IMMORTAL BELOVED

Michael Walsh

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MICHAEL WALSH

The writer whose work spans two centuries

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt.

Poetry is a painting that is felt rather than seen.”

~ Michael Walsh.

BIOGRAPHY

Irish author and co-writer of over 60 books Michael Walsh is an international

journalist, broadcaster, author - and poet. His collection of over 600 inspiring,

entertaining poems enjoys global acclaim.

Born into a literary family, his father, Patrick, was battlefield companion of American

war correspondent legend, Ernest Hemingway. His lifelong friendship with Sean

O‟Casey, Ireland‟s foremost playwright, endured until their mortal deaths. Michael's

mother, Kathleen, who also mentored his writing skills, was a friend of Dolores

Ibarruri, Spain's Civil War revolutionary La Pasionaria. A consummate traveler, after

visiting over 60 countries, Michael now lives in Spain. He described himself as first

and foremost a devoted pan-European.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A poet does not work in isolation. The inkwell is his heart, inspiration the natural

tapestry of landscape, beautiful women, and life. I pay tribute to my wife, Nadia and

our sons Craig, Michael and Nikita. I dedicate my verse to friends who, directly or

indirectly, water my inspiration. Their continued encouragement and enthusiasm are

a driving force and source of both strength and enjoyment. They are, in a word,

family.

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TITLES BY MICHAEL WALSH

Please note: Amazon Book editions of these volumes are beautifully and sumptuously

illustrated. Each will make a fine gift. There are no repeats; the poetry content of

each collection is different. Each volume features a little over 60 delightful

compositions. The 11th in the Collection is scheduled for publication in summer

2016. The book covers are illustrated on this volume's inside back page.

POETRY

http://www.spanglefish.com/michaelwalshpoetry/

DARE TO BE DIFFERENT PUBLISHING

http://www.spanglefish.com/mwpgw/

YOU TUBE

Michael Walsh's poetry-music has been compiled by noted Italian video impresario,

Carlo Gallozzi. Such is the enchantment of these exquisite poetry-video productions

that the number of You Tube views quickly surpassed those of household name

recording stars.

The Oldest Love Letter. Poetry by Michael Walsh

The Girl I Met in May. Poetry by Michael Walsh

My Auburn Ma Vourneen. Poetry by Michael Walsh

Ma Vourneen – (My Darling). Poetry by Michael Walsh

TRIBUTES TO

THE POETRY OF MICHAEL WALSH

The poetry of Michael Walsh receives commendations from around the world. Whilst

all tributes are equal the better known contributors include Susan Lee, Women‟s

Editor, Liverpool Echo, Willy Russell (playwright Shirley Valentine, Blood

Brothers), Colin Wilkinson Bluecoat Press, Liverpool.

“The Archbishop (Liverpool) asked me to tell you how much he enjoyed the enclosed

verse.” ~ Graeme Brady, Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King.

“May I say well done? Your poems are brilliant and everyone who reads them will

identify with most. I enjoyed them very much.” ~ Barbara Noble, Co-founder Nobles

of Liverpool.

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“You are doing for Liverpool what Robert Service did for the Yukon ~ immortalising

it in a timeless way.” ~ Bernard C. Cooper, Guild of Master Craftsmen.

“The poems are extremely interesting and make good reading, especially in the

evening when returning from work.” ~ Robert Burns, MD. (Mr. Burns was the

originator of the Irish theme public houses).

Ken Dodd, Singer, Comedian, songwriter and actor

“I was delighted to read your poetry on Liverpool and enjoyed it immensely.” ~ Ken

Dodd, Britain‟s most loved entertainer.

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FOREWORD

“Believing that its beauty would be lost to deaf ears, I read poetry to a barbarian.

When he wept, I faulted myself for thinking him ignoble. Reading the poetry to a

patrician, he laughed at the words and I realised he was a barbarian.”

What is behind the success of Michael's verse? He smiles, “To compose verse that

people relate to. There is no greater pleasure than hearing it said, 'I never liked

poetry until I read yours.”

Michael has taken poetry away from the pretentious elite. Having rediscovered its

charm he has returned good poetry back to the people, the wellspring of his

inspiration. His verse covers every human experience and emotion from womb to

tomb. It is unique in that its sentiments are reflected by devotees of every nationality,

faith and culture. A facet of his unique poetic style is his being appreciated equally

by the wealthy, the impoverished, and the soprano to the busker.

A self-indulgent romantic, his rich assortment of verse is filled with humour, pathos,

longing, nostalgia and poignancy. His first poem, composed when 24-years old, is

as popular today. He never lost his extraordinary gift. He went on to 'write by

candlelight' verse that will ache your heart. Take each verse as you would sip from a

glass of the finest burgundy. Much of his poetry is inspired by personal experience.

