Newsmedianews ads


 

 

 

Poetry in Motion  

Poetry News
Limerick -

Dublin Poetry
Galway Poetry
Errigal Writers, Letterkenny
The North Beach Nights series of Poetry Slams, Galway
Java’s Coffee House, Galway
Scribblers’s Café & Wine Bar, Galway
POET'S PLATFORM AT Tigh Filí Arts Centre Mac Curtain Street, Cork
Other poetry on the web: http://groups.msn.com/THEPOETRYROOM                                                                           The Poetry Kit - web listings

Published poetry section                                                                                                                                               New creative writing courses in Western Ireland

Poetry Events
To submit items for this page mail them to:

TED SLADE AWARD 2009
The Ted Slade Award is an annual award made to someone who has made an outstanding contribution to poetry over a long period of time. This year's
award is made to :

GEOFF STEVENS

Geoff is editor of Purple Patch Magazine which he jointly founded in 1976.
More information about this award can be found at
http://www.poetrykit.org/tsa.htm


Newcastle West SOUNDINGS 
Thursday the 19th March in Newcastle West Library at 8.00 pm with a reading by poet Kevin Higgins
 
Kevin Higgins is co-organiser of Over The Edge.  He facilitates poetry workshops at Galway Arts Centre; teaches creative writing at Galway Technical Institute and is Writer-in-Residence at Merlin Park Hospital. He is the poetry critic of the Galway Advertiser. His first collection of poems The Boy With No Face was published by Salmon in February 2005 and was short-listed for the 2006 Strong Award. His second collection, Time Gentlemen, Please, was published in March 2008 by Salmon. One of the poems from Time Gentlemen, Please, ‘My Militant Tendency’, features in the Forward Book of Poetry 2009.  A recent poem of his, ‘Ourselves Again’, appeared in Best of Irish Poetry 2009. His work will be featured in the forthcoming anthology Identity Parade – The New British and Irish Poets (Bloodaxe, 2010).

All are welcome

SOUNDINGS
If you are the type of person who snatches time to write poems, enjoys playing with the sound and feel of words and listening to other poets reading, then perhaps you might be interested in participating in a series of poetry evenings entitled ‘SOUNDINGS’ being hosted by Limerick County Council every second Thursday in the library Newcastle West at 8.00pm. 
The SOUNDINGS... evening begin with a reading by our guest poet followed by an ‘open mic’ session for all who would like to read their own poetry.

The second part of the SOUNDINGS evening is facilitated by poet Eileen Sheehan who is now in her second term as the county’s poet in residence.  This part of the evening is for all those people out there who are writing away quietly and would like the opportunity to read their work to a sympathetic audience.  It takes courage to take that first step to stand in front of the mic but it is so worthwhile and invariably heightens confidence and encourages active poetry writing. 
SOUNDINGS is held every second Thursday in the library Newcastle West at 8.00 pm and an open invitation is extended to all poets, bards and haiku masters to come and read their work.
Full details on the poet in residence programme and the SOUNDINGS evenings are available from the County Arts Office at telephone 496498/496300.

If you like to receive notification of the SOUNDING events please email us at arts@limerickcoco.ie


Limerick Poetry Soundings
If you are the type of person who snatches time to write poems, enjoys playing with the sound and feel of words and listening to other poets reading, then perhaps you might be interested in participating in a series of poetry evenings entitled ‘Soundings’ being hosted by Limerick County Council.

‘SOUNDINGS’ is an evening of poetry, musings and stories’ says librarian Aileen Dillane. ‘If you are the type of person who enjoys hearing poetry read or are writing your own poetry, then this series which has commenced under the county’s poet in residence Eileen Sheehan is bound to interest you. We are really pleased to have Mary Kennelly as our guest poet for this SOUNDINGS evening. Many people will be familiar with Mary’s first lovely collection ‘Sunny Spells, Scattered Showers’ and her second collection is due out from Salmon Press in the New Year.”

 ‘The evening also features an ‘open mic’ session’, says Arts Officer Joan Mac Kernan, ‘and this is open to anyone who would like to read their own work. To date we have been delighted with the uptake and impressed with the number of people who are quietly writing away. And of course reading one’s work aloud to an interested audience whets the creative juices.”

