I woke last night in deep despair, a nightmare in my mind,
I was naked as a newborn babe, there were no clothes to find.
I felt the squeeze of September's breeze on my downbelow:
I was at the nudist conference in dear old Drumshanbo.
I nearly fainted as I looked and took in the whole sight,
I wished I was in Kerry where they dress by day and night.
I thought of Sheemore occupied by nudists al fresco
and how Finn MacCumhail might turn and rise and head back to Glencoe.
And then I realised that 'twas no dream about undress
and of all the naked naturists there I looked the very best.
Then I raised my glass to Lough Allen Spa, the only place to go
if you want your ass uncovered where the Shannon waters flow.
(The Irish Naturist Association is celebrating 50 years of naturism. They are booked into the Lough Allen Spa in Drumshanbo, Co. Leitrim. This poem can be sung to the tune of Lovely Leitrim.)
Saturday, 13 September 2014
Saturday, 6 September 2014
Féileacán
Transparent wings
of coloured scales,
daring swings
and downward sails
are a far cry
from butterfly.
The stain
of a festival
in the Irish name
fits the bill.
Is teideal an dáin
é féileacán.
Multiple kaleidoscopes
this year:
Reds, whites, heliotropes
career
as Red Admirals
and Painted Ladys
pied en diagonale
in dainty batterie.
A Peacock proper
displays no feathers
and a Small Copper
Monets the heathers
like a still life variation
of a Speckled Wood's confrontations.
A winner adjective
is army as given
to a caterpillar collective:
Larvae security driven
to maturity perfective.
(We are currently enjoying an abundance of butterflies, notably more than last year. This August was the first time (in my memory, we definitely had even more butterflies around when I was a child)I saw a Small Copper which, although I have tried to explain otherwise, my children think is a baby butterfly.)
of coloured scales,
daring swings
and downward sails
are a far cry
from butterfly.
The stain
of a festival
in the Irish name
fits the bill.
Is teideal an dáin
é féileacán.
Multiple kaleidoscopes
this year:
Reds, whites, heliotropes
career
as Red Admirals
and Painted Ladys
pied en diagonale
in dainty batterie.
A Peacock proper
displays no feathers
and a Small Copper
Monets the heathers
like a still life variation
of a Speckled Wood's confrontations.
A winner adjective
is army as given
to a caterpillar collective:
Larvae security driven
to maturity perfective.
(We are currently enjoying an abundance of butterflies, notably more than last year. This August was the first time (in my memory, we definitely had even more butterflies around when I was a child)I saw a Small Copper which, although I have tried to explain otherwise, my children think is a baby butterfly.)
Wednesday, 3 September 2014
Dead Lucky
Don't get sick in Brazil
unless you're set for death.
And maybe make a will
asking for a double check.
Pack up all you'll need;
toothbrush and a towel,
something nice to read,
and a suit for being laid out.
You won't need to buy
a body bag yourself,
if they think you've died
they'll get one off the shelf.
And they're very good
at stuffing orifices tight,
they'll pack the cotton wool
and tie your left leg to your right.
Be sure to have a saint revered
to help you fight your corner:
Irma Dulce played a blinder here
once the funeral was paid for.
(Last month in Salvador, Brazil, Valdelucio Concalves woke up in a body bag after doctors in the hospital he was in declared him dead. Inspired by: www.mirror.co.uk article)
unless you're set for death.
And maybe make a will
asking for a double check.
Pack up all you'll need;
toothbrush and a towel,
something nice to read,
and a suit for being laid out.
You won't need to buy
a body bag yourself,
if they think you've died
they'll get one off the shelf.
And they're very good
at stuffing orifices tight,
they'll pack the cotton wool
and tie your left leg to your right.
Be sure to have a saint revered
to help you fight your corner:
Irma Dulce played a blinder here
once the funeral was paid for.