Behind each poem you read is the ghostly image of the person, the place or

experience that inspired it. The poetry of Michael Walsh is the language of the soul.

- Publishing Agent.

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CONTENTS

THE EYES ARE DEAF

HE WENT WITHOUT GOODBYE

HER NAME WAS DESIRE

THE SWEEP OF HER HAIR

LOVE LIPS PROMISED KISSES

THE PASSING YEARS

WHEN WOMAN’S NAME IS SINGLE

REMORSE

HER DIARY

DAYDREAMS

I LOVE THE BONES OF YOU

THE LANES TOGETHER

PASSING TIME

IT’S THE SAME AS WHEN YOU DIE

'THERE'S NEVER DOUBT ABOUT IT'

THREE DINERS AT THE TABLE

YOU'LL NEVER MEET A POET

THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

WOMAN'S LIPS

IN THEIR HOMES OF CLAY

THE UNDELIVERED LETTER

THE ROAD THAT LEADS NOWHERE

MUST LOVE BE MORE OR LESS

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TOO BEAUTIFUL TO LOVE ME

WHAT TALES THAT THEY COULD TELL

THE MOON

TOGETHERNESS

THE SPIRITS OF THE MOUNTAIN

THE SIREN AND THE SPRITE

BEAUTY WAS HER BURDEN

AUTUMN’S BRIDE

SUNSET AND EVENING STAR

THE MIRROR IN YOUR BATHROOM

BED

THE COSSACKS

THE BUSKER

A STREET CAR NAMED DESIRE

HOW MANY WAYS TO LOVE HER

RHYTHM

FIVE MINUTES

WOMAN VEILED

THERE'S NOTHING QUITE LIKE MOONLIGHT

I WAITED HOW I WAITED

YOUR PORTRAIT AT MY BEDSIDE

BLESS THE EYES THAT CANNOT SEE

LET'S TAKE THE TRAIN TO NOWHERE

MY INHERITANCE

COLOURS OF THE MIND

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HANDS

SELF

GOLD

EVENING REVERIE

THE DECISION WASN'T EASY

THE HEART THAT CANNOT SEE

PLOUGH SHARES OR THE SHARES OF WAR

WHAT SECRETS IN THOSE ANCIENT STONES

THEY'RE ALL TOGETHER NOW

TODAY I KILLED MY BROTHER

DREAM MAKERS

HER HEART WAS BUT A CASKET

SLEEP

ETERNAL BELOVED

SHOULD I BELIEVE

WHAT IS REAL AND WHAT IS NOT

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THE EYES ARE DEAF

The eyes are deaf and cannot speak,

The eyes can only see,

But sweet recall sees further,

Their echo sees but thee,

As once you were, a dreaming youth,

The crystal ball denied,

A blameless heart is cheery as

an ever blushing bride.

The eye sees only old men,

Soundless eyes stay mute,

The branch is old and withered,

A stem of bitter fruit;

But memories recall the bough,

From which the blossom sprung,

The eyes are mute and eyes are deaf

To what you were when young.

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HE WENT WITHOUT GOODBYE

It was his final letter,

But how was she to know,

He hadn‟t said a word to her,

The evening he would go;

It‟s strange when someone dear to you,

Just leaves without a word,

No clue to where he might have gone,

You know he always cared.

Goodbyes are never easy,

Perhaps it‟s best to go,

Without a word or warning,

Like gentle breezes blow,

A zephyr‟s kiss upon your cheek,

And then the waft is gone;

They‟ll bury him tomorrow,

Of goodbyes there were none.

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THE SWEEP OF HER HAIR

She swept back her hair,

From her brow and her face,

Like she draws back the curtains at dawn,

The light of her eyes,

Swore no more goodbyes,

Her heart cried there‟s nothing to mourn.

With a riffle of wrist,

She flicked her locks back,

Till her face was so lovely revealed

For there‟s love in the air,

When her soul is laid bare,

And her lips, oh those lips are unsealed.

When she drew back her hair,

As curtains at morn‟,

The light of her ring met the day,

Then I knew from her face,

Thus had ended the chase,

As she parted her tresses away.

As I light touched her braid,

I gazed at my maid,

Till I drowned in a maelstrom of sighs,

I will love her so much

She will hear my soft touch,

She will hear from the depths of her eyes.

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LOVE LIPS PROMISED KISSES

Her lips promised kisses,

That lasted a week,

Her breathing as sweet as mulled wine,

Upon her raised bosom,

Her bodice unlaced,

I wished that this maiden was mine.

