An bhfuil duine ar bith ag tabhairt aird orm?
Níl, táim i mo thaibhse, ag siúl gach lá
Gan duine ar bith ag rá, conas atá?

Chomh imeallaithe leis an teanga álainn atá in úsáid agam.
Ní thuigfidh daoine an dán seo.
Ní thuigeann daoine mise.

Tá tú an réalt ag taitneamh
i mo domhan dorcha

nach bhfuil rud ar bith sa saol seo
Ní ba mhaith liom a dhéanamh ar do shon

Ba mhaith liom dul ar fud an domhain seo
Ba mhaith liom troid ar bith Demon
Má chiallaigh sé tú a choinneáil
ag mo thaobh.

Tá tú mo Shlánaitheoir
Mo shlánú
Mo bheannacht
Ní leor faoi cheilt a dhéanamh mar sin

Is breá liom tú Kaitlyn
le gach snáithín de mo á

Is breá liom tú

I crave peace
security....
and i get annoyed....
i feel not understood
...my mind is so ******* overwhelmed
...but projects not ****
its so mother *******
afraid of who knows ******* what
...i sit here like a ******* doll
with my Mom yelling in my ear
as insecurity
those annoying *** voices...
continue to say your nothing
your nothing because your not good enough
...for this person
he wont think your hot
your not good enough
....i think you should be more like this ****** up person
...all it does is degrade me
...tell me im nothing
.....tell me im something according to society
...then ******* deceit me
its like what am i...
who am i
what have i become
....what do i truly value
...who the **** am i
...im a wreck
a ******* train crash
dead...
and its like
i crave identity and security so much
im willing to find it in a matter of seconds
...its like i have no sense of patience in that field
its like ive been sad
...crying internally
totally hiding it
....insecure with myself
angry
...but in denial
completely in denial
about my entire existence
its like i dont want to admit to the person that i am
...my mind craves more
it doesnt crave real
its a ******* ***** i tell a ******* bith
a real pai in the ***
im tired of giving a **** about what others think about me
im tired of giving a **** about anything
im tired of being so annoyed and in denial about myself
its like i want to ******* scream
its like im trapped
trapped
and i feel obligated to stay trapped
..because im me
and because society and ppl
and like im not one to like to make others feel bad
....but like im so tired
its a ******* pain
making each and every day a task
...to mask the real me
and try and build this facade
impress evry ******* person i meet
...like its such a ******* task
every ******* day
for the past years
..its fustrating
i look at miley and demi and avril
then i look at me....
and i know that security and complete you...is possible
but its like...
who wants to sit sad
be ******* sad for a day, for weeks, for months
even years
like...
not me
im so tired and sick
and im done tryig to be what everyone else wants
....im done scrolling down my feed
and only seeing wrong
seeing wrong in me
and opportunities to change me
im tired of the negativity
and i refuse to live a day i jealousy, or in envy of some white, blonde *****
...i refuse
i refuse
...but also i fear
meaning i have no faith
my faith is in my mind
its coming out through my mouth
but its not their
its non existant
it wants to be their so ******* badly
but its not
its like i want to command my heart to believe
...but thats not possible
i cant command myself to die can i....
i mean.....

I left for a few minuta
detail
wrote poetry all the way
to essex, my belle the enigma landing
and lost all of the words that proved
i was commiting treason.

and again I left for a minute
had no ideas what to write
i am the worlds first poet.
 Like great with a lower
case G.  

Any word, 7 or more languages
forward or backward.
prodigy, prosody, prodisy or is it odeseyus
he fell down flat on his back
wanting to know who c. reeves tucked in
before the C4 explosion.  

and I Cobak can tell you that
WE are here, in the Star Wars book
bith bounty hunting earthworms for fish hooks.
i write all day seas less lee.  
as praetorian Helmet.  

wehttam

I love our web page.  Just keep writing.  We will never read all of the poets.

AN RUD A DÚIRT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20

"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmm the sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.

*

The éan beag that told me all this against the wishes of the sky...was the drud or druideog...the common starling or as in the W.B. Yeats' poem THE STARE'S NEST.

It liked to quote the lines to me in its own charming voice.

"We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty;"

And here was my little stare friend opening my mind out and turning the key.

When caught by the sky telling tales to humans the little fella tries to get out of it by telling the sky "I don't have any Irish at all!" but in Irish. Of course the sky although knowing everything didn't however know any Irish!

I was uncertain of the lines about uncertainty in the Yeats and was trying to remember the Callimachus about people not listening...how a mountain never listens to a sea. And David Cooke when he was staying with us was delighted to find some Greek that he both loved and could indeed read and I thought I betcha David could tell me. But of course not having a David Cooke at hand I stumbled along in these lines and offered up the poem to him.

AN RUD A DÚRIT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20


"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmmthe sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.

I DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING AT ALL!

I don't dream
in Irish

because I don't know
enough Irish

to dream in
. . .ok.

Still the dawn chorus
seeps into my consciousness

with each bird screaming
first the robin then the wren

"Ní fhaca tú
aon rud ar bith!"

Now all the birds scream
like a brutal Babylon Berlin interrogation .

"NÍ FHACA TÚ
AON RUD AR BITH!"

Until I admit in English
"I didn't see anything at all!"

Then I wake up in terror
only it is still the dream.

I stumble through
the dream's labyrinth

and finally land on
my own two feet

arriving in
my own reality

with dream remnants
clinging to me.

"Is this the eyelash
of Shakespeare?"

"Cleopatra used hippo dung
as a face mask?"

"The oldest goldfish
lived to the ripe old age of 43."

Yesterday's morning TV is
alas still alive within me.

I listen to
"My tears in blue paint."

I groggily stir the porridge
and make a weak cup of Earl Grey.

Wot? Me!
"Ní fhaca  mé aon rud ar bith!"

coming from the spatial, rather than the temporal position
of the reinvention of the cartesian
unit, i.e. res locus...
  the following can only be based in germanic:
dasien... i.e. there-being...
                   well, the english answer would sound
                             like the following:         there's being;
there, is, being;  **** me, that's seriously frankenstein like;
all it says though, is: there's existence
  to speak of... if it needs to be spoken of...
                    but the concept of res cogitans
   has to be replaced by something new...
   given the existentialists, esp. the germans,
it can only come about via heidegger's concept of dasein...
hence, me, at the bith of the 21st century...
   conceptualised as res locus equivalent
to expressing 24 / 7 news coverage...
     oh the thinking thing is relevant... but in the beginning
of the 21st century... you simply need to "locate" it...
you have to state the aversion to heidegger's dasien /
being there...       temporal...
            via                    there's being...     spatial;
             alternatively hand-in-hand with indiana jones
                 covering the happenings of, and in, the third *****.

Stars, crisp in the deep plot
pulling off, late snow clouds
clean themselves
The river lets loose the carp,
coughs beneath its frozen part

Drippings on the roof hit the gutter
Ice branches ripped off in wind are waterborne
In the house, a rim of cheese is quiet
There is a chunk of lard to be rendered

I should hang pails on the trees and wait for sugar
I want to tie off the time like a bith cord
chewed broken in a proud woman's teeth
My navel is gone, the moon up,
in a month or two my hands will be in pain

Ever believe there will be someone asking something from her