Schoolhouse 1887 -



There were two separate entrances,

  segregated cloakrooms, external

   toilets off in the furthest corners.

      A well, a suspended bucket,

  for ablutions. Distinct play areas.


     Classes divided by a masonry

           pale. Only evidence of

     anything communally shared

      is a chimney breast, hearths

       either side, a two *** house.


   Under floor holds some historical

surprises. Coins with hens and pigs

   and fish a hare a fainleogh a bull.

   No sign of the horse, half crowns

         hardly communion money.


     There are old paintings on the

         wall, over wainscotting, in

       crayon still to be seen even

      today (where they will remain)

     If I can help it, long after - 2024.

Caesar asked his friends

        romans and countrymen

           to lend him their ears.


         I have no such request,

          because Shakespeare

         said neither a borrower

               nor a lender be.


       Yet, the bible sayeth that

     he who giveth shall receive.


     It also states that the meek

          shall inherit the earth.


  So, is it serendipity or stupidity

    fate or contrived coincidence,

      that I have been tasked to

      restore a listed 1887 semi

       derelict schoolhouse and

             save it from ruin?


                  History and

          our vernacular is in a

     state of peril, but together

   we can induce a renaissance

for its posterity to inhabit the land.


Ask not what your country can do

for your national treasures, but what

can you and I and we them and those

do to save the inheritance of our past.

Mind mill turns

concepts recycle


syllabled spokes

   reverberate


cogitating cogs

       reflect


        axles

   accentuate


  introspection

waterboarded.

An unpunctuated sky does

          little for my soul.

   Diffusion and mist has a

sense of being enveloped

         in cotton wool.

  Furze bushes blazon our

              horizon.

   A can of blue and yellow

*WD-40 masquerades as a

     *Water Displacement.

But this is Ballydehob where

  wind transforms to drizzle

    lubricating sprays from

      Wild Atlantic Waves.

There are always lines

   and posts and poles on

    which to set our goals.


   There are mountains of

    inclemency and depths

   of undiscovered despair.


  There’s a darkness, even

   in daylight, when pain is

treading on our thresholds.


The sun’s race east to west

is not to beat moon and stars

to night, it is just good sport.

.          He’s a good s  ort
                                   ^
      speaks a bit of French too

      left the pitch three times in

our last game against Waterford.


     He has a nick name, Pisces,

       that’s because most of the

lads think he has a drink problem.


He hasn’t touched a drop for years,

he’s a friend of Bill, has a prostrate

problem, just gone off again, for a p

On the news we just had a report

Second last, but at least a good sport

On his mount Palindrome

Just a furlong from home

He turned back to be with his cohort

Generous

Olympian

Offers

Disabled

Sportsgirl

Psychologically­

Orientated

Relaxing

Technique

Sly fox raids henhouse

                   good sport, but not for chickens

rooster high tails it

I, insisted, on being first

     letter, of four competing

  lines, in this stanza, about

     the theme, good sports.

We know the protocol

but those without morals

or ethics tend not to

play ball and flaunt the

rules. Unfortunately,

there are no yellow or

red cards or points to

be lost, as in licenses.

But for good sports

the game would end up

without a referee,

like the war in Gaza.

There are good sports

    there are odd sports

    there are good sorts

    there are odd sorts.


    There are big *****

   there are small *****

there are eccentric *****

     there are odd *****.


But I think that anyone

   who plays with them

  in public are peculiar

      to say the least.


Especially people who

  play with those ones

  between the pockets

  using pronged cues.

Depends on how one looks at

  it, take Cupid for instance, a

   sportsman, yes, but good?


That’s questionable, he certainly

   certainly wasn’t ecological.


Shooting arrows at the hearts

of perfectly wholesome apples.


Fortunately he missed, although

he did hit a branch and one fell


But, like alley cats, hooligans

and ne'er do wells work in pairs.


