tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-155525542012-01-25T18:25:06.798+02:00Banned from most literary blogs. Read here what other luvvies don't let appear in their forums.Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.comBlogger2501100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-15938241239982047562011-11-18T03:52:00.009+02:002011-11-29T19:13:40.919+02:00

SANDINOS BAR WATER STREET, DERRY WEDNESDAY 7TH DECEMBER 8PMThe FINAL is finally here! On 7TH DECEMBER 2011 @ 8PM (SHARP! SHARP!! SHARRRRRRPPPP!!!), eight of the country's best slammer poets (all winners and runners-up in the 2011 regional heats) will go head-to-head in a fast & furious contest, the winner will emerge with the underground-prestigious title of All-Ireland Poetry Slam champion

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-81121990261247435642011-11-01T20:19:00.014+02:002011-11-03T11:47:34.763+02:00

Carol Rumens published an opinion blog on the Guardian today, that labelled the president-elect Michael D. Higgins's poetry as 'mad-dog-shite', on the strength of one poem: When Will My Time Come?The provocativly titled blogpost, Michael D. Higgins is no Poet, read as if it had been dashed off in ten minutes, and ended:The Northern Irish poets have a phrase for rubbish poetry. I first heard it

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-46604747850313781102011-10-21T17:03:00.028+02:002011-10-22T07:21:53.479+02:00

Several commentators on recent books blogs have said they'd like to see a discussion of Roddy Lumsden's poetry, and PotW's own MeltonMowbray posted a request earlier this year. So for this week's poem, I've chosen one of my favourites from Lumsden's latest collection, Terrific Melancholy. I hope aficiandos and new readers alike will enjoy the elegiac virtuosity of "Square One."Panning shots of

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-49505829517185886032011-07-04T20:11:00.004+02:002011-07-04T20:33:24.953+02:00

This blog comment was too 'off topic' and declined publication on the blogs of Katy Evans Bush, Carrie Etter, Jane Holland and Rob McKenzie, during the earliest round in the current Poetry Society War, two weeks ago. Carriet Etter wrote a blog asking for information about what had been happening at the PS, and welcomed anonymous comments. This was due to many poets being too fearful to write

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-64543938774198958172011-01-29T10:06:00.011+02:002011-01-30T05:09:02.128+02:00

Everybody is dishevelled in Dublin,situated in a comedy, the unwritten pagesof a novel-haired voodist, secret chroniclesof colonial embarrassment, fiction and Latinsorrow, parenthetical pitches, hidden coverttill it shows in our face, the bleached regret,wide-winged stanzas, memoirs gusting openthe American eye in us, watching the deepQuixotic shake of a great invisible charge,some

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-22202981769550265752011-01-24T05:28:00.008+02:002011-01-24T05:59:23.536+02:00

IISpider, spider, twisting tight--But the watch is wary beneath the pillow--I am afraid in the web of nightWhen the window is fingered by the shadows ofbranches,When the lions roar beneath the hillAnd the meter clicks and the cistern bubblesAnd the gods are absent and the men are still--Noli me tangere, my soul is forfeit.Some now are happy in the hive of home,Thigh over thigh and a light in the

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-72160647417725474512010-12-26T16:44:00.004+02:002011-01-03T03:30:43.227+02:00

Happy Stephen's day.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-30038150383908160602010-12-09T12:26:00.011+02:002010-12-11T12:15:14.898+02:00

...he’s so crooked he sleeps on a spiral staircase, so thoroughly corrupt everytime he smiles an angel gets gonorrhea. He’s had so many facelifts his face has moved to the top of his head and you have to get on a stepladder to watch him lie. And you can't trust any of them. We all think we are very rational and very secular, but we make gods, all the time.Everyone went apeshit when Barack Obama

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-32228189545537377262010-12-08T01:28:00.010+02:002010-12-08T02:04:30.443+02:00