 SOUNDINGS, an evening of magic woven around the sound and meaning of words commences at 8.00 pm and all are welcome.

Full details on the poet in residence programme and the SOUNDINGS evenings are available from the County Arts Office at telephone 496498/496300.


CORK
Cork Poetry

POET'S PLATFORM AT Tigh Filí Arts Centre Mac Curtain Street, Cork
no details


Poetry Ireland
120 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2


Waterford Poetry
no listing


Errigal Writers
OPEN MIKE POETRY VENUE
EVERY TUESDAY @ 8pm : Admission FREE
Glen of Aherlow, 29 Emmet Road Kilmainham
Featuring, special guests, open mike, recordings, & video's
Buses, 78A, 51A, 51B & 51C stop at the door (from Aston Quay). Also the Red Line Tram stops nearby at Suir Rd. Bridge.
Read your work, catch up on the gossip and hear what's going down!


DUBLIN POETRY
Dublin Poetry Revival
VENUE: The Left Bank (behind the Oliver St John Gogarty's Bar,Fleet St;)
DATE: Every Tuesday night
TIME: 7.30p.m. ‘til 10.30p.m. Open Mic for everyone so come along!! For more info contact Gerry Mc Namara at write_recite@hotmail.com

Galway Poetry

Summer Poetry Special at Sheridan’s Wine Bar
Over The Edge presents a summer poetry special with readings by Ailbhe Darcy, John Corless, Tom Lavelle, Anthony Daly & John Liddy at Sheridan’s Wine Bar, 14-16 Church Yard Street, Galway on Friday, July 3rd, 8pm.

Ailbhe Darcy has published poems in Ireland, Britain and the US, and writes critically for a number of publications including The Stinging Fly and Verbal. She recently appeared as part of the prestigious Poetry Ireland Introductions Series, and has read at the London Irish Centre, Poetry Café, RADA, Dublin’s Liberty Hall and Keats’ House. She has just embarked on a PhD in contemporary poetry at the University of Notre Dame. Her poetry features in the recently published anthology Voice Recognition 21 Poets For The 21st Century (Bloodaxe) and will also feature in the generation defining anthology to be published by Bloodaxe early next year Identity Parade: New British and Irish Poets.

John Corless lives and writes in County Mayo in the Irish Riviera. His poetry is a mix of political, satirical, ecclesiastical and rural and has been described as Paul Durcan meets The Sawdoctors. He has an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University (2008) and is currently researching for a PhD. He writes poetry, fiction and drama. His work has been published in magazines and collections worldwide. Some of his poems have been referred to the Attorney General for approval. His creative writing classes in the Castlebar campus of GMIT are very popular. He hopes to be a full-time writer when he grows up. Thankfully, there's no evidence of that happening yet. His first collection of poems Are You Ready? was published recently by Salmon Poetry.

Tom Lavelle lives in Galway and works as the finance director of a manufacturing company. He is currently a participant in the Advance Poetry Workshop at Galway Arts Centre and as part of that group read his work at last year’s Clifden Arts Week. His poems have appeared in Revival, West 47 online and The Cuirt Annual. Tom was shortlisted for the Cúirt Over The Edge showcase reading in both 2008 and 2009 and in the 2008 Over The Edge New Writer of The Year competition. This coming Autumn he will be embarking on an M Phil in Writing at the University of Glamorgan.

Anthony Daly was born in Galway in 1979. He gained a BA Degree in Classics and History from NUI. Galway. He has been writing poetry for about the past decade and has published several poems in the local press. He has acted with Selkie Theatre in 2008 in their production last summer of Goodwill, as well as in several other productions and shows over the last six years. Anthony has been a many time participant in the Cúirt Poetry Grand Slam, was a Featured Reader at the March 2005 Over The Edge: Open Reading and was shortlisted for the 2007 Cúirt Over The Edge Showcase reading.

