- The following is a final collection (ordered in a way I like more) of what I can stand by as remotely decent material from my Poetry Month. This is probably an arbitrary exercise. Click the link and you’ll see them as a pleasantly boring pdf. Enjoy.
Poetry Month
August 3, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month, Uncategorized | Tags: Cathal Wogan Poetry, Poetry, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Hospital, June
An air conditioning grate
hums in the hanging ceiling,
the very same as the
sky above the arid space of a
desolate cube farm, vast
and squared, while the walls moan
anaemic green and sterile white.
High in the corner, a metallic black
bracket suspends a window to
Short Strand and Damascus,
bricks and bottles and bullets
to the tune of scratching white noise,
until those static screams swell
to the choral strophe of
a new Athenian tragedy.
Bolted solidly into the lime linoleum,
three rows of plastic blue seats
host two other than I.
An autumnal lady figure sits
in blossoming flowered blouse and
red cardigan, thick and woollen
despite the season’s graces,
sourly pursing her lips in an
affront to the young nurse working
the x-ray department desk.
Untied tennis shoes kick back and
forth rhythmically, not far
beneath a neck tilted up
towards scattered bricks and
shattered eyes in Surman and Tripoli.
As my name is called
the little girl’s gaze
does not waver, her
fair curls do not bob at all,
as she is trapped in the
moving image, an orphan
to an orphan.
June 23, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Death, Nations, News Story, Poetry, Poetry Month, Political, Social, Waiting, War | Tags: poems about hospitals, Poetry Month | 1 Comment »
- It is the 21st of June. This is the 17th poem of poetry month.
Numbers
Hipster girl,
double glory hole hipster,
what is a hipster,
priest cartoon,
priest funny cartoon,
hipster indie,
alternative girl,
adam & paul,
youth criminal justice act cartoons,
don’t know about art but i know what i like,
adam and paul,
sex and the city,
lolquietly,
hipster double penetration,
priest cartooning,
ants 2011,
evolution hipster,
poem about double penetration,
street fetish,
cartoon priest,
cartoon catholic priests blessing boy,
burrito reviews dublin,
robbie fowler liverpool,
johnson trial,
the drought,
tony hadley,
death tightrope.
June 21, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Missing Finger III
III
Years give grace of the good and the godly,
yet he found himself bound to his absent
appendage through the accidental gift that was
himself, to the fairer.
As an arthritic tremor informed his motion
and word of his power spread mouth to mouth,
he found himself perpetually at use, savaged ghost
curse to the bearer.
On a cold morning, early November, his heart stopped
and the lady upon him extricated herself from
his final motionlessness and went about her business.
June 20, 2011 | Categories: Death, Poetry, Poetry Month, Sex | Tags: poems about death, poems about sex, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Missing Finger II
II
Madhyama and Anamika entered,
what remained of Tarjani left outside,
impotent and unfit to function.
She shook and thrust herself down upon
his hand and he could do naught and did so,
for he was trapped between the teeth
of a wild beast in rapture, the like of which
he had not seen nor felt. The mechanics of his
exploratory part minus the enigmatic pointer
had proved itself beyond control, and
the eventually sedate young woman
preached lyrical. They journey now.
June 17, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month, Sex | Tags: peoms about losing a finger which must be really frustrating really, poems about sex, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Missing Finger
I
His primary pointing finger was lost
on an otherwise pleasant day
during his fifteenth summer,
slashed by the stuttering blades of a wicked and
deceitful lawn mower that had pretended to die.
Detached and mangled digit
held in his complete left hand,
he calmly walked up to the old house
and ran the rusty tap at the back door,
letting it cough out the murky, earthy water
before washing away the blood and dirt.
Dabbing at his severed member with
the grass stained handkerchief tucked into his belt,
he quietly decided that it was beyond repair
or reattachment,
and dropped it down the open drain.
June 15, 2011 | Categories: Birth, Death, Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: double penetration, Poems about fingers, Poetry Month, Severed Finger | Leave A Comment »
Islington, 1983
Pen on the incapacitated pen,
an exercise in artistic futility
when an Islington boy sang for Marvin,
so sweetly, cried it sincerely,
back in 1983.
The constipated pen can only splutter
and cough like a sickly codger,
not even the energy to clear his throat,
as the wordsmith, considering himself so astutely,
views his plight in tender awe
and asks for all his worth why he
finds it so hard to write the next line,
but quietly aware that he will, right from
his hollow and decaying core.
