just for you alone, and none can query this.

How can I go back to dusty books when I have lain with you in quiet nooks?
Or tread the beaten path when I have walked the misty, moonlit road past sparkling brooks.
My weary eyes despise the bored and foppish dress of clerks,
When I have gazed upon the shining diamonds of your eyes, in caverns deep and dark.

Take my life, before you go away and break my foolish love-struck heart in two.

Do not leave this hollow husk behind with nothing left but memories of you.

Have pity on this mortal man.

And love me for whatever years are left in human life’s short span.

Take me to the world which blossomed long before the world of man began.

Patrick W Kavanagh  23/02/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

On a Mountain

“I never designed it like this, you must know!”, - 

Said the wise old man with a beard like snow.

He gazed down with kindness and gave me a bow,

“I never once ordered the flowers where to grow.”

The sky shone behind him with crimson and gold.

There was youth in his eyes, though I thought him quite old.

The birds sang so sweetly because he was near. 

As love overwhelmed me, I stifled a tear.

“But what of the sorrow and suffering and pain?

And those who must come back again and again?

He halted my questions and spoke with a sigh, 

“That was your own doing, my children, - not I!”

“I gave you this world to create what you will.

You have chosen to hoard and to hate and to kill.

I gave you a garden with beauty and grace,

But all that is left is just ruin and waste.”

“Your share of compassion has withered and died.

Your dreams and your visions are twisted inside.

I have often descended to help and to guide, 

But each time I fell by your malice, and died.”

“The trouble that comes will be wrought by your hand.

Your greed and your anger have ravished the land.

But, do not be troubled, for when it is done,

Your spirits will rise and will shine like the sun”

A music that I cannot ever describe,

Had lifted me up, - ‘til I stood by his side.

A chorus of angels, - a million or more, 

Extended as far as the distant shores.

I turned, as a Faery took hold of my hand.

She guided me back to my own sweet land.

For Angels and Faeries are much the same.

Like the faces of God, differing only in name.

Patrick W Kavanagh   21/02/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

The Faery Grove by Patrick W Kavanagh