John Liddy was born in Youghal, Co. Cork, grew up in Limerick and now lives in Spain. His poetry collections include Boundaries (1974), The Angling Cot (1991), Song of the Empty Cage (1997), Wine and Hope (1999), Cast-A-Net (2003) & The Well: New and Selected Poems (2007). La Barca de la Arena (a translation by Francisco Rivero in Spanish of The Angling Cot) & Poisionous Pleasure (a tanslation by John Liddy from Tosigo Ardento by José Maria Álvarez) were published recently. His work has been widely praised by critics such as Desmond O’Grady and Patrick Galvin. He lives in Madrid.

There is no entrance fee. All welcome.

North Beach Poetry Nights
Monday June 22th at 9 pm in The Crane Bar, Sea Road, Galway The North Beach Poetry Nights' June 2009 Slam with Guest Poet: Pete Mullineaux

Galway poet, Pete Mullineaux , has played from Cuirt to Glastonbury, Greenham Common to Trafalgar Square, alongside such luminaries as Salman Rushdie, Melvin Bragg and the Pogues.

His first poem Harvest Festival was published in Macmillan's anthology Poetry and Song, when he was aged 13 ( a few years ago.)

Pete grew up in Bristol but in the late 70's, early 80's deserted to London to join the punk rock band The Resisters.

Music, drama and poetry have been the driving forces of Pete's life ever since. He even managed to fit in a first class honours in drama from Middlesex University along the way!

His collection 'A Father's Day' (Salmon Poetry, 2008) has been described by various reviewers as 'tender and lyrical', 'gorgeously resonant' and 'grimly funny' and drawn comparisons with Brian Patten and John Cooper-Clarke .

Pete will be reading on the night from 'A Father's Day', the day after Father's Day on Sunday June 21st. (Don't forget!!)

Guest MC: Miceal Kearney

Poets wishing to take part in the 2-Round Slam please bring along two three-minute poems, preferrably memorized.

The winner of each month's Slam goes forward to the 2009 North Beach Poetry Nights' Grand Slam in December 2009. The prize for the Grand Slam winner is publication of a collection of her/his work.

Admission 5/ 3 Euro.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Over The Edge New Writer of the Year competition 2009
offers €1,000 in prize money PLUS reading opportunity
sponsored by Charlie Byrne’s Bookshop, Kelly Office Supplies, Mary Higgins & a generous individual donor who wishes to remain anonymous

In 2009 Over The Edge is continuing its exciting annual creative writing competition. The competition is open to both poets and fiction writers. The total prize money is €1,000. The best fiction entry will win €300. The best poetry entry will win €300. One of these will then be chosen as the overall winner and will receive an additional €400, giving the author total prize money of €700 and the title Over The Edge New Writer of The Year 2009. The 2009 Over The Edge New Writer of The Year will be a Featured Reader at a reading to be scheduled in Galway City Library in Winter 09/10.

Entries should be sent to Over The Edge, New Writer of the Year competition, 3 Carbry Road, Newcastle, Galway, Ireland with an accompanying SAE. Entries will be judged anonymously, so do not put your name on your poem(s) or story. Put your contact details on a separate sheet.

Criteria: fiction of up to three thousand words, three poems of up to forty lines, or one poem of up to one hundred lines. Multiple entries are acceptable but each must be accompanied by a fee. The fee for one entry is €10. The fee for multiple entries is €7.50 per entry e.g. two entries will cost €15, three entries €22.50 and so on. Fee payable by cheque or money order to Over The Edge. To take part you must be at least sixteen years old by September 1st 2009 and not have a book published or accepted for publication in that genre. Chapbooks excepted. Entries must not have been previously published or be currently entered in any other competition.

The closing date is Monday, August 3rd, 2009. A longlist will be announced in Charlie Byrne’s Bookshop on Wednesday, August 19th, 2009. A shortlist will be announced at the Over The Edge: Open Reading in Galway City Library on Thursday, August 27th 2009. The winners will be announced at the Over The Edge reading in Galway City Library on Thursday, September 24th, 2009.

