IgnatiusBrabazon
My picture was already in BLACK AND WHITE. / / IGNATIUS BRABAZON is editor of the pseudo-satirical quasi-clerical magazine, THE WOODEN SPOON. By popular semi-cannonic demand, Ignatius Brabazon is also the obliging Bishop à clef of the BROOMBRIDGE-BARBERSTOWN ARCHDIOCESE. / / Mr Brabazon appears courtesy of ELIJAH SHORTSTRAW PRESS. / Copyright 2013 on all written work. / Reproducing the work of Mr Brabazon without prior permission will incur legal action from Elijah Shortstraw Press, in addition to ANGRY LETTERS and the WRATH OF GOD. / / All pomes of MR BRABAZON aught to be read with a thick DUBLIN accent with the approximate consistency of MASHED POTATO. A reading without this would not convey the full meaning and significance of Mr Brabazon's work.
Pliny the somethingth's request for a title
put through the paces of a mincing machine
will form this, the entirety of my presentation,
to you, paid for by the flatulence tax.
VAT fantastic. I love the Government.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
They're dropping bombs on Syria.
It's Tories to the centre left,
or ****** policy to welfare,
my neighbour to my neighbour.
397 to 223,
or 40 million to the rest.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
I love the feel of a dusty parcan without a bulb,
or electrics, or anything at all except an empty shell,
In another life I lived alone, and kept lamps as pets.
Birdies flying around my head, and cantatas doing what they do,
barndoors wagging, or shutters fluttering off to sleep in the moonlight,
with a single 50 degree spot to scare away the rats and mice.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Scootery dootery do.
Scootery dootery dootery do.
Scootery dootery dottery do.
Scootery scootery splat.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
Take it to Glasnevin,
and write IHS on the stone.
That's what I'll be saying,
IHS with the voice in my mind.
After Michaelmas is gone,
IHS, pleadingly, a lamb of God,
and a little after, exaltingly,
from a rooftop garden in the city centre,
where I can plant flowers.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
Would that the earth,
had such a hold,
on body as on mind.
That mind and mass
were not bonded such,
and in their union,
mutual torment.
Were they apart,
which preference should I take?
Which pleasure gives,
the other takes away,
yet when the first supplies not,
the other must do for both.
What is pain,
less the apprehension of pain?
What is there to diminish joy,
Without a notion of its end?
The baggage of the flesh,
counterweighs the baggage of the mind,
so would that this dilemma were real,
then should it console.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
That which in day the brightest burns,
at night is seen to pale,
when sun and moon resolve in turns,
to light the merry earth below,
with spirit for the coming dawn.
The faintest evanescent glow,
will light the path of one and all.
The poet’s lamp is shepherd’s sun,
though barren it may seem,
bard and flocksman alike are won,
to reverence for the midnight star,
which though the tides each way may draw,
the greatest power it has by far,
is guidance in the darkest hour.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
It was observed today
by the wily crew and me
that the lowest rent in Dublin
is for two metre plots
in a place called Glasnevin.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
So Val, now I guess,
it's Val Donican for you.
You've given up the goat, and now
you're walking taller than all of us.
You're guitar strings are silent,
yet my heart strings still ring for you,
but no amount of cod liver oil
can bring you back.
So Val, rock on.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
The biggest union flag
stands one day longer,
atop the important building,
***** for its mistress.
By communal agreement -
they rattle on another day -
or else for ******* and fear,
of the alternative thing.
Down in the earth,
trains are sometimes delayed.
a commuter curse and swear,
a spectre passes Waterloo.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC