"hillsborough" poems - Hello Poetry

so, with israel being re-established... why do we, us,hit europeans... even need to bother establishing authority, utilißing the new testament? i quiete like the old testament logic of: oculus per oculus (eye for an eye)... because the saxon concept of justice: i rather see... the implosion of blackstone's formulation... the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10 ratio of... a shawshank redemption... there is... redemption... since! there's no justice within the post scriptum of the hillsborough disaster... watching people walk, the lunatic walk, 20 years later? disorientated by the court of justice? re-dem-ption... the whole aspect of: innocent until proven guilty is horrid! this... saxon vernacular of that branch of philosophy that's bogus... namely... within origins of the forbidden fruit... i.e. and you know?! really?! no... but i'll **** to make a standing pivot of a pawn on a chess-board. savvy? who, among the europeans... actually needs such artifacts as new testament texts, credo, orthodoxy, sign of the cross greek exports? the state of israel has been re-established... i don't want anything to do with this judeo-grecian banality... you can have you little affair over n e w s... don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm watching... people tell a lie... yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum... am i, or are there any arizona inbreds? who, the hell, needs, the news testament, within the confines of history, dispossessing europe of it, of an established jewish state? one book among many... hence the scent of a yawn... when entering a library... i'll do one gesture, and one gesture alone... inclined to a replica... ecce libra! i wash my hands from having any investment in it. **** the greeks can have it... they can keep it, cherish it, but they better not spaghetti the old testament with their... "ingenious" plot... not when the nag hammadi library emerged... no... not now... not ever... i detest this greek book of overt symbolism... their pristine alphabet, their diacritical application, with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf... or blind... whichever it is... sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch... of inflated... soft... flesh? i'll rip your heart out and feed it to my neighbour's dog, beside a bowl of water.

0

Jul 24, 2018

Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

ecce libra! re-emergence of israel **** liber)

so, with israel being re-established... why do we, us,hit europeans... even need to bother establishing authority, utilißing the new testament? i quiete like the old testament logic of: oculus per oculus (eye for an eye)... because the saxon concept of justice: i rather see... the implosion of blackstone's formulation... the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10 ratio of... a shawshank redemption... there is... redemption... since! there's no justice within the post scriptum of the hillsborough disaster... watching people walk, the lunatic walk, 20 years later? disorientated by the court of justice? re-dem-ption... the whole aspect of: innocent until proven guilty is horrid! this... saxon vernacular of that branch of philosophy that's bogus... namely... within origins of the forbidden fruit... i.e. and you know?! really?! no... but i'll **** to make a standing pivot of a pawn on a chess-board. savvy? who, among the europeans... actually needs such artifacts as new testament texts, credo, orthodoxy, sign of the cross greek exports? the state of israel has been re-established... i don't want anything to do with this judeo-grecian banality... you can have you little affair over n e w s... don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm watching... people tell a lie... yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum... am i, or are there any arizona inbreds? who, the hell, needs, the news testament, within the confines of history, dispossessing europe of it, of an established jewish state? one book among many... hence the scent of a yawn... when entering a library... i'll do one gesture, and one gesture alone... inclined to a replica... ecce libra! i wash my hands from having any investment in it. **** the greeks can have it... they can keep it, cherish it, but they better not spaghetti the old testament with their... "ingenious" plot... not when the nag hammadi library emerged... no... not now... not ever... i detest this greek book of overt symbolism... their pristine alphabet, their diacritical application, with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf... or blind... whichever it is... sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch... of inflated... soft... flesh? i'll rip your heart out and feed it to my neighbour's dog, beside a bowl of water.

86

The year I would turn nine Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved. Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire. There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo and Christy O’Connor Jnr won the Ryder Cup for Europe. (Years later playing Trivial Pursuit one of the questions wanted to know: what profession gets the Ryder Cup? — a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.) I was growing through 3rd class St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea — on the other side of Tiananmen Square another student stood up as the Guildford Four walked free after 14 years innocently incarcerated. While in Germany, a wall that had been built to divide: separate, fell. Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough. The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa Apartheid began to crumble. Pity it was allowed to even begin. Iran was ****** off about some book and on Christmas Day in Romania Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed. In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests. 96 people died at Hillsborough. Haughey was Taoiseach, Mr. Heaney was conferred as Professor of Poetry at Oxford and we qualified for Italia 90. I was 9 and the only thing I remember about that year; I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.

0

Nov 7, 2010

Nov 7, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC

miceal-kearney

Reeling in the Years

The year I would turn nine Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved. Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire. There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo and Christy O’Connor Jnr won the Ryder Cup for Europe. (Years later playing Trivial Pursuit one of the questions wanted to know: what profession gets the Ryder Cup? — a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.) I was growing through 3rd class St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea — on the other side of Tiananmen Square another student stood up as the Guildford Four walked free after 14 years innocently incarcerated. While in Germany, a wall that had been built to divide: separate, fell. Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough. The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa Apartheid began to crumble. Pity it was allowed to even begin. Iran was ****** off about some book and on Christmas Day in Romania Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed. In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests. 96 people died at Hillsborough. Haughey was Taoiseach, Mr. Heaney was conferred as Professor of Poetry at Oxford and we qualified for Italia 90. I was 9 and the only thing I remember about that year; I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.