So, as the apple was falling

William Tell took aim and but

    for a slight gust of wind

  the gravity of the situation

would have been a calamity

for evolution and human kind.


Just imagine Newton might

never have caught his Granny

  Smith,  but, Neil Armstrong

could have walked on the moon

without needing lead in his boots.

Guilt by omission might

be in this category, but,

when blatant deception

is a managed mirage,

  then, the illusion by

the Royals magician is

a quickness of hand

that almost deceived

     the public's eye.

T’was forty years ago now,

since I left the land of ire.

Both hemispheres all of the

continents twenty houses

bought and sold, eternally

moving, a transient drifter

a vagabond and itinerant

and sure tis here I am back

again like a tinker in a van

with me antipodean woman

parked up in Bally de Hobo,

  I’ve done the fool circle.

˚
.                                 |

       There is no I in ego but there is in Id,

  seems inverse of what one would presume.
          /
  Rene Descarte's Cogito Ergo, Sum's it up,

                 " I think therefore I am “.

   They say the walls have ears, but I think

                  the I’s are everywhere.

                           I, I, captain

                               I O U

                        Ides of March.

                          I is a suffix

                           I is a noun

                        I is a pronoun

                         and last of all

                                  I.

                         is an island,

                            but so is

                             Ireland.

They didn't even have Barry’s Tea
the coffee was Robusta Decaffeinated.

Hard seats without cushions, no view
and not allowed to tip the waitress.

It was as cold as a dogs nose,
we were stiff, as with rheumatism

of nights inactivity and the atmosphere
was a stratosphere of liquid silence.

.                           Egalitarian


                  Is the share of hate equal,

             can we despise democratically.


            Is disliking proportionate, evenly

           matched, balanced and unbiased.


        How does one discriminate equitably,

      unbigoted, unprejudiced and objectively.


     Without fear or favour is tantamount to an

admission of uniformed neutrality, on difference.

It was a time of great

depression, a serious

  lack of commodities.


  Edgar Allan ran out

  of ink, this is why he

never finished his Poe

.             Night Writing


  Last night I was baking blind.

   Louis Braille bearings kept

my pastry in shape during the

pre oven preparation. I set the

   automatic temperature and

   duration timer, which oddly

      enough has a ring tone

   similar to Samuel Morse's

   code. At 06:00 it rang, but

    there was no perfume of

     pastry, I'd had a dream,

         my clock alarmed,

                  on the

                    dot
                      .

Last night I was baking blind.

  Louis Braille bearings kept

my pastry in shape during the

pre oven preparation. I set the

   automatic temperature and

   duration timer, which oddly
  
      enough has a ring tone

    similar to Samuel Morse's

    code. At 06:00 it rang, but

     there was no perfume of

      pastry, I'd had a dream,

         my clock alarmed,

              on the dot.

I pretended to be blind, for a day,

it might have been easier at night.

I had a stick, but no dog, although

I did manage to stand on a ****.


  Occasionally I was head butted,

  stationary objects, ******* poles.

  After changing sides, near walls,

  I was shinned by bicycle pedals.


Sightlessness has no colour and

buff, the title, is not banana in hue,

 yet those afflicted with impaired

  vision can easily identify them.


If I pretended to be blind for a night

it would be no different than the day,

  because dog turds, ******* poles,

bananas and pedals are all nocturnal.

Fragmented


I wonder if a memory from

rubble, could be assembled

in a jigsaw, would pieces fit?


I usually start at the corners,

the sky is always easy, blue

with white clouds and a bird.


But what if there is no image

on the box because all of the

photographers were maimed.


And what if there are missing

bits or some that look the same

whether they are back or front.


Normally there is a number of

component parts, but nobody

counts them before beginning.


So, there’s no point in ringing up

Hamleys later and complaining

that you are unable to find Rafah.

My name, is, Maw Che De Hulla

My brother is Dougain Abdullah

I live in Kanturk

Using pseudonym Burke

Because my father Is-Stan-Bul the Mullah.

