Spur of the Moment

Knowledge collated and untimely shared,

Despite the reaction - the broadcast is aired.

Debate, argument, blown is the fuse,

Warning, strike, a fight ensues.

Opinionated spectators shout and jeer,

In the shadows stand others in fear.

Sides are taken and true alliances arise,

Passion and anger glow in their eyes.

A wave of support travels round the room,

As the fighters threaten and attacks loom.

Boxer, wrestler, martial artist in one,

Or plain natural instinct anything but run.

David and Goliath or evenly matched,

Any opportunity the upperhand should be snatched.

It may not be pretty but as long as one doesn't fail,

Showing who is most dominant or rather the alpha male.

Its not like the movies choreographed and slick,

The two men grapple with the odd punch and kick.

Scuffling and tumbling hitting the furniture and walls,

They bounce around like a couple of pin balls.

The time and surroundings matter not,

When the blood begins to boil hot.

As the energy and strength reaches an all time low,

It becomes harder to protect each deadly blow.

As the weaker surrenders with a groan.

Sweat, blood, tears are shown,

The victor struts with an aura of reign,

While the defeated cowers and grimaces in pain.

Cuts and bruises are the remains of the abuse,

Silence for breath before a truce.

Tears of shame and yells of joy,

One feels like a man the other a boy.

The victorious fighter soon loses his smug grin,

As friendship could be lost and conscience sets in.

The losing fighter feels the same,

As he soon realises he is also to blame.

Apologies are exchanged with a handshake and a hug,

While the three legged table wobbles on a blood stained rug.

No-one can say if this will happen again,

Its a spur of the moment brawl between two men.

Copyright - Andy Callaghan


Treasured Time


I really love my sleep and I love my bed,

However others would say "you'll sleep when you're dead".

But theres this treasured time before we wake,

Where if we were offered - we would gladly take.

It could be 2 min, 5min an hour or two,

I suppose it all depends on what is precious to you.

Its normally the latter end of our nightly sleep,

Just before that alarm clock starts its annoying beep.

We are made aware of this when we stir or are woken,

And when the hour is known, its like a waste of a sleep token.

I've heard the disgruntled people shout.."heh can you stop all your noise",

The inconsiderate ones reply "get back in your pram and play with your toys".

Theres the minority who wake early, and say "it doesn't really matter",

Many others would disagree and say "they're as mad as a hatter".

You're being robbed of your sleep at the end of the day,

Honestly though, if the chance arose I think I would gladly pay.

Don't they also say, half your life is spent in bed, But we always need time to rest our mind or head.

The majority of people -  have to plod on and wait,

Until they get their chance to get their heads down once its late.

Now I'm lucky and happen to dose off in all different places,

You should see peoples reactions and the look on their faces.

You may think its boredom, hardwork, or just been a long week,

But I don't really think theres an answer to go and seek.

As we truly know its due to that treasured time thats been taken away,

When we're in our warm beds just before the start of your sleep deprived day.

So my advice, is to grab them extra minutes while you can,

Be it girl, boy, woman or man.

Copyright - Andy Callaghan




You may have a favourite car, colour, film or bird,

But do you have, a favourite word ?.

I've chosen one, why don't you.

Seriously, its not a joke, its very very true,

Many of you might think, this is alittle strange,

Or I'm not all there, and abit derranged.

If you think about it, you're spoilt for choice,

As it could be in another language, accent or a different voice.

How about a name of someome precious to you,,

Or just slang for a word that its been shortened to.

It could be funny, sad, or meaningful,

Really interesting or even quite dull.

Don't forget this is your opinion though,

So let your mind wonder and give it a go.

Now the one I recently chose as my favourite - is the word Bubble,

Wait a minute, I think when I was young I chose another - oh now I'm in trouble.

It was Metamorphosis - now what am I going to do,

As I think both of them are good - how do I split the two.

Lets look at the meanings and sounds and try and come to a decision,

Putting them either 1st place or 2nd and finalise their position.

We know a Bubble is a thin ball of liquid enclosing gas or air,

And Metamorphosis is the change of form or character.

Come to think of it - they are both interlinked in a way,

So - I can't get rid of one and let the other one stay.

Metamorphosis sounds interesting and Bubble sounds fun,

I'm afraid I'm not going to get anywhere so I think thats me done.

I've decided they are now both my favourites - and win the top prize,

Who knows - with so many words out there - another one may arise.

Copyright - Andy Callaghan 























Ode Man

Now I need to tell you about a mysterious man,

I'll do my best - to tell you what I can.

As over the years the facts seem to change,

But one thing for sure - the tales are very strange.

Where he was from - no-one knew,

He would just appear out of the blue.

Wearing a flat cap and a weathered mac,

The back all worn due to a hessien sack.

This was carried - wherever he went,

So much so - his back had become bent.

Despite the weight - he held on tight,

With his blistered hands and all his might.

It eventually surfaced that this heavy load,

Were hundreds of matchboxes - on each - written an ode.

