The other day
They made me part of the coffee crowd
For once, I didn’t object
Choosing sides was never my thing
Sitting on fences was my usual go to
The single dad by my side
Whose children are all grown
The proctologist who thinks too much
I must have broken the ice when I said
He works from both ends
He watches CNN in the morning
And Fox at night
So he has a balanced point of view, hmm
Guess he’s sitting on fences too
Who knows maybe the joke was on me

The other day
What was it I was thinking
That you could possibly be my friend
When you thought I was so unkind
You would respond so quickly then
You were comfortable in that role
But I didn’t want to be that person
I didn’t want to critique you
I didn’t want to be arrogant
Sanctimonious, pretentious
I didn’t feel comfortable in that role
I wanted to drop all the pretenses
You wouldn’t let me
You wouldn’t let me get that close
It was all arranged so well
Nothing was out of place
Nothing to embrace
Displace,
Deface
Everything so neatly aligned
Everything accounted for
Every dollar, nickel, and dime
But someone left the cake out in the rain
I can’t remember who sang it
Time to hang it
Out to cry

The Other Day
Waiting for a message that never came
The phone a *** that never boils
But is that true
Isn’t silence your answer
It’s true
Messages come through
We just refuse to see them
No problem
They’ll be no hissing sound
Of the *** that never comes around
I’m a shipwreck
That’s run around
A digital dingbat
For a screen that screams
Wakeup
It’s time to wake up
Dingbat

The other day

Your waste says a lot
about what kind of

people you are, where
you shop, what you eat,

drink and think!
Yes, like reading palms.

I bet you have a television,
a big couch and not a solitary

book in your house. You don't
have a bathroom scales either

and your back yard still has
last years christmas tree.

Both tyres on the bike are flat
and will remain so, indefinitely.

I bet you have the numbers of
all the take aways in Mallow,

you drink out of bottles and of
course you microwave your food.

I bet you don't have a fruit bowl,
compost is a word you associate

with mail delivery and you have
never fed your dog anything but

what the advertisements have
directed you to, you rarely cook

because you have no time, you
never go for a walk in the country

roads, the ones you drive to at
night, to throw away your *******.

If you don't love me, then, do I love me?
For I within that love do view me whole.
That take your part and lesser mine will be
Then I, my better self, then had you stole.
Let know what you'd remove would love you still
Then you, my love reside and there may die.
Unless you find that time gave greatness will
Presenting back wherein the void does lie.  
But if my love shall perish, me without,
I'm poised for none a better place to death.
For you my love was made, and there I'm out;
Love's breath in hearted air that love had breath.

Deny my love, accept my love, but know
It dies with you, whichever me you go.

Socrates,
the philosopher
not
the footballer,
although
I guess
they both kicked
things around,
one on the field of play
and one
back in the day
when
philosophy
made
for a great party.

me and 'crazy horse'
civilisation?
tea?
but of course
and a Garibaldi.

Brokers.

Carving the dinner
every one a winner
except
for the chicken.



The blows go over my head
everyone knows
Di Maggio's dead,


so is Kenny
but he always is.

He struts down the sidewalk
With a hint of a frown
His spoon swings beside him
Jaunty hat as his crown.

Childers peep with a gasp
As they watch him strut down
The musk that follows him
The stains on his gown.

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef, they say,
Of this Badass Town.

He pounds dough to a pulp
Whisking eggs beyond shape
Beets up on the salad
Stomping vatfulls of grape.

Skewers meat without thought
Chops neat through a bone
Flays sharks without care
Needs no sous, works alone

The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

He hangs up his cleaver
At the end of the day
Dripping droplets of what
None have courage to say

He blows out his flambe
Spoon back at his side
Turns back to his war zone
Fists clenched with quiet pride

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

Light has not yet arrived,
comes same time as the
crows, while waiting, I'm
listening to the tidal winds
funnelling forlornly down
our redundant chimney.

Blocked gutters dropping
water making messages in
Morse on the letter box.

The window pane has a
missive in Braille from
spits of rain which have
yet to pair up before their
descending demise.

Three orange halogen street
lights form a perfect Isosceles
triangle, beacons beckoning,
miniature lighthouses, landing
pad locaters, for the sun

                \\|| / /

The Metropolitan Police
have discovered four IUD
devices in high density
pedestrian areas of Central
London, all bearing Irish
post marks and stamps with
no return addresses.

A phone call from an AA
member with a slurred Irish
accent who wished to remain
anonymous, told a journalist
at The Guardian Newspaper
that he sent the devices because
" You are all a shower of ***** ".

Kerry Rain

Now I know from whence the
excess water comes from, when
our river floods Willie’s house.

The catchment area between the
mountains, back here in Kerry,
is an Atlantic funnel.

Ventry winds, West laden, with
an aviated tide, make land fall
just below, in the aqua plain.

From here, it heads for the Cork-ed
plughole, where its route is marked
by bridges along the way to Mallow.


Finn.

8 March 2019
House sitting in
Co Kerry.
(Visited Ventry yesterday)