Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Yeats: O
My God!
You.. make us laugh & laugh.

People around me think i'm mad;
believe you advised me on ignorance.

That's the trouble you see
ignorance, plain pure stupidity!

Idiotic nickampoop that I am - said suzan.

I don't have a clue what you're saying
to me. Is it possible to translate
your rambling poetic ode into 21st century
English, dearest?

An english de-cap, out of the question get it edited for a minor fraction
of clarity would be too much to ask?


What a shocker, one letter English
t'other english, undercover, Bondy
doing the biz, stress- metrical genius
you is, suzan. I watch you twist,
this is the place for it,
where i live suz suzzy scuzzy suzan.

Don't you see gods in the sidhe troop
tripping from treetop to bole
on midsummer's night, suzan?

The sidhe of Munster's Aine
that is beyond all comprehension
or analysis dearest one, silken cipher,
Muse of a contemporary sage
and dreamer pleading for Love's stay
against hatred and mis-direction?

Only in this calm pool sidhe thoughts
are free, outed in the utterance
after misery, wo/men i love
more than He, Sir, Lord talking bullshit
of honour and respect, freedom and
speech, which is but a placebo
for the swell of grief which rose within
when a kicking fom an imperialist
- whose rage against the simple
countryman and his banner for freedom -
fell in the moment his mindset was pricked,
latent in the rain on saturday dearest.

For now we have found it, what words
can convey the magnitude of abstract beauty
One is capable of making, that dare
not proclaim for fear of what others think
the Poet alone will love.

I know you do not care for me as i do you
myriad of life, prism of moonstruck hope, luna
force that guides me as i rite through time
life; existence a comedic phantasm of wish
gathering fancy,

trope above conceit, selfless goddess of the straight
bowled knowledge from Tir na Og, land of eternal
life where age and death break not the resident,
sidhe lennane, you whoever one wants her to be.

Please be faithful to me, midsummer moment
of love proven in the return of silence saying
more than a thousand words, a million pictures
of your image, competitive reject outfacing
what passes for winners in the black and white age
of brutal rite and uniform wrong as thought cops
gather round a water cooler dearest.

Fear, career a lesson, who won
the tree of a literate bardic,
branch for his native english poetry,
flamer sweeping 'cross the keypad,
writing goidelic-hiberno-english?

A fourth generation mimesis-invention,
who got switched, and deprogrammed
a colonial mind in the native tongue.

It's time for the party, who wants to come?


Laughs suzan

orbiting the blog-sphere,
proud knowing arch not yet designed...


we can develop a dream here woozy.
I love you but the eye descending,
is a spell cast saying we must stay de-capped,
say less, keep silent in an open-line of thread,

excite the flame beyond comprehension,
glad it stopped. Now we can relax suzzy
love; silly wonky zonk flaming everyone.

Am i leader yet? Has the crown stopped droning,

Is it retracting?

Here, play suzzy, get scuzzy and zonk with Ophra
and jfk in them thare hills; we love them too suzan


Are you hot yet?
Get randy not nea mah hot nose suzan.

Be not a dancer from Alnwick but a butterfly,
flutter and flit to Cumbrian moor and Yorkshire
dale, pale Indonesian goddess.

Ever bin binned off?

Slit to the slush pile where we are minting
Gertrude again?

What's in a name randy hot nose,
riddle me that, zonkladim, what's in ones;
nomen, nothing whatsoever suzan?

Do yourself a favour randy hot nose, no cold
can come, love pup of effluent, aint it so?


To be fair to - though god knows you be
nought but a total bastard to me now dearest,
in May you will star in ones' ouevre
at the Cuisle.

Come on down, there is a festival on
and a lot will be happening; a gathering of gobs
caring not that Clare were humbled
in the All Island final when Munster's sidhe

Aine's mob - An Mhumhain mooing in the wilderness -
told us what odds of the whirring blade severed
an ash plant, an axe, the hunt, hound and champion
word-raider eyeing the moment of her main chance

O talentless money grubber whose business
is keeping out of work.


Which seems a fair
appraisal; if it is true, that the two are different,
being amatuer and pro. Is that wot you is on
about suazan, please let me know.

O and please, ms, miss please de-mist
yesterday you made happen..we need to meet,

come to the show in a couple of weeks
and bring a fee of utter acknowledgement
mistress. Mein host Suzy, sidhe flitting
unanswering this plea, post a link
Or I'll set free my three card pack of war dogs
with imperial scores to settle.

Dethrone a few top boasters, best and scalp
a magus. Be unique. Play the inverse
reverse the word and joy it up there flamer
trolling Polish shop-women being very beautiful,

incredible stunner-dump for ex beauty queens
and gangs of them warring men
in a fight for sex, invasion and raid of emotional
blackmail. Be the new troll at the rite bore
academy, a distant thesis, the pause in beckett,
discuss it again..