This year the competition judge is Patrick Chapman. He is a poet, fiction-writer and screenwriter. His poetry collections are Jazztown, (Raven Arts Press, 1991), The New Pornography (Salmon, 1996), Breaking Hearts and Traffic Lights (Salmon, 2007) and A Shopping Mall on Mars (BlazeVOX, 2008). His fifth collection will appear from Salmon in 2010. He has also written a collection of stories, The Wow Signal (Bluechrome, 2007); Burning the Bed (2003), a multi-award-winning film starring Gina McKee and Aidan Gillen; and an audio play, Doctor Who: Fear of the Daleks (Big Finish, 2007). He lives in Dublin.
see http://overtheedgeliteraryevents.blogspot.com


Scribbler’s Cafe and Wine Bar
Middle Street, Galway
See North Beach Nights (this page)

Java’s Coffee House, Abbeygate Steet
The Fiction Clinic with Susan Millar DuMars.
Tuesday
Fee: 8 Euro per session (6 Euro concession) for details 087-9428540

no details


WESTERN WRITERS’ CENTRE
- IONAD SCRÁDBHNEOIRÁ CHAITLÁN MAUDE
34 Nuns Island, GALWAY
Western Writers' Centre Plans Major Autumn Literary Event
www.thepoetrymill.blogspot.com and www.thestorybarn.blogspot.com
Submissions to writersgalway@eircom.net or sylfredcar@iolfree.ie

Galway Writers Centre


Readings in Siobhan Mc Kenna Theatre at NUI Galway:

No details

----------------------------------------------------

NEW KINVARA POETRY NIGHT
9.00pm, 2nd Monday Every Month
GREEN’S BAR, KINVARA

Bring a poem (or two):
Poems you have written;
or poems you love;
or just come to listen

First session 9.00pm Monday 10th November 2008

EVERYONE WELCOME

 

POEMS

Go to section dedicated to the memory of those shot at dawn during World War I

 

Without a doubt
A Limerick’s about
To burst from my soul and go Yonder.
Now if any can tell me
What my Limerick will be
tis sure I will no longer ponder

u

There once was a pigeon with vertigo
Who always approached a long drop slow
And thought what a bind to be in
For a pigeon it must be a sin
To be frightened to fly anywhere that you go


THE UNICORN
Awake he sleeps a dreaming
as the rains fall quick and slow
his thoughts they fly a speeding
from whence he cannot know

The moment lasts forever
yet though lingering still is gone
a distant echo in the forest
a song from way beyond

To stir the breeze with gentle fingers
and sing forever would be sweet
to slide toward the rainbow's end
a reckoning to meet

'Tis there all pastures wander
thru the everlasting storm
to that place where pots of gold
are souls entwined in shapeless form

<H 29/11/01

 

 

THE SPUNKY MAN POEM
I knew a spunky man
Who slept in a spunky bed
Everything was spunky
Including everything he said
There was spunk all over the ceiling
There was spunk all over the floor
and every time he went and came
there was spunk a little more

I knew a spunky man
Who lived in a spunky house
There was spunk between the rafters
and spunk on the resident mouse
There was spunk upon the balcony
And spunk all down the stairs
You never would see such a spunky house
If you travelled the world everywheres

I knew a spunky man
who longed for a spunky wife
to take care of all the spunk
that was cluttering up his life
There was spunk inside his bankbook
There was spunk just everywhere
The only place there was no spunk
was in Mrs Robinson’s chair

Mrs Robinson was
A friend of the spunky man
She didn't seem to mind at all
she even bought him a spunking can
But there were certain conditions
Mrs Robinson set
and one of them said there'd be no spunk
on the chair in which she sat

Yes I knew a spunky man
who lived a spunky life
perhaps by now he's found himself
a lovely spunking wife
But the house in which he lives
is a terrible site to see
its been leaking spunk from the windows
since 1953

Oh there was a spunky man
the spunkiest of all
who said spunk this
then said spunk that
then said hell well spunk 'em all
The last I knew he was still
spunking on his way
heading down the spunky road
to another spunking day
<H


Longing
Lay my head in your lap my love
So that I may know your longing
Let my lips speak silent whispers
To caress your ceaseless wanting
As your body lies a trembling

Lay your head in my lap my love
So that you may know my longing
Let your lips speak silent whispers
To caress my ceaseless wanting
As my body lies a trembling

Lay your hand in my hand my love
Let my fingers feel your passion
Walk a while besides me
As though somehow it still is fashion

