Les weekend amoureux,
Ils ne parlaient jamais
Tout en sobriété,
Étrangers d'ici lundi.

Pas d'amour de lui
Il veut pas son amour ou son esprit
Tout son corps en état d'ivresse.

Solitaire dans ses bras
Elle maintient la mascarade
Elle n'a rien d'autre à faire.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Ro was one of
The prettiest girls
I have ever known,
Her smile was never faked,
Her eyes were rarely anger,
She exuded happiness -
She did not even care
About style or fashion,
She would wear whatever
Fell from her wardrobe first,
She did this unpretentiously,
Never 'trying' to seem nonchalant
As all her cloths were plain
Yet cool as vanilla,
But on the nights outs;
Ro looked like something else,
You should have seen her
With her glasses off and
Her, in her make-up and dress,
She was almost a different girl -
Ro baked cakes, but to say that
Would be an understatement,
They were not 'just' cakes,
They were flowers in pots,
Animals in spring, birds
And trees, and anything else
She could imagine - To me
Ro always seemed to be
More of an artist then a baker -
I hope that some day,
She'll open a little shop
That sells cakes decorated
By her kind hands,
Because I know that
That is Ro's own modest dream,
Because I know that
That would make Ro smile.

-Jamie F. Nugent

All I have to do is dream -
You sang in quivering vibrato ,
By the sparse light of a lamp
That shone phosphorescent
Onto your anatomy
All wrapped up loosely
In a black buttoned-up sweater,
Knee high socks and
Uncovered thighs,
Tender and shaking -
And if there is only -This-
Here, and now,
It is more then enough for me,
The fortress for two,
The cornerstone and
The dancer.

-Jamie F. Nugent

(I remember)

Your lips when red,
Your room and its mess,
Your shoulders hung dead,
Your birthday dress -

Our hands together,
Our sleepless nights,
Our plans together,
Our pointless fights.

-Jamie F. Nugent

We walked along the strand,
High up on the cliff,
We went on hand-in-hand,
Watching the swell foam drift -

The Atlantic kissed the horizon,
The way I kissed you on the coast ,
To words on benches we were drawn,
I felt sitting down there was some ghost-

Words written for our expecting eyes,
That told us that matter what we did or do
That everybody here sooner or later dies,
Just encase you had not already knew.

-Jamie F. Nugent

The tulips laid in a purple flower-***,
On the dresser top the way she laid
On velvet sheets of a big brass bed;
The radio-void was filled up gently
With classical music and static,
And her innocence showed
In the way she ****** on
A strawberry lollipop
Under velvet sheets
Of the brass bed.

-Jamie F. Nugent

We lifted the gates to move them
Over towards the hey-shed,
Spanning out our arms
As to balance the great weight,
Then we fixed them into place,
With twine and knots -
Sharpened a knife with a side-stone
To cut apart a hey-bail
Into more manageable parts      
Then we tossed in in to the pen,  
For nine Holstein calves -

-Jamie F. Nugent