It was not setanta
churchill, cuhullain
mick collins, connacht
leinster, munster, ulster
who picked the winning myth,
glorious and great all
connecting civilisation of the
setantii in south west
lancashire. The brython
behind romana-celtic
cromwell and sloppy bob
marley living as the ineluctable
robert the rasta we love
spirit swimming nought but truth.


Returning hope
prove my salvation.
and remember how glad
success is. Do not remember
a tree pole sitting in a hearth,
free around the kitchen table
the morning we parted, tousled
hair, teasing locks in the moment
my eye conquered the maiden
laughing, Annette.

Arm around you all night mocking
naieve and gloriously irreverent.

What chance did we have of winning
dearest Annette?

Afterwards you couldn't keep yourself
in bubbly, the girl i found who loves me.


We met via matchmaker
a content wife and blind watchmaker
satisfied till together at last, we waited
in the machine - like one ghost too - and
any objection was mine, perhaps, Annette.


Dunno, suzy woozy jackaboozy bubble
bubble boil and trouble.
Explode in the stone riven sytax ted
went on about; the colouring in of reality
reaching into a demanding sky,
where vengeful gods thwart and best
all our plan, scheme, doings and yet still
terrible ted's beauty is here, syl - for ted
was no mug, but a man who women killed
themselves over.

A tall order we all agree, is too too poetical
it just had to be, the bio tells us; but
who cares about the kids now Annette?


An all island deciding straightner in croke
park, on the cobbles of a comment box
in virtual reality, what a palava, what speed
the sliotar, a cork the inner, outer its leather,
and the world's fastest field team sport
in terms of game play makes a head of loving
sense, the rest forgotten as sidhe troops
muster, call the air of very utterance,

all very lovely
supremely sedate
the arena filling
with face price prince and princess
king knave, ace and a fictional chimera
nailed beneath in Lir mac Manannan's sea well,
and later; goon filled air debating an assassin
south munster sword, a quarter deasmuhuman
three part Connachta, one sidhe wan
in the lost angel light... ..erm what am I
on about lovely one laureate so slender in fern
lauded with the lapidary grace of gallowglass
and kern..


Mandy motion one
more time
uptight be not,
but mine tonite
at the sixth
former disco..

away with yer
twaddle of Ted
gassing kids
it was not him
but the missus
warning us of
Ted being level
ten in Goethes'
spectral theory
of colouring in the
bastard dernier
at the terminus of myth.

In his disorder flitting
utterly hateful
sodding shite, c'mon
c'mon kids
sing of a bastard
Edward the bard
fallow amaranth colouring in git,
fits in a little cauldron of tragic
comedy not yet salivating
at the prospect of nutting a Bohsfan

Dalymount - Phibsboro - Ahern's manor,
Croker - a nutter stalking him whose
not there, and a Collesium shrunk
to the barest of nubs, bluntest of hints
and toughest of love at the All Ireland final.

A decider. What a shocker!! A moment of myth
in the European home of iron age literate practice,
for they who keep an eye on where a sliotar lives
as it zips from hurl to hurl through the air, sidhe
troop leaping from ash to ash since history began,
gave us a game of unbroken lineage, encoded
unforgotten in natural "no shit,"

in an ash hurl measured just up to the hip.


Oh what a lovely jackboot and flicknife
of intellects we have gathered for our goatherding
quest to find what fictional chimera is boast
to be bested.

May I suggest we get a book on the go?
What's the odds on predicting history and inversing
reality, to Tipperary 20 Clare Nil?

Work it out genius, ms aquamariness
I love water and will one day return
to the earth like ted the spacer

suicide magnet who had reality to work with.
I've got none, but it aint half fun,
sidhe all around us, Her guardian fluxing in natural
ash-hurl, hip cork and leather.


Thats all there is, the squarest of poloygons,
four zones and spiral too, with a three card trick
from the unequalled myth, source of wonderment
to all but the archest of spacer who dabbles not
in a dark art of surreality..but Dante's coat
on a sound-hook well angled and jangling music
from an oak of two blossoms.

Sidhe host sleep, yet deeply awake, not one stone
asks the question of quotidian being, life loss, Love
be here tonight with me dearest.....


LentenStuffe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Background Artist said...

Lets hear the voice knob-breath. You might read like a botched abortion on the page, but can you suspend time and space with the voice alone?

Weave the air to a sweet ribbon breeze and tie your audience in knots of longing?

I doubt it toss pot. You read like a si;ent aural only timid fawn who wouldn't say boo to a lampost in the flesh. Come on, have you got the bottle to step from nehind the silnce and go live on air?

LentenStuffe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Background Artist said...

Dearest sean

Is it you O lenten stuffed with hate? Love petal love.

Do not go gentle into the black hole of irrellevance
moan moan, be a boring git areshole
- deeply uninventive
slagger, imagination of the third
rate hack. Why dance
like a meff in drag hanging round
a talented verse-smith
knowing how to sing of love, share
share, c'mon and stand
make sweet faithful airs the sound
not all this shit,
pathetic word-smith. Let the word
guide your crap hand
rage no more my sean nos hound..

LentenStuffe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.