Where is the one that built

this tumble-down deserted house,

this torn asunder, famine plagued

wilderness of want?


The one who stunned the tongue of doubt

and perched this house divided

on dispute’s shifting stone?


The one who dipped his brush

into the dark pot of neglect

and daubed the crumbling walls

with discontent?


The one who heard the children cry

and a woman’s tortured soul

who with punctured eardrums rent

the rags of warmth?


The one who with calloused hands

and bitter fingers unpicked the stitches

from the threadbare carpet of togetherness?


The one who mixed the mortar

for destruction’s barren bricks

and deftly wove the curtains

of despair?

Where is the one? Where is the one?


I am here seeker, in the shadowed

ruins of my inheritance.

I am here seeker, in the bleak and

barren oneness of myself.





Mike Mcnamara
Painting Rupert Loydell

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One Response to THE ONE

    1. Excellent as always. Such a gifted man. x

      Comment by marie strawbridge on 12 December, 2020 at 10:51 am

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