Lay my hand in your hand my love
Let your fingers feel my passion
I'll walk a while besides you
As though somehow it still is fashion
<H 2007


Defence
I stand embattled amid the throng of j’ai accuse
Pen drawn and sharpened ’gainst bullet and sword
Unflinching they do not hesitate to use
Their weapons against me and the word
In the name of justice and of what is right
The legions gather preparing to fight

In a still place of silence the albatross soars
Fearless and bold as his wings wide unfold
The clamouring hordes so far below
are but memories from long long ago

A blanket of cloud eclipses the sun
Divorced from the light the free bird is one
Unfettered, released, the free skies to roam
A star in the darkness in a world that is home

They shout and they holler, j’ai accuse j’ai accuse
Answers too clear they twist to confuse
I stand embattled ’gainst the throng yet I muse
On differences ’tween right and wrong they abuse
Is dream an illusion or could it be real
j’ai accuse, j’ai accuse, I lodge my final appeal
<H

UNTITLED
Lonely people line the street
the fanfare of the common man
a whistle blows
a church bell tolls
a vessel leaves the harbour
salvation's prayer
a moment's glory
a smiling face remembered
a reaching hand
a dream denied
the pages of life's story
<H

 

Old Penis Poem
My nookie days are over
My pilot light is out
What used to be my sex appeal
Is now my water spout.

Time was when, on its own accord
From my trousers it would spring
But now I've got a full-time job
To find the blasted thing.

It used to be embarrassing
The way it would behave
For every single morning
It would stand and watch me shave.

Now as old age approaches
It sure gives me the blues
To see it hang its little head
And watch me tie my shoes.
anon

Instant
The poems of life
a horse in a breeze
an honest wife
the lies that deceive
flesh on the bone
yet nothing to chance
companions alone
in the looking glass
where the face of illusion
stands proud and tall
lies only deliver
truth to us all
<H

g

BARFLY
I am just a fly in a bar
Nobody knows me and
I don't know who you are

I land on hanging clothing
I examine covered food
I believe my life has meaning
even though you think me crude

Yes I am just a fly in a bar
my life is over before it gets far
I watch the correlation
of father, mother, daughter, son
though you may swat me down
who knows who may have won

I am just a fly in a bar
you might see me someplace near or far
and if you do then this I ask of you
see my wings of gossamer
see my thoughts of silken thread
see my vision as I see you
and stop a while to ponder
this world in which we live
for just like you, I too
have something to give

I am just a fly in a bar
my friends are scattered wide and far
this karmic burden
I carry on my frame
for I am a fly in a bar
that's the nature of my game
<h 9.6.02

 

 

SUMMER
Summer is like
a Whore
as she raids
herself from the higher
God, but who's to say
she wades
herself through
the human race
M.Michelle 3-1-02

WINTER
As she rides
the storm she
fades out

You see her
coming as
she yearns her
way forward
for a month or two

that's why she
begins at
the end of each year

M.Michelle 3-1-02

 

 

Hyperion's song of destiny
You stride up there in the light
on soft ground, blessed spirits!
Luminous divine breezes
touch you gently,
as the fingers of a woman player
touch holy strings

Freed of all fate, as the sleeping
infant, breathe those in heaven:
chastely preserved
in a modest bud,
their spirit
blossoms eternally;
and their blessed eyes
look out in peaceful, perpetual clearness.

But to us has been allotted
to rest at no abode;
vanish and fall
will a suffering mankind
blindly from one
hour unto the next,
be cast like the water
from cliff unto cliff,
through the years, down into the uncertain.
Friedrich Hölderlin

 

 

FAMILY
Family is family it is said
but mine is not
sometimes I swear
we is the worst o' the lot



MY LOVE
She came
She went
She came, she went
She came
She went
my love

<H 1-10-2001


THE BOSTON STRANGER—an English recollection
From Donkey Town to Dummer
through the Fairleigh Wallop hay
From Alfred's Tower to Croydon Hill all along the Brendon Way
I wandered as a pilgrim bent on feckled mare
never knowing what I'd find
whensoever I got there

I took a turn at Battery Hill bound for the Freedom Trail
to find myself a peddling head on agin a gale
I set myself one mighty fight
to task that vicious storm
knowing I would some day find my way back home.