But I am forsaken,

By fate and by chance;

Those full lips may never be mine,

Then I will imagine

The brush of her lips,

A red rose on stem of the vine.

Susan‟s lips promised kisses,

And hint of desire,

Her breathing was quick as my heart,

As her eyes fluttered gentle,

Like butterfly wings,

I wished that our lips were a part,

A part of our sharing

A table for two,

With her lips dripping red with the wine,

Then I‟ll slake my thirst,

And be total immersed,

In those lips that had toasted the vine.

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THE PASSING YEARS

When I was but an infant,

No past that I be blessed,

No future just the present,

A child at mother‟s breast,

Till I was neither boy nor man

Just someone in between

Until tomorrow‟s pastures,

Showed promise in their green.

Years passed, the boy had gone,

Yet still a callow youth,

Till fate would whisper to me,

The pain of love, of truth,

That I would be a man in prime,

A burden to myself;

Until I learned eternal truth,

That wisdom is one‟s wealth.

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WHEN WOMAN’S NAME IS SINGLE

In truth it seems I‟m single for,

There‟s not a single rose,

Upon my bedside table ~

No add-on to my clothes,

I am the unseen woman,

The skivvy at her chores,

My job is in the kitchen,

Our kids and washing floors.

But if he shows no gratitude,

She‟s thankless and unsung,

If she‟s treated solo,

Today her trap is sprung.

For she‟ll go out to dinner,

With friends who married too,

A friend whose name is Single,

Like once the man she knew.

Today she will be single,

And she‟ll be keeping mum,

He‟s married to his telly,

Or wedded to his chum,

Today he spends without his bride,

Such thankless price of free,

Whilst better men will clink the glass,

Much better men than he.

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REMORSE

You can‟t predict a gust of wind,

Or where a thought will go,

But feet will always follow where,

The heart would wish to go.

But is it wise to be seduced,

By whim or want or need,

When broken hearts may lead you to,

The place where hearts will bleed.

You can‟t predict the heart‟s caprice,

Or circumstance of time,

Life is fickle, volatile,

And rarely does it rhyme,

If compromise is yours to seek,

Take not the harder course,

For tears, my dear, will longer fall,

When tears are of remorse.

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DAYDREAMS

I think to stay awake tonight,

For daydreams are the best,

What need for night uncertainties,

When in your bed at rest;

Pandora‟s Box is opened,

When eyes are closed for sleep,

The dreams are entertaining but,

They sometimes make me weep.

Daydreams are the better course,

Imagination‟s kind,

It understands my better needs,

It trusts me then to find,

The person I would wish to be,

Occasions I inspire,

Perhaps you‟d care to join me as,

We dream what we desire.

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THE LANES TOGETHER

Let‟s go down the lane together,

Arm-in-arm as we would go,

One foot before the other,

Not fast but not too slow,

We‟ll leave the conversation to,

The souls of you and I;

And we shall pick the bluebells,

As we go strolling by.

We‟ll laugh about the lighter things,

As children tend to do;

I‟ll make you pretty ringlets,

If the wine of mountain dew,

Has blessed the rings of daisies,

Or those bluebells in your hand,

And I will give my heart to you,

As we walk hand-in-hand.

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SUNSET AND EVENING STAR

Sunset and evening star,

Infinity is set afar;

If heaven be the womb of life,

Are you yet born or other life?

The zenith of your final goal,

Your odyssey of love.

Sunset and evening star,

Embrace my life with what you are;

Eternal be your mother's womb,

From doom to birth, from birth to doom.

But still you rise when I am gone,

Not to the earth, when life is done;

My nebula, celestial home

I live forever 'neath your dome.

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THE BUSKER

Not once did he play for those who passed,

He cared not a dime for their fate;

The old man played for the tolling bell,

And the clock that never waits.

The feet passed by, the sun moved on,

What once would be was past and done,

They saw the busker, not a thought,

Whose melodies were not for naught.

He played for a wasted life misspent,

And the girl he never knew;

The clock moved on to the bitter time,

When the soul demands its due;

The melody was this man‟s lament,

A funeral march for the dreams he meant,

Each day the cortège passed him by,

And a coin on the plate was threw.

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DREAM MAKERS

Who knows tonight what dreams are mine,

They're random yet to know,

If I would wish to dream of you,

Then I must gentle go,

To greet the dawn that breaks the day,

When I can daydream hours away,

Then you will be my dream.

When I sleep I cannot choose,

What dreams would suit me best,

To lie in summer's meadow,

With my head upon your breast.

Breathe the scent of posies picked,

Only then are night dreams tricked,

My dreams are just of you.

