Endless Possibilities

The endless drawl of planes above, mathematically guided to their destinations
Bound in an endless loop cleaving the sky in transitory bliss
A hiss of engines, a whine of wind
How long will we glide too far off lands searching for something that’s inside us
We mistakenly forgot that the power lies with us
That can lead to beautiful moments of endless tranquilities

We create screaming demons and baneful angels
Silhouetting as unknown shadows in the deep recesses of our minds
Occasionally masquerading as devilish nightmares and delicate fantasies
Invading our thoughts complicating our beautiful psychologies
Distorting and intrinsically fragmenting into echoes of the servile self
Crescendoing cacophonies of emotion spill seamlessly
Our identities pervade it, losing out on all sensibility.

We are kings, we are queens, and we are saints and sinners
The realist and the surrealist, the good and the bad, the clever and the naïve
The compassionate and the jealous, the ambitious and the competitive
The sensitive and the hurtful, the part and the whole
Yourself and ourselves, simultaneously.


 © Jack Nugent


The Beginning of Something

I am still at a loss for words as to how you’ve caused me such wonder

In such a little spell;

Maybe your feminine magic has been weaved so well,

That I fall into your arms and could indefinitely dwell;

Nestled in your wholesome bosom listening to the rhythm in your chest,

All day I could rest this way until the sun sets in the west, at our bodies behest.

Your chestnut curls adorn the bed and whorl the worries from my head;

There is a bond in fondness

And all I know is I am bloody fond of you.


© Jack Nugent

What This City Coughs

This city sings a cacophony of chaotic harmonies

Drenched in the sludge of silent hysteria

As another day begins

And rush hour reveals a stinking posterior


The city is washed in grey rain

And we all trudge in our little riverways

The tired faces navigate the gridlocked landscape

The daily commute regurgitates the same ensemble

Who long for escape

If the city had walls they would read

Here lies civilisation


The school kids who’ve had no breakfast

Steal sweets for the morning to come

The youth who don’t go to school

Hooded and half lean

Think the streets hold more promise

That bag of green

More important than a GCSE


The lonely widower gets jostled as he queues for the bus

Underneath the surface his heart is ready to erupt

But he looks to the sky and knows his wife is there

Smiling down at him as he stacks shelves at the supermarket

Work he must

Because his pension isn’t enough and there’s stain upon stain

On his lonely living room carpet

The heartbreak, he can’t adjust


The mute street cleaner listens to a podcast about microbiology

As the rain falls about his ears

How many years has he swept the same pavements

Immersing himself in knowledge

On the same level as a doctorate

Destined to live a life where he can’t use his gift

But he still smiles at the passers by

Because in his intelligence he found solitude and reasons why

He could live


If you’ve ever walked these streets

It is almost a given

That you are in rhythm

With these people

I have just described

They are not in disguise

They are in plain sight

Sitting opposite you on the bus

Sweeping up the cigarette butt you just dropped

People are not puddles

They are oceans

Too rough for you to navigate

Without listening.


© Jack Nugent