STILL LIFE: THE TABLEChaosAll muddled upA glass of teaSome cupsSome potsAnd get a fresh lookat what's lying there --This is the shadowof the shadow ofa candlestick!A piece of paper& a can in bluegreenbrownblackwhite &copperAn ash tray witha pipe stem& a very heavy bookin blue & yellowwith something that looks browninside a black canAnd the candle there!The light! The light! And a mist around them

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-72911317601386170372010-12-01T01:13:00.054+02:002010-12-05T03:25:48.651+02:00

Ireland Is by Shirley Chance Ireland is an on-the-road machineIreland is so far gone from Joyce's DublinIreland is Cúchulainn with a hurleyIreland is EnglishIreland is Tír na nÓgIreland is a ghost estateIreland is a gloc pointed at someone's sonIreland is a teen-brained new-age lap dancerIreland is veins, butterfat with broadband& self hatred.Ireland is an on-the-road machineIt's

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-44616448156067778322010-10-21T23:16:00.000+02:002010-10-21T23:17:39.192+02:00

SPEAKING WITH ANGEL (NICK HORNBY) DEAD AS DOORNAIL (ANTHONY CRONIN)SARSAPARILLA (MF DOOM) by citōg

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-82016508944854416742010-10-17T05:13:00.005+02:002010-12-06T01:33:26.465+02:00

Unpublished Writer's EpistleDearly beloved Brian Cowen, thisIs sent to thank you for the cheese& a euro price that greatly fell,We hope your bonds are doing well& tell us please, we're none the wiser,What happened to our Celtic tiger,You say it was the People's faultThat all now has come to a halt.We thank you for the bailout loanIt’s good to know we’re not alone& we’ll pay it back, and then some

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-80284070958912476932010-09-22T20:52:00.004+02:002010-12-05T08:38:40.784+02:00

Always she's falling over inside never reaching the end, a hammer smashing thin translucent glass thin as the whispering fragilepromise she walks alone with, knowingonly outside, never feeling innever seeing through the surface of half-hearted smiles and loose passing nods, silent voices lost,her eye-acknowledged madness pleading in a basket by the doorshe walks past without mouthinggoodbyeinto

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-92110061985895995362010-07-01T19:02:00.004+02:002010-07-01T19:12:43.653+02:00

Acting as if one is five and not a multimillionaire diva, acting why knews all alongers and proper collapsing after-turns and memory blockers, all the ballkickers page is a blog and we the doggerelist in Letters on it, verse in iambic pentamenter, gurning for a prize of sand 'n choonz.After Banksy.What if Nothumberland poetry, is secular prayer and the combined psychic weight of cerebral wishing

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-24371723076521552592010-06-28T14:56:00.005+02:002010-06-28T15:34:21.422+02:00

Dear England F.C.I am writing to congratulate you on your recent success in the South Africa World Cup 2010. This year you showed great promise and potential, acted as role-models for an entire country and were a credit to your parents and not least, your own hard work playing soccer.I have many friends who support you in a very passionate relationship some are claiming now, after you left; is

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-33390793219894646482010-06-21T03:37:00.008+02:002010-06-21T19:55:18.889+02:00

Mary Hynes(The most beautiful woman in the West. Padraic Fallon translation of the Anthony Raftery poem)That Sunday, on my oath, the rain was a heavy overcoaton a poor poet; and when the rain began in fleecesof water to buck-leap like a goat, I was only a walkingpenence reaching Kiltartanand there so suddenly that my cold spine broke outon the arch of my back in a rainbow;this woman surged out of

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-49907666726423386802010-06-11T13:12:00.010+02:002010-06-11T13:42:53.651+02:00

(From the Herschel Space Observatory)The image shows most of the cloud associated with the Rosette nebula, located about 5,000 light-years from Earth in the constellation Monoceros, the Unicorn. The region contains a family of growing stars, with the oldest and most massive members in the center of the nebula, and younger and less massive generations located farther out in the associated cloud.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-77196175058870096902010-05-27T02:21:00.002+02:002010-05-27T02:25:15.544+02:00