.  What might Jesus think

    would he be supportive

   or ashamed of his father

      for the Cloven Ones.


   Is the biblical quotation

     THY WILL BE DONE

   pertaining to the people

   of Gaza and Palestine?


Bless me father for I have

sinned, it’s been 8/10/2023

  since my last confession,

I've become anti semitic.



P.s

The priest didn't give me

and penance.

If we could remember all of

which we didn’t know before

we learned what we are now.


Our teaching skills would be

far more sympathetic to all

of those who appear dumb.

Believe it or not ==============O

shadows don’t like the light ==================O

they hide from it ================O

and we enable them =============O

I followed my silhouette to =====================O

a dark place ============O

where it ========O

abandoned ===========O

me

Dementia & Dunce


    When two brains succumb

there's dumb and there's numb.

       Biden can hum but he

          cannot chew gum

   Whereas Donald to some

     is an empty bass drum.

    A *** on the *** could

           E string a thumb

    But the sum of those two

    couldn’t manage a strum.

When brains succumb

  there is little difference

between dumb and numb.

  Biden can hum but he

     cannot chew gum

Whereas Donald to some

is an empty bass drum.

A *** on the *** could

      manage a strum

But the sum of those two

couldn’t play with a thumb.

A for sale sign had a tilt on it

and glue of the “ SOLD" chevron

had long given up the ghost,

permitting it to take off in the wind.


It might have made it to the stream

near-by, could be attached to the side

of a boat in Audley Cove by now or

floating face down, under, under offer.


Grass had grown up to the window

sills, the flap of the letterbox was open,

it looked as though it was about to

throw-up its un-masticated missives.


The thumb button of the door bell

was removed and a sock wrapped

round the knocker was worse for

wear, toe holes needing darning.


Lace curtains, supposedly the

sign of mad women may have

been already there when he

bought the house 10 years, it were.


Crows had taken advantage of the

two *** house and no doubt the well

fertilised gutters could be attributed

to their droppings, on both sides.


Redundant down pipes invited ivy

which encroached, and like a pair

of alter boys doing the rounds up the

gable it went meeting at the apex.


Last seasons apples had regular

visits from Thrushes Blackbirds and

Magpies, the Squirrels looked on

curiously at my observation in still.


Massey red Fergusson had a

Robin on the bonnet where flying

ladies pose, the + & — battery

cables were dangling deciduously.


Attempts to slip my envelope under the

door was blocked by a home made snake

but the top pane of a 9 x 9 sash was a

convenient cat flap, so I air mailed.


One last attempt availed of nothing, hello

hello is anybody home must have been a

common occurrence or why else would a

sign inside of the glass read  FFO KCUF.

.   This is not a metaphorical

    title, but unlike vessels that

      message on the outside

        with labels advertising

             proof of content,

           one is, regardless,

         obliged to open it for

        verification, even then,

         there is no guarantee

      that Jeannie is not a bad

       spirited Jack who never,

     ever, does happy endings.


ps

Wisdom is knowing

the difference.

Photophobia


I woke up by a market place

bazaar in Kosovo wishing I

could do with my ears what

my eyes accomplished when

sunlight discovered that one

brass rolling hanger had let

a drape curtain off the hook.

The mind can’t speak

But hearts can listen


A feeling has no form

Until it takes shape


Nothing can be born

Before it has gestated


What would a premature

Poem look like?


Concise, one might say,  but,

At least, finished


It is the aborted ones I am

Concerned with and there have

Been many


Often deleted and lost forever

Because they are so easy to erase


Emily Dickinson had no such

Intention for her unwanted’s


She posed them in an incubator

Under the bed, for Lavinia to foster.

That which pains me,

  is not what I have been

  contemplating, but how

I can transform my autistic

inspiration, form dyslexia, to

a comprehendible version,

for run-of-the-mill minds.