37

The absorbent two-ply quilted southern sky was soaking up the pre-dawn rays as we were pushing our broken green four-wheeled machine southbound on Bruce B. Downs taking up the curbside lane Our shirts were becoming stained with humid profanities despite the fan blade traffic throwing a slight breeze We were slurping brackish blacktop steam from the air plodding like the Hillsborough toward our destination My mind was already sauntering back toward a broken green futon sitting in the section-eight, eviction evaded, apartment Out the window cross-bred ducks were lording over scrawny, pseudo-feral worm host cats for which the knockabout neighbors kept a litter box outside

0

Jan 20, 2011

Jan 20, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC

r-clair-marsh-1

The Hell with the Rabbits; All I See Are Gray Squirrels

The absorbent two-ply quilted southern sky was soaking up the pre-dawn rays as we were pushing our broken green four-wheeled machine southbound on Bruce B. Downs taking up the curbside lane Our shirts were becoming stained with humid profanities despite the fan blade traffic throwing a slight breeze We were slurping brackish blacktop steam from the air plodding like the Hillsborough toward our destination My mind was already sauntering back toward a broken green futon sitting in the section-eight, eviction evaded, apartment Out the window cross-bred ducks were lording over scrawny, pseudo-feral worm host cats for which the knockabout neighbors kept a litter box outside

14

This is the first moment that ever was, the crossing metal beams and glass panes, The blurred reflections of finely polished tabletops The meticulous tangles of crinkly hair in a variety of unique styles All murmur to me from a shared experience of eternity Reminding me that I should Wake up All the past is here with me Unsteady, unwieldy All the past is waiting for me to open the door and let it be free And when I do I too will be free For I am the past even more than the past is me But I too am the future As is the past But I can't let past become future If I don't WAKE UP I'll be DEAD soon Here I am, at WAKE tech* 'Twould be the height of ignorance Not to see the message Wake up. Wake up. Here I am for the first time in my life The empty branches never held life, even losing it now They are not characters of linear narratives Even the happiness of unions between me and me again They are born today, none share histories but those they've writ themselves Wake up. Remember that time, So present, It slipped away That short synchronous gateway When I broke through, When I was nearly awake. That time is not gone. Look, look down, You're wearing a t-shirt from Cup a Joe, The place where you nearly woke up Look down, your umbilical cord was cut And you lived there On Hillsborough Street, Just past Cup a Joe And a beautiful woman right above your head WORKS there, the mythic place Where you, where I nearly awoke. How absurd, to think all would decide to converge there Independently of each other It was written Before all began, And now begins Time, untime Now it begins Remember? Look down, she said "Be here, Be Here Now"--but remember? HE said Be Here Now And here I were-- There I was Impossible, yes, I know But do you really want to pretend That it matters what's POSSIBLE?

0

Nov 18, 2012

Nov 18, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC

owen-phillips

Hillsborough St

This is the first moment that ever was, the crossing metal beams and glass panes, The blurred reflections of finely polished tabletops The meticulous tangles of crinkly hair in a variety of unique styles All murmur to me from a shared experience of eternity Reminding me that I should Wake up All the past is here with me Unsteady, unwieldy All the past is waiting for me to open the door and let it be free And when I do I too will be free For I am the past even more than the past is me But I too am the future As is the past But I can't let past become future If I don't WAKE UP I'll be DEAD soon Here I am, at WAKE tech* 'Twould be the height of ignorance Not to see the message Wake up. Wake up. Here I am for the first time in my life The empty branches never held life, even losing it now They are not characters of linear narratives Even the happiness of unions between me and me again They are born today, none share histories but those they've writ themselves Wake up. Remember that time, So present, It slipped away That short synchronous gateway When I broke through, When I was nearly awake. That time is not gone. Look, look down, You're wearing a t-shirt from Cup a Joe, The place where you nearly woke up Look down, your umbilical cord was cut And you lived there On Hillsborough Street, Just past Cup a Joe And a beautiful woman right above your head WORKS there, the mythic place Where you, where I nearly awoke. How absurd, to think all would decide to converge there Independently of each other It was written Before all began, And now begins Time, untime Now it begins Remember? Look down, she said "Be here, Be Here Now"--but remember? HE said Be Here Now And here I were-- There I was Impossible, yes, I know But do you really want to pretend That it matters what's POSSIBLE?

59

Four Skin and Seven Years Ago When I was older so much older than today I needed everybody's help in oh so every way old shriveled shrunken parts quite near the tombstone row glassy eyed lawn dart throwers never ever sitting on go ghosts of Lincoln's Hillsborough shrieking for their master constant fear of letting go their hearts beating ever faster please bring me a piece of peace throw fate to the wind a sprinkling of my Fur Elise only has she never sinned Gomer LePoet...

0

Nov 29, 2013

Nov 29, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC

david-nelson

Four Skin and Seven Years Ago

Four Skin and Seven Years Ago When I was older so much older than today I needed everybody's help in oh so every way old shriveled shrunken parts quite near the tombstone row glassy eyed lawn dart throwers never ever sitting on go ghosts of Lincoln's Hillsborough shrieking for their master constant fear of letting go their hearts beating ever faster please bring me a piece of peace throw fate to the wind a sprinkling of my Fur Elise only has she never sinned Gomer LePoet...

18