"philomena" poems
-This is Nigeria,
Where Cattle’s fly their terrorism flag,
Stumping on humtydumpty green white green.
-This is Nigeria
Where corrupt QWERTY and busy ******
Puts food on the table of unemployed youths.
-This is Nigeria
Where clerics find paradise on earth
Lo! followers live as church rats withal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Eve plotted against a serpent
Hm! Mrs Philomena and her fairytale animal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Sundays are full of bibles and Qurans,
Yet her body stinks in poo of immorality.
-This is Nigeria
Where the mace is a mess in her house
As senators sleeps and vacate seats in a hearing.
-This is Nigeria
Where in Nigeria
We are looking for Nigeria.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
There is a fragility to you now,
Your hands wrinkled and cold,
Your memory fading.
I hate the talk of your death,
It hangs in the air like an icy dagger
Long after the conversation has finished.
Though I know it's inevitable it fills me with dread.
Within the walls of your house
I feel safe and comforted.
A cupán tae offered to us immediately on arrival
To the ever-welcoming 'St. Philomena's'.
The treasured home made brown bread for tea.
Your hearty laugh rings out
Through the old bungalow,
The lines in your face falling into those familiar creases.
Nothing will be the same when you leave,
The heart of this dear house will be hacked out
Leaving only our memories of you.
Thanks to you we have many of them,
Each as precious as the last
Encapsulated in a golden haze.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
every time i chew away
at my fingernails, my hands
break beneath the weight
of the blood spilt inside of these lips
they just couldn't bear the sight of open wounds
the body count, stitched into my gums
bullets aching inside my clenched teeth
there is war in my footfalls
anger in my love
it's hard to touch someone who reminds you
not to walk alone at night
and to always add laughter to a tight lipped smile, just to get along
i never wanted to be a martyr
the same way philomena never meant
to suffer because she is a bad liar
and all he sees is a noose on a ******
that is to say suffering, comes to the ones with stone cold tongues
and all that really means is love me
so diocletian subjected young philomena
to scourgings, she survived
drowning, she was too good at holding her breath
arrows, they went right through her
and then decapitation
there's no coming back from that one
secretly he simply loved
to see her in pain
she refused to eat her words as she praised him
she just refused to eat her words
so she never praised him
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
This may serve no purpose
I don't wanna make you nervous
I just wanna make you think
Summer will be over before you blink
You see, I am just a pile of ashes, trying to rise from the floor
And you are just a magician playing with your trap doors
Revolving as I'm dissolving as you're evolving
Well I went searching for big bad love
When a demon landed on my doorstep with a thud
It told me not to worry 'bout the cosmic hierarchy
My lotus flower angel's still stuck in the mud
And Philomena wasn't around to catch me when I fell down
So I dove into the fires of the moon's cold underground
All the colors and the echoes of my dreams resided there
All my superwomen and all my nightmares
You casually say, let's go downtown
But I'm not a free agent, I am bound
By a force you could never understand
So please don't take my photograph, just take my hand
But I don't wanna make you nervous
And I probably don't deserve this
I am just trying to make you think
Before this pen runs out of ink
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
*** is good for health,
I was told
I remember the other night in the room
Alone with Philomena since noon
She allured me with her inflated 'balloon'
and I couldn't resist dancing to her tune.
For the first time fantasies met reality, I smiled
People get encountered with the Holy Spirit
But mine?
Mine was with a woman I had no license to touch.
My sulky dependency on God was laid to rest
As soon as I got Philomena undressed
Now, we were going to have more than just glimpse
We tossed and turned in our plight
Our mission was to satisfy ourselves until the sun shows light
I turned her around, sat up and kissed her
With delight, I made her ride on top of me
Moaning and whimpering was our ****** instrument
A frictional force was created
from each of our bodies as the hours passed by
Lying still, my breath caught up in my chest
It seemed like the voyage
had taken forever
and also just begun – all at the same time
After the 'genging and banging' had settled
and Philomena was deeply asleep,
My anxieties were also put to sleep
I opened the window,
Turned to Philomena, and in sorrow, gripped the pillow.
The stupidity in me had traded my dignity for shame before my God
It was the night I cursed myself
What to tell my creator is still left scrambled
*** is good for health, I was told
Having it with the right person
And at the right time, I never listened
Science and reasoning taught me the former
But the Bible... Jesus prefers the latter
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC
Like a pack of dogs lounging
in minutes, minutes, minutes, eyeing an endless treacle.
it’s worth the shot.
what is?
I heard he went into a crash,
and that Rey went into the deep blue dreaming of
fins and fish – that ******* Brenn was up in the hills.
it’s a wonderful day to fill this space with the electric frill
of laughter. Open that Emperador held loose in that
cheap, slender bottle. That’s worth the stipend, in exchange for
light – clarity, be it crass, and unsoundly. These ungodly hours
will form a God, trying to go home, slurring, shaking in his gait,
hailing a trisikad or a tricycle back to Philomena’s arms.
it was a magnificent day – you know it is. The squalid canals
are filled with the ******* under the care of a tyrant.
Jon looks like he’s cut up for matrimony. We jeer and give out
no jell so as to ridicule him into chaining himself to a passing.
Empyrean is the mood now: all primed for the blackened chapel’s chase
down the pews towards recognizing the smallest children inside ourselves.
This moment is far from over. Like a skipping Betamax. A gramophone
clamped in the kinked note lost somewhere in the sound byte,
try this matrix for the forgotten. Tomorrow we will curse ourselves
for the proud challenge, rivaling ourselves in the process.
Like dogs in heat. Like dogs aching to **** Like dogs
garroted by the selfish hands of the neighbor. Like old bones
sleeping in troves we have forgotten.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is)
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Jun 15, 2023
Jun 15, 2023 at 6:46 PM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE
red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it
sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."
he turns right
into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes
the false teeth
then turning left into Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES
here in its run down state
though still shining
in its fictionality
soon they will knock it down
and what will the tourists
do then poor things
sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door
will live again
some streets
away again
ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
(Philomena her name is)
a cottage cheese
with pineapple
on a Weetabix base
it is a 16th of June
somewhere
in the 80's
as I retrace
my own earlier
Joycean footsteps
rat-a-tat-tat
on Bloom's door
"Are ya there Leopold?"
but the bold Leopold
doesn't answer
the 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
the sun smirks
at such
Joyceisms
"I am, a stride of a time
very short space of time
through very short times of space."
a horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by timelessly
ahhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the audible."
my Molly
who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
***
For Jemmy de Joist whose day the 16th always us and the words give him their gifts. This is my little bit of living in his moment and walking the streets he walked.
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 7:31 AM UTC