(Last month in Salvador, Brazil, Valdelucio Concalves woke up in a body bag after doctors in the hospital he was in declared him dead. Inspired by: www.mirror.co.uk article)
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
Mister Fog
Bad and all that the forecast doesn't always predict,
and that snow has often been and passed before Met Éireann alludes to it.
Bad and all when they say it'll be raining cats and dogs,
what bugs me is when they say there'll be patches of Mister Fog!
That's how it sounds to me, and my child asked yesterday,
why Mister Fog was a he and had Mister Sun gone away!
So, here's my point, forecasters, I hope you get the gist:
With your Meteorology degrees and masters why can't you say "fog or mist"?
(Since I was a child I have heard the weather forecasters' "mist or fog" as Mister Fog and, yesterday, that's how my nearly 5-year-old heard it too so we can't be the only ones!)
and that snow has often been and passed before Met Éireann alludes to it.
Bad and all when they say it'll be raining cats and dogs,
what bugs me is when they say there'll be patches of Mister Fog!
That's how it sounds to me, and my child asked yesterday,
why Mister Fog was a he and had Mister Sun gone away!
So, here's my point, forecasters, I hope you get the gist:
With your Meteorology degrees and masters why can't you say "fog or mist"?
(Since I was a child I have heard the weather forecasters' "mist or fog" as Mister Fog and, yesterday, that's how my nearly 5-year-old heard it too so we can't be the only ones!)
Friday, 25 July 2014
Summer 2014
Return me to the choking heat of seeming lifeless air
where bees and butterflies compete for heady panicled buddleia.
Elderflower has peaked and gone, strawberry now reserved,
blackcurrant steeped and stacked upon gooseberry too preserved.
Snare my singing soul at its sweetest sound.
Pluck the ringing carpel while it does abound.
Reversion is the death knell, not yet told,
conserved in right this moment, not yet old.
Trap me too in glass or freeze me in my prime.
Keep me sealed, set fast until next summertime.
(This Summer is just lovely, with the past few days being particularly balmy. At roughly this time every year I think of the winter ahead and how I'd like to hibernate through it. I also think of getting older and convince myself every year that I am now in my prime! We still have a lot of summer 2014 ahead but the majority our fruit-picking and jam-making here is done for this year.)
where bees and butterflies compete for heady panicled buddleia.
Elderflower has peaked and gone, strawberry now reserved,
blackcurrant steeped and stacked upon gooseberry too preserved.
Snare my singing soul at its sweetest sound.
Pluck the ringing carpel while it does abound.
Reversion is the death knell, not yet told,
conserved in right this moment, not yet old.
Trap me too in glass or freeze me in my prime.
Keep me sealed, set fast until next summertime.
(This Summer is just lovely, with the past few days being particularly balmy. At roughly this time every year I think of the winter ahead and how I'd like to hibernate through it. I also think of getting older and convince myself every year that I am now in my prime! We still have a lot of summer 2014 ahead but the majority our fruit-picking and jam-making here is done for this year.)
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
They Give The World Its Stars
No ifs or buts or maybes, there is no mystery:
When you birth a baby you change the course of history.
A brand new member of the human race to bring
goodness, hope, and love, and how the world needs all those things.
Give the mothers credit as they give the world its stars.
Without them we are static, there's no raising of the bar.
How dark our days without new babes to keep us truly blessed.
The mothers, without doubt, supply our brightest and our best.
(I think mothers change the course of human history with each baby born, this one is for mothers everywhere)
When you birth a baby you change the course of history.
A brand new member of the human race to bring
goodness, hope, and love, and how the world needs all those things.
Give the mothers credit as they give the world its stars.
Without them we are static, there's no raising of the bar.
How dark our days without new babes to keep us truly blessed.
The mothers, without doubt, supply our brightest and our best.
(I think mothers change the course of human history with each baby born, this one is for mothers everywhere)
Friday, 4 July 2014
Smell The Flowers
Nothing physical to show is no indication.
