HALFBRED

I just listened to Peggy Lettermore. There’s so much I don’t understand about the Irish and their voice. Not the brogue they wear easily everywhere they tread. Not that Oirishness. No. Or the Gaelic either. That other language underneath.  There is something there that excludes. It may be a clan thing. It’s something I had always thought was a part of me - tradition, family, culture - and I read and wrote and sang and danced and cried and did my bit, not noticing, until my dad died, that it didn’t need me. And not only did it not need me but it was laughing. Of course in the 80’s and 90’s when all was going well we were tolerated. We got The Pogues. They made sense to me and my dad at the same time. There was a mutual understanding there. He escaped and I wanted to know why when I thought his place must be better than England. But he never told me anything. He never started or joined any Erin go bragh clubs. He wanted to run from all that religion, from those clans, and yet he got trapped in the land of his family’s former captors, and trapped by babies. 

FORGET THE MIDWIFE, CALL THE PLUMBER

MODERNPOSTMANISM REFLUX

Hunched and needy

Like baby gulls

We stalk the street

For sustenance

Stepping gingerly

Over

The once

Used

Herbal

Tea bags

And broken needles

That spill from brightening bins

In the dwindling dawns of August

 Once we dreamt

Of better days within this

Earthen purgatory

When we were brown and pretty

It was no job

To breathe more and less freely

But now we stalk the streets

Beneath the laughing mooning ball above

In between the raining drops

By the graffitoo shuttered shops

Into the maw

The muscled chops

Of

The Royal Nail

The lifers inside

So lifeless with pride

Good Morningly! grunt their acknowledge

Let out to their wives at eventide

They are always back here stirring their porridge

Will be two hours yet as a coffee-god’s pet

Before we can summon a smile

We keep weather-beaten heads down

In the back of Transits

On old copies of goals extra or extra goals

Or made up goals with moving posts

As the red valkyries descend

From the upstairs garage

Into the yard yawning with boredom

Like the back doors cold open wide

Waiting is time

And labour intensive

And work is last on the mind

A beardy they branded Jumanji walks by

And there’s Dazzer sungover again

And Grizzly Badams with his drizzly voice

And desiccated Ruth with a fag at her chin

And are they as desperate or do they prepare

And are they aware and of course do they care

About this all pervasive attitude

The constant twatting platitudes

For that’s all we hear

Somedays

Shaven headed voices

Spitting casual brutalities

From their fascicle

There in an element that never forgives

Closed ranks of a herd

But this pack is bird like

Right wing they are

For a working union

A bundle of sour white faces

Who defend their misguide

With persiflage turning

To vicious whispers

And insult camouflaged by

Supposed camaraderie

Banter they call it

The fuckers

Seriously

Forget diversity

They need dimension

Even Postman Pat had three

Which maybe hard to define

On a flatscreen tv

Although there was more depth in that episode

When he refused to deliver leaflets for the BNP

CHINCHES

CHINCHES

Coming out of the woodwork

It is a portent

Centipedes eating ants in the bed
This ark has rot
We should not have brought on the termites, Noah!

Get your

Shingle shots

Quick

Flu jabs

Anything to make it seem

That you are not giving in

Vote for the mayor

Or don’t

Vote for the other guy

Who won’t

Pucker up for

The apocalypse

 Ipswich

Of all places

Doesn’t feel the pinch

Because nothing goes on there

And on and on

And you can’t have an end

When nothing has begun

Nothing has begun again

Thank the flies of the lord

...And whatever they house

God cock that crows for some

For others, king crab louse

Thank the flies
That you live in Ipswich

Which is a metaphor

For any shitty urban sprawl

At least it has its uses

Thank someone somewhere for that

You can have it all

You see

Some of you

When the rest have gone 

I JUST WANNA TELL YER

And she said....

I don't know about you
But I'm guessing
We're not that dissimilar
Being from the same
Errm
Planet
And all
I mean you are from
Uranus
Uranus
Too, right?
Forget it
My little joke
But...

I didn't
I'm not

RUDDY SKIN

Still
I can't complain
Being North European
And having all the
Advantages
Of that
Just wish it was thicker

LIBERTY TAKES A HOLIDAY

#1

 LIBERTY GOES UPTOWN

Liberty lived in New York

But she had never seen the city

She was too busy

With work

One day her work just dried up

She didn’t know why

There was nothing left for her to do

She put down her flashlight

Took off her tiara

Scratched her head

Rested her arms

And looked about

Her neck creaking with stiffness

She saw that her uniform was a little shabby

And so, she thought, a trip to Manhattan

To shop!

It wasn’t very far

She landed on the island and walked up Broadway

There was nobody around

But all the stores were open

Where had everyone gone

She wondered

Maybe they’d moved on

Inland

After that last storm

And then there had been the constant sun

She stomped around the fashion district

Then peered up 5^th Avenue

Surely they’d have something to fit somewhere

Her eyes were wide as Macy’s windows

Framed in an eight foot face

Yet dazed by emptiness

She had seen the Empire State looking sad

And the Chrysler a bit twisted

As she gazed in wonder at what humans could do

With some glass and metal and concrete

She sat down on the Library steps

And contemplated her huge feet

As she took off her sandals

Size 82’s

In the scale of the human race

Maybe there was nothing for her here

It wasn’t much fun without people

Maybe she would have to go to China

She decided to ask the President if he needed her at all

So she set off for South Dakota and Mt. Rushmore

x

.

THE HOUR OF THE STAR

"Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?"




Clarice Lispector