Joseph Doyle

Dunlaoghaire, Dublin, Ireland

I was born in Blackrock, County Dublin, Ireland, and educated by the Christian Brothers. A stonemason by trade, I started to write poetry in 1992. I had sixteen poems published in various anthologies and self published a book of twenty poems. My name, Doyle, is in The World Book of Doyles. My ambition is to travel and see all those beautiful people and places I have never seen. My hobbies are golf, chess, and reading and writing poetry. I would love to be remembered like all those famous poets who gave so much pleasure to the world.

God I Do Not Want To Die

When you were only thirty three,
You laid down your life for me,
I think of you on the cross so high,
God I do not want to die.
A spear did pierce your side,
And Mary stood there and cried,
When I think of it I sigh,
God I do not want to die.
Your were denied not once but thrice,
But you paid the ultimate price,
You knew your death was nigh,
God I do not want to die.
Then you said forgive them father,
While soldiers shook with laughter,
They took you down on the ground to lie,
God I do not want to die.
You rose again on Easter morn,
A new man had been born,
You looked up towards the sky,
God I do not want to die.

My Dad

Sat in his armchair.
Slippers worn and torn,
Face unshaven, Hair disheveled,
What was he thinking.
A cigarette hanging from his lips,
The ashes on his cardigan,
Like fallen snow.
I knew he loved me,
But he never said so.
Nor did he ever give me a hug,
That would be sissy.
He missed my ma as I did,
And seemed not to care anymore.
A cantankerous old git,
But I loved him.
Now he was in the autumn of his years,
One day he woke up and was old.

The Prisoner

Sat in his cell thinking,
The silence was deafening,
Alone in his thoughts,
Time without meaning.
A bird on the window sill,
Reminding him of freedom,
Four walls closing in,
Crushing his spirit.
The years passing by,
With nothing to show,
Just getting older,
Waiting for death.