Friday, 23 September 2011

Letting go of special people can be hard.


K ind, Kalyanee, a compassionate, caring dove.
A h, Kalyanee, you are so easy to love. And I,
L ove you Kalyanee , since first we did meet.
Y ou, Kalyanee , and your soul’s essence so sweet.
A las, Kalyanee, it is time to bid you adieu, but,
N ever, Kalyanee, will I forget you.
E ven, Kalyanee, if we are miles apart.
E vermore, Kalyanee , you will be in my heart.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011


weet child I feel the pain that I see in your eyes.
n you songs, I can hear your impassioned cries.
othing has touched me quite like you.
ven the controversial things you do.
ll you sing and say and share.
epicts some deeply hidden fear.

h, how I wish I could help you attain.
C almness of soul and freedom from pain.
O h lonely, lovely lady, I hear your silent cry.
N ow don't get me wrong, I don't mean to pry.
N o point in that, it would lead to nowhere.
O nly your peace of mind it's for that, that I care.
R elinquish your past with it's sorrows and tears,
 embrace tomorrow without any fears.


It was four years ago today, I watched my Daddy die
There were no words that I could say, I could only cry.
With all those painful questions going round my head.
Why couldn't God have spared him and taken me instead.

It hurt so much to watch as he fought to hold onto life.
He didn’t want to leave his family or his wife.
It's hard to grasp the fact that he's no longer here
But in some strange way I can still feel him quite near.

I am glad that I was sober as his life it ebbed away.
It was an honour to be there, holding hands on his final day.
There are times I'd love to have him back to have a little talk.
Or to go to Dollymount for a sunny Sunday walk.

To watch him fill his pipe and smoke it sure and slow.
How I loved those Sunday evenings, to the local pub we'd go.
The stories that he told of life when he was a boy.
To hear him tell them now would fill my heart with joy.

Don't be afraid to ask questions, I often heard him say.
Like so much good advice he dispensed along his way.
I know it wasn't all rosy no life can ever be.
But the good times are the ones most cherished by me.

He lived his life simply and didn't intend harm to anyone.
And today I am proud of the fact that I'm his son.
Although there is a void deep  inside of me.
I can fill it with memories of what used to be.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011


Tenderly look back upon the child,

with her tiny childhood tears,

whilst smiling a sweet smile for her,

in the wisdom of your fifty golden years.

Let your heart softly speak to the girl,

with her terrible teenage fears,

whispering your kind regard for her,

in the wisdom of your fifty golden years.

Gently embrace the young lady,

who believed that love always disappears,

cherish now fond thoughts for her,

in the wisdom of your fifty golden years.

Look kindly upon the woman of middle age,

who felt trapped, perhaps, by life's many snares,

as into freedom you walk with her

in the wisdom of your fifty golden years.

Realise in your wisdom today,

that on the horizon as a Goddess appears,

its you Una, you are her,

with all the beauty of your fifty golden years.

So let your inner Goddess shine her light,

on all your future cares,

as you walk hand in hand with her,

in the beauty and the wisdom of all your golden years.

I wrote this poem for my wife on the occasion of her 50th birthday.

Friday, 12 August 2011


Sitting in the chapel as they played Amazing Graze,

So touched by this moment tears were on my face.

For perhaps it was just such a special moment,

When your love first took hold.

And now fifty years later your love is turning Gold.

I feel both honoured and awe-struck

Sharing with you Charlie and Kay,

In this beautiful celebration of your very Special Day.

It is so wonderful to see two people,

With so much love to give,

An inspiration in a world of broken dreams

In which so many live.

You've reached a goal to which many have aspired,

But sadly never reached

Because their love grew old and tired.

And your love, it is still growing

but never growing old,

Because fifty years of growing has turned

Your love to Gold.

Thank you for the insight that you both show

Of what can be achieved when love's allowed to grow.

And I'm sure if God is looking down

From Heaven above,

He is smiling on you both and on

Your precious Golden Love.

Your Eyes , The Windows Of Your Soul

You cannot hide your souls despair
Nor pretend that all's ok in there.
Like a window, through your eyes,
I can see so deep
Into hidden chambers,
Filled with secrets that you keep.

Mostly veiled by curtains.
Of anger, hate and pride
Occasionally I catch glimpses of
The beauty that's inside,
A compassionate loving soul
That sometimes really cares,
Trapped behind the window
By loneliness and fears.

At times it's hard to see
Your souls loving glow
Hidden by the pain and tears
Caused by hurts from long ago.

I cannot look you straight in the eye,
The reflection of my own soul makes me want to cry.

I can reach the recesses of your soul,
No matter how dark or deep,
Because I know my soul own so well
And the secrets I tried to keep.

Your eyes the windows of your soul,
Let them open wide
Stop trying to conceal,
The truth and beauty that's inside.
Release your soul
Let its love shine strong and bright.
Then you will see this world
in a new and better light.

Monday, 1 August 2011



A mighty tree once stood tall and proud.
But all alone last night it fell with a fearsome crashing sound.
Echoing the pain of its death , a pain so very loud.
Was this event of no account because no one was around?

Do events count for nothing when no one sees or hears?
Could it be that no one, not even God, really cares?
In Baltimore and Goldenbridge and such places full of fears.
How many unseen rivers flowed with children’s tears?

Even now in the silence of the night many are still weeping.
Themselves, the only witness to the awful memories that they’re keeping.
Unable to share with anyone the bitter harvest they’re still reaping.
Condemned to a private hell while the lucky ones are sleeping.

