Dave Lordan – 26/03/2013
Sound & Editing by Eamon Crudden
The Fxxking Titanic
March 26, 2013
Ferry Town
March 2, 2013
A street of meagre terraces,
Clinging to the lough mouth
By destitute resolve.
Surviving cot and bothy
And the industry of brick clay.
Straddling the river,
Without bridge.
Without water.
One day they scattered the people
And their ways,
A hinterland in every wind.
‘They’re ferry people you know?’
A porous row monument left
To crumble through my childhood
And sink beneath the bungalows,
Peppering soggy points and quarters
From the Largy to Far Ballyscullion.
5intheface – 02/03/2013
Toothbrush In A Poem
February 16, 2013
Daily grind, daily scrub, daily girl, daily gob
The sweet, sickly squeeze of paste, the morning news
The weary, ageing, sadding face
Did you ever do this?
Point the pasted brush, drag and release its bristles
At the mirror?
Just for the heck of it
A spray of insurrection
A rule inverted, a ritual undone
The funny chaos of minty dots
A small revolution reflected
Back at one
MediaBite – 16/02/2013
Kinds of Love
February 14, 2013
The kind we give
The kind we take
The kind we fall in
The kind we make.
Love forever
Love for now
Love unintended
Love !… wow 🙂
Delightful confusion
Infinitely clear…
Familiar mystery,
Definitively dear.
C. Flower – 14/02/2013
Rain
February 12, 2013
I’m happy when it rains,
It purifies the land and my soul,
It is the never ending chore of nature,
It purifies the land and my soul,
It is the never ending chore of nature,
.
In the yard, raindrops splash the ballet,
As they explode on puddled stage,
While on hillsides streams are forming,
Quickening to merge at the river with thunderous roar.
While on hillsides streams are forming,
Quickening to merge at the river with thunderous roar.
.
Rocks tumble, clash and tear at the valley floor,
As they are ushered to the sea,
To be displayed there at the ebb,
Like a mighty army.
To be displayed there at the ebb,
Like a mighty army.
Trow – 12/02/2013
Survived
January 31, 2013
Anger written on a page
enchantment shattered,
sense scattered
Ink, ravenous with rage, hacks and scratches
till hearts, scythed and asunder,
deaden, stiffen,
nerves shriven.
Imagine that!
As a child to feel
and breathe such cancer
Tear your insides inside out,
Bone to bat,
bat to back
and back again.
A grotesque dancer
On a stage where you have no part
except to simply suffer and wait
In hope that all this woe will soon abate
And curtain falls
and violence exasperate.
Leaving me alone but lonely
alive but dead inside
to wait
and wait for scar blackened heart to revive
and adult squirmers to squirm in hate
to feel what I had felt
black-strap leather of a belt
brass-cankered bat across their bones
meeting the meaning of madness in their moans
And exult at their discomfort
Stare in my face – my face of mirth
Carved and coloured from their owed-dirt
Fashion now their very fruitful hurt
But for what is this hurt worth
If payment is revengeful spurt
And anger boils – still boils inside –
My loves and hopes away…. They died.
Andrew49 – 31/01/2013
A Life In Vain
January 26, 2013
The weight of the World borne on Atlas shoulders.
King Canute manoeuvering to hold back the tide.
While a sea of torment constantly eroded basalt-like legs.
Day in day out the relentless weathering of a finite body.
Until at last once mighty legs crumbled into the sea.
Vanquished defences dispersed on the tide.
The World shrugged as the routed Atlas disappeared.
Neither Earth nor sky had caved in, his all was for naught.
Holding onto not up, Atlas’s fight had been with perception.
His never-ending struggle ending with his dead end life.
h
Shaadi – 26/01/2013
The Truth Famine
January 21, 2013
Great Hunger not Great Famine,
History distorted.
Enough food then, exported;
Enough money now, extorted.
D O’F – 21/01/2013
Moth
January 20, 2013
Sick, a confused heaviness over me,
A definite fondness but a feverish haze after that.
Like an excited moth when a light’s turned on
In a dull room.
Drawn to it fluttering and not altogether sure,
But lost and empty once switched off.
Why am I the moth? And you pretty fluorescent light
That teasingly turned off.
Now left heart heavy wondering, in a halfway house,
Whether or not the bulb’s blown.
Fraxinus – 20/01/2013
Composed, December 27th 2005
Tuaim Inbhir
January 14, 2013
No faux-Tudor blight might outdo
My ivied Tuaim Inbhir bedsit
Luminous stars lining
Its sun and its moon.
.
Gobbán Construction turned the sod
But you know how that went
And someone’s God
Thatched it in the boom.
.
Bullets cannot touch me there,
Rain falls past
My bright orchard
Where no fences loom.
.
.
Translated from anonymous 9th Century Monastic Verse
Suibne Geilt.
.
Mairiuclán hi Túaim barr edin Inbir
ni lán techdais bes ssestu
cona retglannaib aréir
cona gréin cona escu
.
Gobban durigni insin
conecestar duib astoir
mu chridecan dia du nim
is hé tugatoir rodtoig.
.
Tech inna fera flechod
maigen na áigder rindi
soilsidir bid hi lugburt
ose cen udnucht nimbi.
.
5intheface – 14/01/2013
It's a Poetical World 