Tom Lyden is a local poet who has had work published in the U.S., Canada, and Australia. He is very influenced by music and nature, and is currently organising The Basket House group, an arts collective which will stage weekly readings and events in Clifden during the summer.

Tom's writing will be featured on the Clifden & Connemara page from now on.

I always wonder about things
Like what do batteries run on,
Or why is the alphabet in that order;
Or why do people always keep the box of tissues
In the rear window compartment of their cars?
My mystic friend telling me that sudden prayer
Makes the Lord jump.
Or how many psychiatrists does it take to
Change a light bulb?
Answer one but the light bulb must really want to change.
And thinking what to call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
Answer a start.
Well I'm certainly a funny kind of freak saint
All those stars in my eyes
Pity all those lovely young babes
Don't notice me or realise
That there's still life in the old dog
My ego smashed in smithereens
Because I can't keep up with the teens
They're just blind to my giftedness and imagination
They don't care if I've got all the records on Creation
So do I sit here and rot?
Or try and snatch another babe from her cot?
They say that you should grow old gracefully
Get used to your zimmer frame
But I'm still trying to keep the flame
But I remain here bereft
Just because some babe
Who's hair hangs Veronica Lake style on the left
Dumps me out of her life
Her dad says I'm just a rake
With my trousers on fire
She keeps her love for the upwardly mobile
And I'm sad pretending to be noble
So daddie keeps her home
And doesn't give a damn about the state I'm in
I'm stuck in a time warp
My head feels like it's been wrapped in shrink wrap
Am I really unstable
Or just totally unable
To attract the opposite sex
All I know is that there is a hex
On poor, poor miserable me
So my back's to the wall
Because no-one hears my mating call
I'm Romeo outside the dance hall
Going home on my own
So I'll wake up and I'll be fifty
And there will be no-one in my bed
And all I'll have is crazy shapes in my head
There isn't a supermarket for love
If there was I'd settle for yellow brands
Something on the top shelf
Long past its sell-by date
It's the last stop Texaco for me alright
Please don't look under my hood
I'm tired of being misunderstood.

Tom Lyden