Supposedly a lifetime of personal - feelings and thoughts,

Starting when he was a young lad in plastered glasses and shorts.

An unhappy childhood back when England was at war,

His dad had died in battle and the family were extremely poor.

He was sad and scared - but he had to quickly become a man,

Supporting and providing for his mum, sister and gran.

If the chance arose to earn - he was ready and able,

The limits were endless - to get food to the table.

It didn’t matter to him if he was a little brother or son,

As the man of the house - he knew it had to be done,

When the sirens began to wail and them whistles blew,

Protecting his loved ones was paramount, as a raid may ensue.

He would ferry them out - one by one,

Down to the garden - into the Anderson.

When the family slept – in the shelter at night,

He would scribble away - under candle light.

It was his way of escaping - and this made him content,

Instead of being downhearted - he thought it was time well spent.

One night - a bomb blast - caused the demise of his family,

Alone and panic stricken - he decided to flee.

The war eventually passed - but he continued to write,

Anywhere and everywhere - be it day or night

For years he was homeless and living on the street,

Nothing but scraps for something to eat.

He may of looked dishevelled and been in bad health,

But he was no stranger to hardship - and having little wealth.

As he wandered along through a city, village or town,

Fingers were pointed, with harsh remarks and a frown.

To be happy all he wanted - was his sack full of odes,

Living his life - on his own - on the never ending roads.

It has been said he would be always on the search,

For the nearest chapel or a local church.

Somewhere safe and gauranteed some sleep ?

Or possibly somewhere to ponder and weep ?

I believe - its where these odes were read,

Walking around the graves - to those unfortunate dead.

A friendly gesture to these many souls,

Giving peace as they lay alone in holes.

A true saint - forever giving support,

A special gift - that can never be bought.

Copyright - Andy Callaghan




Single - on my own and all alone,

My only lifeline - the trusted phone.

Yes - friends and family are on the other end,

Messages of love and kindness - they would send.

But a hug and a loving kiss - is what I really need,

I don't think its selfishness or even greed.

Love is free and should be shared,

Emotions and feelings should be aired.

To a loved one close - or by your side,

A good time would be now - on this long train ride.

Instead I sit here all quiet - mayhem in my head,

Thoughts a plenty - but nothing is said.

My mouth becomes dry - contemplating what could be,

Instead of being joyous - with the fact that I'm free.

I gulp my rationed water -  rather than just sips,

Pouring my heart out - through my finger tips.

Creating an ode of feelings in the hope it will rythme,

Its the only option I have - at this present time.

Sadness creeps in - I'm on the verge of a cry,

As the world outside - quickly passes me by.

Rather than concentrating - on the ever increasing pain,

I'm forgetting one thing - the destination of the train.

Possible fun and laughter with an exchange of some charms,

Resulting in passion - and contentment in their arms.

Is this experience the seed - without a second thought you sow,

Where togetherness forms - and that thing called LOVE begins to grow.

Maybe it will be the same old thing - of reaching heights of ecstacy,

Then going through the same routine of spiraling down depressively.

A result from their decision - or a clear cut one of mine,

Either or a habit - which is definitely far from fine.

I have no bad intentions - when these encounters arise,

And naivity isn't a factor - wide open are my eyes.

Unlucky and picky - frequently I'm told,

How hard can it be - to find someone to hold.

I'm honest - romantic - passionate and kind, 

Also a gentleman - which I'm told is hard to find.

The love I have to give - feels like its bursting at the seams,

But I'm scared it will die - along with my dreams.

So who knows whats instore for me - on my lonely travels,

As the story of my love life - painfully unravels.

But I know if I follow my heart - which is my - true guide,

Through the darkness of uncertainty - I will proudly stride.

 Copyright - Andy Callaghan


Forbidden Fruit


When I think of this - I am overcome with desire,

Heart pumping rapidly and temperature getting higher.

Cheeks and lips red - as if they were ablaze,

The pupils dilating and covered in a glaze.

The hands even sweat and start to shake,

How much more suffering am I willing to take.

The limit is endless when you have an appetite,

For something special and a possible priceless bite.

Its out of reach and I unfortunately do not own,

But given the chance I'd be like a dog with a bone.

It would be in my grasp and no-ones but mine,

But for that to happen I'd have to cross a certain line.

Made up of values, principles and self respect,

If crossed - joy would evolve - but to drastic effect.

To fight off that temptation - becomes very hard,

Knowing full well - fingers could get chard.

The bearer of fruit may decide to tease,

Like a mouse been attracted to a lump of cheese.

Just a hug then or maybe a kiss,

Once is ok for that moment of bliss.

But you can't stop at this - you always want more,

The devil is the guide wanting to take you on a tour.

Sexual exploration and sightseeing to be had,

Ecstacy and goodness mixed with being alittle bad.

So how strong are you to fight that demon inside,

In taking the forbidden fruit -  rollercoaster ride.

Copyright - Andy Callaghan