It was then and there I smelt it like a vat of rhubarb wine
that old familiar Holborn air where me granddad wasn't born
or was it no me granddaughter, well I'm really nay so sure
it must have been but one, but it might have been t'other
cos I duzna have no sister and I's only got one bruvver.

The doctor said he couldn't help
I had a solid head
no matter what he pumped at it
’twould cure nowt all he said
So I took to eating sawdust pie every Saturday afternoon
with a kind of hopelessness, every bite the taste of doom
that stretched just like the avalanche of a tidal wave at sea
oh gawd look out now christ — here it come again
I woke at Effingham Junction and missed the last damned train

The cleaning woman looked at me at a little after five
my ankles in the urinal where I smelled more dead than live
I wouldn't have been as stinking if only the flushing would stop
but then she started swabbing me with her evil smelling mop.

And would you believe it was Sunday, the worst bloody day of all
no trains leave from Effingham Junction and its miles to any watering hole
there's a train that leaves on Monday, but it goes the other way
and the next one's not till the Monday next, and when it comes in it don't go away.

Really there's nothing for it, the cure is so fatal a dose
that the very thing that's curing simply prefers to give up the ghost
and return again to Donkey Town and the Fairleigh Wallop hay
to take up residence on White Sheet Hill and be mistaken every day
for the memory of somebody who long ago once passed on close by there
upon the gentle dappled back of a sprightly feckled mare

<H 10-11-2001


POEM 831
A passing smile
Wide as the memory
Of a byegone mile
Irreparable damage in the constant
While epochs pass
my love dreams irrecoverable
dreams of the lonesome whippoorwills

So where do I go
And what do you want
Are we not just Eternity
infinite scree
A ripple in a fountain
Mist on the mountain
Calling to you in the jewel of morn's dew

So where is this wonder
A teardrop and leaf
And where the boundary
to love become grief

The valley of laughter
the comedy of pain
Insecurity's fusion
of pleasure to gain
And mirrors of belief
reflect the deceit
but the window is silent
Always

<H 1/1/01


THE REVISED
The face of anticipation
The surgeon's knife
The crowded isolation
The hungry wife
The dream of riches
The ignorant elite
This window of witches
This civilised street

The sidelong glance
The hand that would paint
The feet that would dance
The eyes of a saint
The unhappy smile
The forgiving frown
This familiar style
This inescapable gown

The lonely saxophone
The desert awash
The wonder of home
The cold winter frost
The swell of the tide
The warmth of the sun
This pain we abide
This is all but one

<H 17/7/01


The Man With The Wart On His Glans
The Man With The Wart On His Glans
could think of nothing to say or do
or write
The Man With The Wart On His Glans
was a lonely man
with seven warted daughters
and one completely wartless wife.

The Man With The Wart On His Glans
hated having a shower and hated baths more
because warts float.

The Man With The Wart On His Glans
hated his best friend who one day
told how he had a wart on his hand
until he bit it off.

The Man With The Wart On His Glans
had to get a divorce because
he could not wear a condom.

The Man With The Wart On His Glans
spent his time poring over mirrors
because
he was
The Man With The Wart On His Glans

Oh The Man With The Wart On His Glans
had no friends
except his English hedgehog
because the English hedgehog liked
The Man With The Wart On His Glans

The Man With The Wart On His Glans
<H

 

 

Some poetry from Limerick poets

COME NEAR
by James Anthony Kelly

Come near me now
breathing lonely to my breast
when light softly vanishes on the bow
or on the rims of a nest

Come near me now
oh my weak weeping child.
Let us end this sensitive row
for we are no longer so wild

Come near me now
for life is sad
searching the colours of the rainbow
and wasted dreams we had

Come near me now
for the poet feels too much
come near me now
with your gentle touch

 

FREE LOVE
by James Anthony Kelly

I believe in Free Love
I could never afford it.

