Writing

BUNKER ON PORTLAND BILL

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BUNKER ON PORTLAND BILL

This windowed concrete slab

Touching the hedgerows

Bunkered in leaf-strewn soil

Chivvies me

Muskets were reddened here

By shorter men than I

Defenders of a long-gone realm

Stooped between fissured ceiling and creviced floor

What mayhem bedlamed this rocky causeway?

Its cannons foddering the deep

The stun of steel slamming granite

The stench of gunfire turning stomachs

Loose limbs cluttering pathways

Death hovering

All quiet now on this promontory;

Sheep nibbling, tea and scones in the old armoury

Picture postcards of battles fought and won

Day-trippers picnicking

In the shadows cast by the big guns

THE COPPER COAST

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http://www.coppercoastgeopark.com/3DTours/tankunderground.html

The Copper Coast is a stretch of the southern coast of Ireland in County Waterford. It is named for the historic metal-mining industry, the legacies of which now constitute a tourist attraction.

This was where I misspent my youth; where I learnt to swim; where I rode my first motorcycle – a shiny red Honda 50; where I kissed my first girlfriend; where I ate dilisk and Tayto crisps till they made me sick. Ah Bonmahon!

GONZO MOMMA

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GONZO MOMMA
Too weird to live, too rare to die
I guess that’s a creed
Old Hunter would swear by
Though he would have a drink first
Or maybe three208244_10150163344703533_282050788532_6921253_3045980_n
Then try to figure out where
The action might be
Before smoking some ‘stuff’
‘Cos he knew plain whiskey and gin
Would never be enough.
Then, perhaps like you, he would
Upheave everything and pack
Screaming all the while;
You can kiss my ass
I ain’t never coming back

PLAY ON

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PLAY ON

Ensconced here in contemplation

Your presence overwhelms me

Arms outstretched, yet never chiding

Even knowing my ways were wrong

Burning both ends speeds up damnation

I can see that now;

Lust living in the wings

While the songs sang themselves

And courage dredged from the bottle

While the melody lingered on

Music was my life

But you changed it all;

Your song will still be nectar, Lord

When all this is gone…

ADVICE TO A SON – by Ernest Hemingway

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Hemingway published around 20 poems in his lifetime – which is about 19 more than I expected!

Never trust a white man,
Never kill a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don’t enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don’t believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry whores.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you’ll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky.

Ernest Hemingway

HOW TIME FLIES

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This was the first performance of my first play. How time flies!

HOW TIME FLIES!

HOW TIME FLIES!

LOOKING FOR GOOGLE

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LOOKING FOR GOOGLE

Driverless cars

Headless chickens

Oops! mind that blind…

Oh, what the Dickens!

The lingua franca

In Google we trust,

In God if we must.

Look, no hands!

It’s not a boast

It’s a statement of fact,

I don’t drive, it’s all an act.

The phone on my table

Speaks in eighteen different languages if tasked

And can answer questions

(Sometimes before they are asked).

Now they have sent ten thousand

Helium balloons into the stratosphere

Seeking all the disconnected;

Wi-Fi for all – and soon

They could – in theory – I guess

Set up shop nowadays on the moon

This is their ‘toothbrush’ test;

“Focus on the user and all else follows”

Culture and success go hand in  hand;

If you don’t believe your own slogan

You’re already in no-mans land.

CUPID STUNTS

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CUPID STUNTS

I see that I am at number 1,205,646

In the Amazon/Kindle best-seller list

Again

Last week I was at number 650,249

And the previous week 233,184

Or was that the week before?

I don’t think I have got into the top 100

Yet

I like to see the wild fluctuations in the list

Thousands of points variation

Mean lots of sales, innit?

Though I must confess

It puzzles me a little bit

Because according to Amazon’s

Own – very reliable – sales chart

I sold no books at all last week

And only one all last month

So Amazon/Kindle

Here’s my conclusion

You must be one cupid stunt

PARTING

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PARTING

The sun also rises over concrete

Over this puff-adder sky

And the pricked-up chimneys

Looking like piss-horns in the stark morning

There are no shadows yet

On this marbled plain

So tender in years

But so sparing with love

I shiver at the bus stop

Admiring this proliferation of granite;

So cold, so hard,

So like you….