Figure 48.1: Unrelated? Dr Dre.
June 13, 2011 | Categories: Art, Music, Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: dr dre poem, hot hipster chick, Poems about Poems, Poetry Month, that difficult meta-poem, Tony Hadley | 3 Comments »
O’Neill
O’Neill walks street narrow,
chiaroscuro bars painted onto his path
by dint of the late night light’s collusion
with an idle guard rail on high behind.
Black coattails fold around a left
and O’Neill’s burgundy brogues
lengthen their stride, making through
the same corner around which
that coat vanished, now past a shimmering
plaque that flickered, “Fred Fellows, MD.”
The damp tap tap of two pairs
of feet fetters our man’s mind, now
occupied only by damp tap tap and heavy
breath. Until it all stops beneath the
gazing eye of a solitary lamp light,
and O’Neill could almost reach out and touch
that which he had pursued.
“Do you know who I am?”
And all of Syracuse waited until
O’Neill said that he did not.
June 12, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: poems about catholic priests, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Good Morning December
November’s final frost crunches underfoot
before December’s meagre first light breaches the night
and my eyes,
while an absent violin quivers
cold and high in my bitten ears.
Distant fingers, way down in my pocket holes,
keep me in touch.
June 11, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: November and December, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
- To be one third of the way through this self-inflicted Poetry Month is kind of a relief. Again, thank you for reading, and any criticism or comment is more than welcome.
The Ants, 2011
A long, dark crack squints at me
from between the concrete path and doorstep,
and as I scald them all before they can even drown,
those hardy little workers,
I briefly wonder if I am a murderer
or if I’m merely kettling.
June 10, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Death, Economic, Poetry, Poetry Month, Political, Social, The Human Condition | Tags: Ants in my pants, double penetration, Poems about Ants, poems about double penetration, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
The Jetty
The tarpaulin shivers in the breeze.
Cigarette shooshes as I pull it into my body,
deep, and let it away by my side again.
On the other shore, two saplings lean west
and point towards a homely wood cabin sat upon a
log foundation on the grass. A short jetty
juts out into the water, harbouring
a little vessel built for no more than two men,
bobbing in and out on a leash of old rope.
Broad planks lead to a porch and glass door,
through which one might peer inside were
it not such a late hour and getting later,
or perhaps a little closer.
Some day, a man and his dog might walk
along this path, door to dingy, on a finer day
when the water glistens and ripples with
air more zephyr than biting. And off
they would float in their tiny wooden boat,
casting out for a late lunch of brown trout
with thick chunks of bread and butter,
or a few for the smoke house around the back,
but for now all is quiet, and the gentle lapping
of the water against the shore and the jetty
is all there is. There is no dog
barking from the middle of the lake.
June 9, 2011 | Categories: Death, Poetry, Poetry Month, Social, Waiting | Tags: double penetration, hipster poems, obscure tag, poems about fishing, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
A Large and Opulent House in Dublin 6
On the edge of a flock of penguins and doves,
he stands tout seul,
a black and white suited beanpole
creased at the top under tectonic
isolation, head and shoulders down,
eyes trying to engage with worn leather feet
that don’t blink or speak.
“This is Sam,” she says
with her mouth,
and they shake hands like tepid
old boys would, both adrift but reluctant,
looking at each other’s feet
for something in common.
Piano crushes four four, four four.
Their petals fall away
and gather somewhere else.
June 8, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Fashion, Love, Poetry, Poetry Month, Social, Waiting | Tags: poems about wearing a tux, Poetry Month, Trinity Ball | 2 Comments »
With whom do you believe your lot is cast?
From where does your strength come?
Putting what one holds upon a shelf,
subsequent disconnection of the self.
The fetish, value invested in the piece,
now experiences a value release,
it feels its own value decrease,
until the idea of priceless love is deceased
and a new dawn breaks over another land,
as you look down at your empty hand.
Does another’s palm open, as you hadn’t planned,
raising what’s yours, because he understands?
Can value be inherent, self-generating; or created,
by the beholder who loves it, or who rates it,
according to numbers or something related
to how the object sees his spirit inflated?
With whom do you believe your lot is cast?
Or are you, desperado, immune to a past,
the future hurtling towards you so fast
that all you can see is potential most vast?