 

 

Louse Woodward
Maybe, Maybe Not
by Tom McNamara, 2001
Beyond a Doubt was it
No I Guess Not
Jury Deliberating
Mind To Make Up What
Guilty Not Maybe
Not Guilty At All
And Then Why Convioct Her
Is The Worldly Bawl

Release Now Release Her
Let Her Go Free
Beyond A Doubt No Sir
She Is You See
Not So Or Maybe
Did Maybe Not
And For That Reason
Set Her Free "Off"

Positive Be Positive
Don't Grope In The Dark
Eveidence Is Evidence
Not Hearsay Lark
What She Did Telling
I Did Not Do
What I Am Sentenced For
Do You Know For Sure?

Justice Is Justice
When It Is So
Done In This Case
Looks More And More
Like A Mixed Conviction
Can't Make Up Their Minds
And Doubt As In Doubting
Convictions In The Blind

 

HORNUCOPIA ?
The Extended Luimneach Version

By
Jangle Laureate

Changes there must be
I’m sure you’ll agree
to laws letting car alarms sound in the city.
‘Coz if they don’t set ‘em right
they disturb someone’s night
and intrude on the thoughts of the witty.

Ne’er mind the gas it might be green but it’s gas
and okay might somehow fit in here
If car alarms had been then Ilyiad would never
and I know that sounds strange but it’s strange sounds that matter
to a crazed car alarm city dweller.

You know we just might if we put up a fight
get a fine brought in for the offender.
  500 I am sure would silence the cur
and get car alarms fitted far better.
But then where would we be
well asleep, yes well maybe
in dreams of a car alarm free perfect city.

Sometimes I declare
That without them then there
Would be no one awake with this ditty.
If Karma was cool and not such a fool
And those who were wrong were right all along
Then those who weren’t right might wrong better.
But Karma sneaks in and you know when its been
‘Coz you end up a car alarm hater.

Outside in the street and stuck there all week
Is a bloody great big expensive Mercedes.
It shrieks day and night
And You’d think someone might come along and make it feel better.
But no one appears and I’m a little afeared
I’ll turn into an alarmed car destroyer.

So I’m sure you’ll agree Changes there must be
to the laws that let car alarms sound in the city.
When they don’t set ‘em right
they disturb someone’s night
and intrude on the thoughts of the witty.


 
 

Since the items below were published, the UK Government has announced its intention to grant pardons
to all UK soldiers shot by firing squad as traitors during World War One.
Related: http://www.shotatdawn.org.uk/&e=9797
            http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/4798025.stm

Final Dawn

They say I ran away.
Just like the day you told me
Not to leave our garden.
Do you remember Mother?

They captured me;
I was court-martialled.
You captured me;
All cross you were.
Smacked my legs, so hard,
Then hugged me, so close.
Do you remember Mother?

I stand in my prison, staring,
Just staring at the wooden post.
The one they'll tie me to.
You shut me in my room,
I stared out then too,
Crying, watching kids out playing.
Do you remember Mother?

I remember it all.
I remember you coming for me,
With milk and biscuits.
Now I hear them coming.
Please,
Hug me again, Mother.


© Diane Wilson

You call me a coward

You call me a coward
You who sit in judgment here
That's easy for you to say
When no enemy shells fall near.
You call me a coward
You who want an example made
You say I must have run
And thrown away my gun
You say I must have fled
For all save I were dead.

My version of events
You reject out of hand
You say it’s good I survived
The hells of no man’s land
For it means I lived to die again
In front of true and trusting men
Who've swallowed all your lies
And would just as soon
Shoot one of their own
Than swat at bothersome flies.

It is dawn behind the battle lines
The daylight’s blossoming hour
And many of your own you murder
So no cowardice here may flower
You need to teach a lesson
To soldiers one and all
They’re fighting for King and Country
But their fate lies in your hands
If they fail to fall in battle
They’ll be shot against a wall

© George Macintyre

 
 

To inquire about any item on this page please use the contacts links below

Top | Message Board | Privacy | Comment XML news feed directory MP3 Sounds | Links | Advertising | Contact
On-line Editing | Publish news
publish an item from this page to Newsvive.com Seed Newsvine
© Newsmedianews—

Google
Web newsmedianews

See traffic details for this site