And because you do not witness what they are going through.
Does this awful reality not exist for you?
You may even hold the cruel and cynical view.
That because you haven’t seen it maybe it isn’t true.

But what of all those children all their suffering and pain.
Will their tears continue falling like the desert rain?
And because it isn’t witnessed will it all just be in vain?
And because it isn’t witnessed will it happen again and again?

Perhaps their lives and death like the tree and its fall.
Are unheard, unanswered, like a lonely heartfelt call.
To God , to life, to nature, and the complexity of it all.
To God, their lives, human nature, and the cruelty of it all. 
            Joe Cluxton 2005
Grá agus solus

Saturday, 16 July 2011

The love in her sweet voice….

Sharp sun stings your eyes as you wake,
The biting wind is making you shake.
Fumbling through pockets of worn out rags,
Frantically searching for whiskey and fags.

Hidden within a threadbare sack,
You find a bottle and crumpled pack.
But  to your horror, the bottle is dry,
In sheer desperation you start to cry.

With fingers, skinny, stiff, still shaking,
A cigarette you try making.
Finally inhaling it long and deep,
Wishing you could return to sleep.

Spurred by smoke your hazy brain,
Remembers a bottle down by a drain.
You were inspired, to make a stash,
For days like this, when you have no cash.

Lips to the bottle, tasting the bliss,
A reminder, perhaps, of an angels kiss.
Calmer now, the craving eases,
But hunger still torments and teases.

Setting you off on your daily beat,
Laughing, loudly stamping your feet.
Defying the cold, the wind wont defeat,
You or your search for something to eat.

Its raining, as you reach the corner shop,
Coughing and wheezing you have to stop.
Anyway its time for another drink,
To focus the mind and help you to think.

How you will get a bite,
To ease the pangs you had all night.
Then you wonder are you dreaming,
As you smell coffee hot and steaming.

Shaking her head as she looks at you,
Then gives you portion of hot food too.
Are the tears in her eyes, starting to well,  
Stinging rain makes it hard to tell.

She whispers, “you could change , you have a choice“,            
Something familiar about her words, her voice.
You know you know her, but from where?
And before you can ask shes no longer there.

By the crowd she has been swallowed,
So you couldn’t catch her if you followed.
Eating in a doorway to avoid the rain,
Her voice is haunting you again.

On your breakfast you nearly choke,
Because her voice and the words she spoke,
Bring back the years of love you shared,
And you realise now that she still cared.

Seeing your reflection in a window pane,
It is obvious now how totally insane,
That behaviour was driving you apart,
And causing so much pain in her heart.

With tears in her eyes the time came to part,
Yet she was willing to try a fresh start.
She said “you can change, you have a choice“,
With soft tender love in her sweet voice.

But you couldnt see all you would lose,
As you opted instead for a life on the booze.
Breaking her heart that cold winters day,
As she whispered her love you just staggered away.

Desperate, to numb your guilt and pain,
With whiskey and fags you lie soaked in rain.
Wishing you could change, and make the choice,
To have back that love in her sweet voice.
  Joe Cluxton Dec. 2006                            

In Celebration of Kuan Yin.

Kuan yin, in adoration, I bow at you feet,
Absorbing your mercy, your compassion, so soft, so sweet,
As it gently flows from your vase of green,
Filling my soul with a love so serene.

Kuan Yin , in admiration, I gaze at the love and light,
Which radiates from your heart so warm and so bright,
In response to the cries of all people in need,
And to whom you will never cease to pay heed.

Kuan Yin, in contemplation of, the Jewel within the Lotus flower,
I see the beauty of your love and power,
You are the perfect inspiration,
For my Loving-Kindness meditation.

Kuan Yin, in celebration, of this, your special day,
With candles burning to light my way,
I embrace all the love and the virtues you show,
As I immerse my soul in your soft healing glow.

Kuan Yin ,in appreciation of all the love you give,
I chose you as the model for my life to live,
To hear the call, the painful cries,
Of the troubled souls with tears in their eyes.

Joe Cluxton Feb.2005
Grá agus Solas

Kuan Yin: hearer of cries, Goddess of mercy and compassion



Christian Brother, does that name mean what it should?
Christ would never, rob me of my childhood.
How could you, a Brother of Christ,
Steal the innocence of a child.
Christ would never even crush a flower,
And leave it feeling so defiled.

But you, entrusted to shaping my future years ahead.
Abused your position and destroyed it all instead.
Teacher? Carer? Someone, that I thought I could have trusted.                                 
You left me feeling ,sickened, saddened and disgusted.
You hurt me and worse still you hurt my Mam and Dad.
And in so doing became the worst nightmare I ever had

In your eyes I sensed something dark and wild.
But you kept smiling,
As if to try and reassure this very frightened child.
How did it feel abusing your own power
And destroying what little power I had.
That must have made your brother Christ, so very, very sad.

You were a sad sick contradiction for all the world to see
A Brother in name, but no Christian the day your sickness tainted me.
If you had asked your brother Christ ,
He would have healed the error of your way.
So, why did you turn your back on him and run away?

He has healed me of my past, my hurt, my pain.
And on your behalf,
My forgiveness for you he did also gain.
You almost destroyed me by the error of your way.
But I am growing now in love and understanding,
A little every day.
Although it saddens me to think,
That you may still run and hide.
I hope someday, in Christ your Brother,
Your soul, you will confide.

Joe Cluxton