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MICHAEL WALSH COLLECTION OF SOME OF THE FINEST POETRY

BY A CONTEMPORARY POET OF INTERNATIONAL REPUTATION

AVAILABLE AMAZON BOOKS AND AMAZON KINDLE

THE POETRY OF MICHAEL WALSH

http://www.spanglefish.com/michaelwalshpoetry/

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OTHER TITLES OF INTEREST

Michael (Walsh) is much more than a poet. Judged „Writer of the Year‟ by the Euro

Weekly News editorial panel, Michael‟s reflections on the world, the good and the

bad, are enjoyed by a readership estimated at over half a million newspaper readers.

If you enjoy Michael‟s style you are sure to find the „Fifth Column‟ newspaper

column collections equally engaging and inspirational. Toni Muldoon The Dream

Snatcher is his exclusive biographical firsthand account of Mediterranean Spain‟s

most successful fraudster.

THE BUSINESS BOOSTER

For twenty years, 1988 – 2008, Michael Walsh, who had successfully retailed, and

owned several businesses, was head-hunted by the Guild of Master Craftsmen, and

the Federation of Master Builders. Both superlative quality assurance regulatory

trade associations required a business assessment executive with the skill and

integrity to assess and mentor new business members. Over those twenty years,

Michael became something of a legend himself.

The Business Booster, compiled during his semi-retirement, draws on those

experiences. As a business guide it is unique. It is essential reading for any new or

existing business. Michael Walsh is confident that by reading and acting upon the

advice given, any business will break free from the herd and surge upwards and

forward. The Business Booster is the best possible investment any small to medium

sized business can make.

A LEOPARD IN LIVERPOOL

QUASI-FICTIONAL: AUTHOR MICHAEL WALSH

AUA mercenary‟s intended vacation in his native Liverpool goes awry on learning

that his pubescent daughter is ensnared by the city‟s lowlife. An epic fail on their

part. Ex-Liverpool seaman, Fraser McLeod, after being drawn into the 1960s Congo

Crisis and Simba Rebellion, morphed into a lethal humanoid. Further years

Rhodesia‟s anti-insurgency bush wars have turned the swashbuckling dog-of-war into

a cunning and resourceful predator.

Camouflaged by the inner-city‟s itinerant jetsam his daughter‟s trail has gone cold.

The action heats up when the vengeful MacLeod disappears into the maritime city‟s

social sewers.

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Those, whose trade is debt and death, flesh and illegal substances know how to

discourage the inquisitive. However, they are no match for a prowling marauder for

whom death is no more to be feared than is birth.

The soldier-of-fortune turned arms dealer has a single lead and unquenchable thirst

for a vengeful nemesis. Drawing on real life experiences the respected author‟s

account combines the movies Death Wish and The Wild Geese. A Leopard in

Liverpool is published by Amazon Books and Amazon Kindle.

THE LAST GLADIATORS

Fiancés of Death

The 1960s saw world change to dwarf the transformation that engulfed post-war

Europe. For 100 years Africa had stayed much as it was during Queen Victoria‟s

reign. Carved up and colonised the Dark Continent remained as the great explorers

and writers such as Joseph Conrad best remembered it. Britain‟s Merchant Navy was

so almighty that one company alone could put a ship into any port in the world within

24-hours. Within ten years all this was to change.

Michael Walsh, a world traveller and writer was very much part of a dual romantic

revolution. The „ten years leap of centuries‟ drew the curtains on Europe‟s colonies

and brought closure on great shipping companies that discovered, built and fuelled

the British Empire.

Immersed in Africa the Liverpool-born adventurer experienced at first-hand the

Belgian Congo at its most turbulent, Africa at its most tempestuous. The Last

Gladiators is the story of those fiancés of death who helped steer Africa through its

hurricane of change.

Available $14.95 on Amazon Books and Amazon eBook Kindle

The Last Gladiators offers a well-illustrated chronicle of the unsettled period‟s most

colourful main players.

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DARE TO BE DIFFERENT PUBLISHING

Mike or Michael Walsh Publishing offers a scintillating new generation of

books. With nearly 40 titles to choose from you can choose your interest or explore a new awareness.

Titles cover true crime, business advice, modern press writing, The Reich

and World War 2 (without the victors spin). There are book titles of interest to European renaissance, European poetry etc.

All Mike / Michael Walsh book titles are Amazon and Amazon eBook

Kindle published. In case of difficult or enquiry email:

keyboardcosmetics@gmail.com

AVAILABLE AMAZON BOOKS AND AMAZON KINDLE

http://www.spanglefish.com/mwpgw/