Nobody ever said that

I was a bright spark

and if there was a bulb

in my head it would be

of a very low wattage.


I lack lustre and never

dazzle with brilliance,

yet, occasionally there

is a flicker of light, but

I'm no match for ray.

Walls are similar to icebergs,

they are deceptive, having

the ability to camouflage as

chameleons in full daylight.


Many of them are constructed

borders, some are used for

sport such as hand ball alleys

squash or the likes of it.


People write on them, put

political posters on them

and as we all know echoes

never cease insulting them.


But walls are also like people

they are buttressed invisibly

they are reinforced to withstand

they are dams to retain opinions.


Everybody builds them but in

time they crumble, they become

superfluous surplus to requirements

eyesores, where evil ones go wailing.

In the year 20/20 he

      got his frost pair of

   glasses, lazy eyes the

      optician diagnosed.


  Diffused vision, tinnitus,

  with speech impairment

    left him with only one

   communicating option.


  One day Boy Focal met

    Anthony Blinken and

  Morse'd with his eyelids

     “ Gaza Sera Libre "

. Id tried to shake hands

      with Ego's shadow

      in the reflection of

      light they bathe in.


      But acquaintances

     made by silhouettes

    at dusk, are disturbed,

as the sun begins to fade.

Bop haiku poems rhyme

              ballad sonnet epics mime

odes slam universe

.     I’m a blank sheet, blue,

       homeless. I’ve lost my

            Basildon Pad.


     What’s going to become

     of me? Am I going to end

     up in a sealed envelope?


     Or am I going to be made

   into a jumping frog or worse,

    a fortune telling chatterbox?


I could become a boat, or God

   forbid, a plane thrown from a

tenement balcony to the street.


  What if someone rolls me into

   a coil and uses me to light a

    fire, or a ‘ BACK IN 5' sign?


      I might end up sleeved in

    plastic, nailed to a tree, with

     a photo of a lost cat or dog.


      Fortunately I’m not large

       enough to be made into
    
       a fools cap, for a dunce.


      Obviously, my preference

        would be for something

       everlasting, like a sonnet.
  

     But no, the poet hasn’t even

   put the top on his fountain pen,

     I have become a suicide note.

.      Today, a dark delivery van

      parked opposite the window.


       An optical impediment, but,

         it mirror backed the pane.


      My silhouette, in observation,

   looked extremely sad, and down!

Not a spoon of water

nor a scrap of bread

not a strip of plaster

more bombs instead.

I’ve got a coffee stain

   birthmark with exactly

  the same geographical

  ratio as the Gaza Strip.


  It's on my *******, but

  due to being an ardent

  anti ***** knight not a

  soul ever gets to see it.

There is a courtroom

at the I.C.J. Hague

Where decisions are

made but they’re vague

The judgements are sober

But for the one on October

Which leaves Gaza in a

famine state plague.

Just at the edge, was a

      sign, I changed 1 letter.

         It now reads Words.


     And though deciduous

        (due to censorship)

   the echoes are perennial.

Atheists are anti-semitic

    by not recognising God,

   it's a blatant denial in the

existence of chosen people.

Branches broken, bark bleeding,

        unearthed decaying.

   blacked out villages empty,

           but sous terrain

from where racine's of history

                emanate

oil lit lanterns are surrounded

          by a resistance

              in shadow.

When the Israel lights

go out and the candle

arbre branches are in

a deciduous state of

dormancy, no one, I

mean nobody in the

world but F.UK.US

  will give a *****

     about them.

It has a *friend in it

It has an echo

It hums and haws

It goes can come

It is not a boomerang

It has a (rotor)

It flies below (radar)

It lands

It smithereens

It can’t take off.






It is a *pal in drone

.              ZION

                   of

                  the

                   †


In the name of the fodder

           and of the gun

   and of the goalie coast


               YEMEN