From where does your strength come?
The object for which your feelings now numb?
Never forget what is valueless to some,
may be priceless to others after they’re done.
The potential for value within the object you hold,
remains there no matter how battered or old,
if you carelessly leave it to rain or to cold,
even when you discard it for shimmering gold.
June 7, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Economic, Poetry, Poetry Month, Social | Tags: poetry about fetishism, Poetry Month, really shit poems | Leave A Comment »
Large
“This is a huge game today, a six pointer,
a real cup final for both of these teams.”
Large, Freddy Chambers
sops his gurgling maw about
like a cartoon horse chewing
cartoon cud, managing to chew
his foaming ale.
“It is undeniable that both teams have players,
and that this will indeed be a game of football.”
Shlopping the muddy water
across similar accomplices -
who do not seem to mind -
the maw wails of undying love
for a football team.
“Neither team will want to lose this one,
as that will mean no points from the game.”
On the whistle, Freddy whelps,
and the pint glass erupts in shit and piss.
“Live! In HD!”
June 6, 2011 | Categories: Alcohol, Football, Poetry, Poetry Month, Social, Sport | Tags: Freddy Chambers, Large, poems about football, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
April
You will find him at the very end,
his feet buried deep in granite boots
bound to the earthen foundry,
rising through to silver head
bowed to the land around him.
Great oak arms with willow fingers
grip the shaft of a venerable old spade,
one shorn from tree and mine
before even he had breathed dew of morn’
or dust of dusk and closing time.
His Mjǫlnir turns the earth with
each thrust and heave. Thud.
Neither king nor god, he reaps the land,
and though he is bound, he is.
June 5, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Economic, Poetry, Poetry Month, Political, Social, The Human Condition | Tags: double penetration, Hipster chicks love poetry, Poems about April, poems about double penetration, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
Turf
Sisyphus sat down upon the soft sod,
sinking slightly before sighing lightly,
as he felt the earth consume his hands.
Flushed with the scents of the spring flora,
he cracked worn lips that had not smiled
since time nor turf, and knew,
that as the ground swallowed him,
he could bare the world.
June 4, 2011 | Categories: Death, Economic, Poetry, Poetry Month | Tags: Poetry Month, Sisyphus, Turf | Leave A Comment »
- It has very quickly become apparent that it will be difficult to write a poem a day for this entire month. The process of doing so, while working three twelve hour shifts a week and conducting an ‘everyday’ life on the other days, is awful. While I have said before that I don’t enjoy writing poetry, as it it turns out to be obtrusively personal for me, prolific writing delves even further than usual into what is personal, or ‘personal.’ This is the third poem of my Poetry Month.
You Are The First Person Too
I, the first person singular,
proposition You, the second,
to break speech angular
and to briefly entertain
the thought of a pause from
your caustic sustain.
For You are an I, your own,
but your crafted repugnance will
waste you like awful cholera.
And surely you could part
from gender redress.
June 3, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month, Social | Tags: poems about feminism, Poems about women, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
- I am embarking upon a ‘poetry month,’ or that’s what I’m calling it. I posted my first poem of the month yesterday, and I want to post one a day for the entire month of June. This obviously means I will be posting consistently, unrefined verse, and a lot of it will be rubbish that I’ll work on further in the future. So this is number two.
Dalkey, Northbound
It clicks heavily but steadily
and just as this murky holy water
offers to protect me,
the carriage physically shelters me
from a raw, wet gale
that would not fill but
tear away the vast sails
of the proudest colonial tale
but we clock clicks at a clip clop
only for, astride God’s cliffs,
a lonely and momentary stop,
when all I can hear is the violence of the sea.
June 2, 2011 | Categories: Alcohol, Poetry, Poetry Month, Travel, Waiting | Tags: DART poems, Poetry Month | Leave A Comment »
The Cow’s Bollocks or, Wankily Untitled
Like a moth
drawn to a flame,
I am blindly drawn to
seemingly appropriate cliché
as I
gurgitate my position;
I, the combustable,
am drawn in, like
a moth to a flame, and thus
have been singed.
June 1, 2011 | Categories: Poetry, Poetry Month, Waiting | Tags: Hipsters, poems about candles, poems about cliché, poems about double penetration, poems about flames, Poems about moths, poems that compare women to flames, poems that compare women to things, those fucking hispters | Leave A Comment »