Exertion can be slow to reveal its vindication.
Use your minutes wisely but remember as you do,
thinking, sleeping, smelling flowers all contribute too.
Breathing is activity so congratulate yourself,
as you inhale and exhale you are using your time well.
Musing on ideas, soaking up the sights,
being the overseer of small children flying kites,
dreaming with your eyes open, placing a small bet,
watching fruit scones rise and checking jam is set.
Sleeping in 'til nine, putting up your feet,
sipping sparkling wine in the height of Summer heat.
No need for manifest, no records required.
In waking hours work and rest, sleep when you are tired.
Dismiss all competition, set your own pace,
Be truthful to your mission, run in your own race.
(This doesn't mean you get to always win the medal,
it simply deems comparison totally irrelevant.)
Sharing every aspect decreases your own stores
of energy and affects what people hope to know.
The hours go fast, so be happy with your lot.
The time is going to pass whether you use it or not.
Be mindful. We need oxygen, we can't survive on rhyme.
So, sometimes, let the grass grow to pass away the time.
(I think there seems to be an increasing emphasis on 'doing', with suggestions about using every second of your life constructively to have something to show for it. It's not that I disagree with these ideas, I am a natural record-keeper, but I also think an emphasis on just being alive without going a million miles an hour and documenting every second mightn't go astray every now and then. In my own experience some of my best ideas have been born out of letting my mind wander.)
Exertion can be slow to reveal its vindication.
Use your minutes wisely but remember as you do,
thinking, sleeping, smelling flowers all contribute too.
Breathing is activity so congratulate yourself,
as you inhale and exhale you are using your time well.
Musing on ideas, soaking up the sights,
being the overseer of small children flying kites,
dreaming with your eyes open, placing a small bet,
watching fruit scones rise and checking jam is set.
Sleeping in 'til nine, putting up your feet,
sipping sparkling wine in the height of Summer heat.
No need for manifest, no records required.
In waking hours work and rest, sleep when you are tired.
Dismiss all competition, set your own pace,
Be truthful to your mission, run in your own race.
(This doesn't mean you get to always win the medal,
it simply deems comparison totally irrelevant.)
Sharing every aspect decreases your own stores
of energy and affects what people hope to know.
The hours go fast, so be happy with your lot.
The time is going to pass whether you use it or not.
Be mindful. We need oxygen, we can't survive on rhyme.
So, sometimes, let the grass grow to pass away the time.
(I think there seems to be an increasing emphasis on 'doing', with suggestions about using every second of your life constructively to have something to show for it. It's not that I disagree with these ideas, I am a natural record-keeper, but I also think an emphasis on just being alive without going a million miles an hour and documenting every second mightn't go astray every now and then. In my own experience some of my best ideas have been born out of letting my mind wander.)
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Their Dad
How they ignore him, scold him loudly
and adore him, love him proudly,
wreck his stuff, make demands,
call his bluff and hold his hands,
test his nerves and call him names
through tennis serves and chasing games,
delegate building of wooden tracks,
beg for swings and piggy backs,
reprimand him, then make up
and command him to wake up,
look for money, shout for lifts,
say he's funny, make him gifts,
take what's his and make it theirs,
offer less and brush his hair,
make him run for miles and miles,
just for fun and small girl smiles,
order biscuits, daily, nightly,
give him kisses, hug him tightly.
(It's Father's Day today. My two girls have a great dad who they adore, this is for Martin.)
and adore him, love him proudly,
wreck his stuff, make demands,
call his bluff and hold his hands,
test his nerves and call him names
through tennis serves and chasing games,
delegate building of wooden tracks,
beg for swings and piggy backs,
reprimand him, then make up
and command him to wake up,
look for money, shout for lifts,
say he's funny, make him gifts,
take what's his and make it theirs,
offer less and brush his hair,
make him run for miles and miles,
just for fun and small girl smiles,
order biscuits, daily, nightly,
give him kisses, hug him tightly.
