This week I have been mostly petrified,
and in between such periods I have been jelly.
Do you remember the action of freeze and thaw?
Surely you do, it’s the one clear spot
in the fogged grey landscape of your old school geography.
Well that is the state of me.
I am eroding.

When this process began I cannot tell,
I only know that it continues.

I like to think that the fragments of my self
are at least collecting somewhere,
perhaps in my socks.
If I had the will I might tip out the sediment nightly
and store it in a glass jar by the bed.

I am of course losing weight,
though not so much weight as gravitas.
Conventional scales won’t register the change
as I have tried to explain to my doctor,
but he smiles the smile of an indulgent uncle
then writes me another little green ticket
for little blue pills.

When the last essential ballast is crumbled and gone
Into that that jar, nicely striped,
my substance will rise
like a cheap balloon, leaving
something empty and indifferent
and insensitive.

Hooray is what I say!
I, or that thing that is I minus self,
might at last succeed by blundering on into money regardless,
by making the right decisions.
Judgement is right because there’s no backchat inside
to say otherwise.

Bring it on.

We can call it today or last week
or seek out another name,
but who loved me in the Bleak?

I ain't talking midwinter nor
the middle of summer
I'm talking back then and
that's the backchat of sad men

these be the lonely
only when will they know?

before it's too late?

I am in denial
Something to do with the
pineal gland?

Fukin grand when you've no idea
if your brain's in your head
or stuffed up your rear.

hitched me a ride on the right side of
the ebb tide
things are looking
better now.

I know you are a gossip mongers
And you know I'm detesting you,
And you know I'm not pleased with you,
You always judge me day and night
And you follow me from left to right.
When will you stop to judge me?
When will you stop to follow me?

When I fail you are busy disseminating that tale
Through your sinful lips that murmurs around
Now my life's beautiful story would  surely fall unto the ground.

Gossip, gossip, gossip everywhere
You exhibits your evil colours,
I know you are a gossip mongers here and there.
When will you see a right things I have done?
And do you know your bad character will be gone?

Enough, enough with your nonsense chitchat
Stop with all your constant backchat
Instead, mind your own lives and be fruitful
For our world to be restful and peaceful.

#EDM.

We make up and fight to make up and fight to make up again
and then we fight again.
not good
not bad
just life and that's sad then we fight again.


Then there's the ministry of Angels that follow me
they're the
stalkers, backchat talkers who whisper things into
my ears.

The design of alignment
is flawed
according to the
laws of physics
psychics
and
crackpot economists,

I have no opinions
one way or anyway.

The Cosi fan Tutti and their vibrators
meet The Tonton Macoutes
at the Empire of Fish and Chips and pints
signing
Treaty of Chavis Vagabond et loonies
to rule the world
in their own graven images
for only them know what is right
No, make that what is Left
for all of us, yes! you and me and the kitchen sink
so like the Black Prince
pay attention I do not mean the pub
another offending infidel has been detained
for summary Cancellation and public  vilification and abuse
You are welcome to read her tale below

Let this be a Warning to any decent hard working law-abiding
person who believes in Free Speech or even a jocular backchat

Now get back to your pens sheep and lemmings
and continue your blah blah blah
your free will belongs to us.....


Poor Molly-Mae doesn't deserve this foul abuse

The case of Molly-Mae Hague, the reality TV star and 'influencer' who last week became the latest celebrity to be cancelled by the pitchfork-wielding Twitter mob, is a classic of our times.

All she did was reference a viral trend dating back to 2013 in which people shared clips of Beyoncé alongside the motivational quote: 'You have the same amount of hours in a day as Beyoncé.' In other words, if you work hard, you can do anything.

For that, she's been accused of 'not caring' about poor people, vilified by Left-wingers as 'Thatcher with a fake tan' and suffered appalling abuse such as 'she is best known for being getting her s*ch out on Love Island'.

By all means disagree with her, but that kind of language is just blind misogyny.

By SARAH VINE FOR THE MAIL ON SUNDAY

TRAFFIC CONTROL SYSTEMS

going 'round the bend
when Cúchulainn his very self
steps out and tells me to

"YIELD!"
or he would
set his wolfhounds on me

now when an ancient
mythological hero
commands one to yield

then one yields
with a squeal of brakes  
since the council

started to employ
old Irish heroes
from time long gone  

to deal with
wilful drivers
refusing to yield

"Ok ok Cúchulainn
keep yer helmet on!"
our hero snarls at me

"No backchat chap!"
I got out and pushed
the car around the bend

"****** demi god!"
I mumble
under my breath

Bran and Sceolaun
bared their teeth
and growled

"*** on with ya!"
Cúchulainn gave me a kick
I got on with me

*

An impressive Corten steel sculpture of Cúchulainn and his hounds. It is located on a roundabout at Ballymany, Newbridge in County Kildare and close to the Curragh Racecourse.  I'd encounter  it when rushing back to Dublin on the leaving of The Land of Ire.

He waved his Gáe Bulg at me, meaning "spear of mortal pain/death", "gapped/notched spear", or "belly spear." Jaysus!

I wasn't going to wait if he was going to go into one of his spectacular ríastrad ( transformative battle frenzies).I had seen one before and didn't want to see another!

"The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and ***** from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front... On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless **** as big as the head of a month-old child... he ****** one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn't probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram's fleece reached his mouth from his throat...the hair of his head twisted like the tangle of a red thorn bush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage."

The use of mythical heroes for traffic control was soon dropped as more motorists were killed by him as were killed in crashes. It was hard to get him to go back in the book!

Completed in March 2010, the sculpture by Lynn Kirkham cost €45,000 (paid for out of profits from Newbridge Town’s car parking fees) and the figures are made of Corten steel which has turned ‘rust-like’ over the years adding time and weather to its making.