(It's Father's Day today. My two girls have a great dad who they adore, this is for Martin.)
Friday, 6 June 2014
Bon Secours
Holy Mary, mother unmarried, blessed by Angel Gabriel's call
to be the chosen one who carried a baby born to lead them all.
Catholic leaders, priests and nuns, claiming virtues and morals true
mark public enemy number one as "unmarried" mothers who
must be stripped of dignity and freedom, locked away from the world
convicts of ultra vires treason, ripped from baby boys and girls.
Bon Secours means good help translated.
May bon secours never reach my dog:
Unmarried mothers can be incarcerated
but animal rights are enshrined in law.
(Just when you think there can't possibly be any more church scandals in Ireland the so-called Mother And Baby homes abuse of single mothers and their children hits the headlines. It's not really news because it was already known about but it has taken decades to get any attention. The collusion of Church and State is one aspect of it but there is also a wider collusion of parents, relations and community members of the pregnant women and girls who were sent to these places. The Journal Article & datbeardyman blog post.
Re-shared in March 2017, on foot of the news about the remains of over 700 babies and children found in septic tanks on the property of the Bons Secours Mother & Baby Home in Tuam, Co. Galway. Those words 'mother and baby' combined with 'home' are so much at odds with how the Bons Secours nuns actually treated their captives).
to be the chosen one who carried a baby born to lead them all.
Catholic leaders, priests and nuns, claiming virtues and morals true
mark public enemy number one as "unmarried" mothers who
must be stripped of dignity and freedom, locked away from the world
convicts of ultra vires treason, ripped from baby boys and girls.
Bon Secours means good help translated.
May bon secours never reach my dog:
Unmarried mothers can be incarcerated
but animal rights are enshrined in law.
(Just when you think there can't possibly be any more church scandals in Ireland the so-called Mother And Baby homes abuse of single mothers and their children hits the headlines. It's not really news because it was already known about but it has taken decades to get any attention. The collusion of Church and State is one aspect of it but there is also a wider collusion of parents, relations and community members of the pregnant women and girls who were sent to these places. The Journal Article & datbeardyman blog post.
Re-shared in March 2017, on foot of the news about the remains of over 700 babies and children found in septic tanks on the property of the Bons Secours Mother & Baby Home in Tuam, Co. Galway. Those words 'mother and baby' combined with 'home' are so much at odds with how the Bons Secours nuns actually treated their captives).
Bang On Trend
What they've got in the UK and China,
Brazil and Turkmenistan,
can be found on our own fair island
but it's a place you won't get a tan.
It's not as far as you'd think,
not Germany, New Zealand, The States.
It's where they no longer mine zinc
and where Persephone waits.
Sinkhole fame for all of these sites,
Kilkenny has tunnels to mend,
mining wakes Hades to fight:
Up The Marble! You're bang on trend.
(If I were to try and catalogue all the witty comments of @pauldunphy on Twitter we'd be here forever. However, the one that relates to this poem is a tweet of his in which he said to someone he knew who had been caught in a sinkhole, "you're bang on trend." After establishing the person was fine you just have to acknowledge that witty remark!
Kilkenny People article & The Telegraph article)
Brazil and Turkmenistan,
can be found on our own fair island
but it's a place you won't get a tan.
It's not as far as you'd think,
not Germany, New Zealand, The States.
It's where they no longer mine zinc
and where Persephone waits.
Sinkhole fame for all of these sites,
Kilkenny has tunnels to mend,
mining wakes Hades to fight:
Up The Marble! You're bang on trend.
(If I were to try and catalogue all the witty comments of @pauldunphy on Twitter we'd be here forever. However, the one that relates to this poem is a tweet of his in which he said to someone he knew who had been caught in a sinkhole, "you're bang on trend." After establishing the person was fine you just have to acknowledge that witty remark!
Kilkenny People article & The Telegraph article)
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