Got up and went down Oliver Bond to get some smack - mainlined trainlined fein-times 'n all over in a rat a ta tat - the voices in me ed makin it all go wibbly jibbly yoo yah - then thinkin - dunno why it's been so long - p'raps it's just the superstrong cider - wuffle truffle miffle moffling 'n that wiv Al 'n Lol over at the jiscmail poetry site, doin a bitta bullyin of the sexist, racist

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-37877750947870200772010-04-30T06:42:00.011+02:002010-05-01T02:09:17.859+02:00

In January 2001 at the age of 33, I started writing; and by March of that year had decided to jack in life as a London admin drudge, reading and writing all day as an unqualified paralegal; deciding instead that it was better to be reading and writing what I wanted, rather than filling my head with the information I was taking on at the office.I'd been wanting to write for a year and more, after

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-82960572862133724102010-04-13T09:16:00.005+02:002010-04-30T07:05:12.103+02:00

POh, three-handedly preternatural smoothnessSligo - Achonry, Aclare - Ballaghnatrillick, Ballinafad,Skreen, Strandhill - Tourlestrane, TubbercurryEiru Fodhla and Banbha, the triplicate GoddessRoyal Tuatha De Danann queens and married.Mayo - Attymass, Belcarra, Belmullet, BoholaAchill to salmon, Finton of Ballina, AssaroeAnd Ballinrobe, Ballintober, Ballycastle, BallyhaunisBallyglass, Ballyvary,

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-36029937710477019592010-04-12T09:08:00.010+02:002010-04-12T09:23:00.838+02:00

Poe, Humboldt, Pope and Coleridge, Bacon, Shelley, Parkeand Greene - Bryant, Lincoln, Fremont, Cooper, AlexLangston and Charles BernsteinRudge and Whalen, Wilde and Blaser, Hamilton, GodwinNietzsche and Gay - Whittier, Garrison, Ticknor, CreeleyWashington, Horace and WittgensteinSamuel Beckett, Alan Ginsberg, Henry Adams, Lowelland Leigh - Corbiere, Wilberforce, Longfellow, MatthiessenSilliman,

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-41340655101244818212010-04-11T02:22:00.010+02:002011-11-27T00:36:30.147+02:00

Memory.My thoughts are clear like a crystal fountain,As a river runs with a breeze: come to the edgeAnd seek out the forest, come to the forestAnd seek out the tree. Over yonder lies the oceanWith waves that will carry you over the mountainsof Time to the foothills of Dream.We sail with the full moon and we will fly overThe silent sea; for the music is our dreamingAnd the dreaming is our song,

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-15773550770004514752010-04-09T19:40:00.014+02:002010-04-12T09:20:41.227+02:00

The poet below is Ailsing Fox.I heard her first in 2004, not long after I'd arrived in Dublin in search of something. An 'itch' and poetic kink had led me there, armed with only a photocopy of the final results from a Building Studies and Drama BA, and a bill for several outstanding sums from the student hardship fund I'd been unwilling and unable to repay.One's exit velocity from Edge Hill

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-21203565745535985082010-03-06T20:19:00.004+02:002010-03-06T22:41:51.284+02:00

I've just been watching a news-video on the Guardian website English Defence League march in London.The opposing, anti-facist marchers, are a mix of black and white, both genders and lots of non-accented voices, chanting:We are black, we are white, together we are dynamite.The EDL chant:'England till I die, England till I die, I know I am I'm sure I am I'm England till I die.'A black man in the

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-35227855138064212972010-02-19T08:13:00.000+02:002010-02-19T08:14:11.411+02:00

Crop Circles Message For Human Race DecodedUploaded by ufoblogger. - Explore more science and tech videos.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-43013867204201546182010-01-18T21:25:00.009+02:002010-01-19T00:54:21.480+02:00

There are some achingly mental thought-pictures and scenes in those eloquent sentences; useful because bodies live in constant flux and borrowed forms that are transitory; the same beloved name a language-ghost we ourselves inhabit; the eight-four-two-one persons in a derbfine and temporary matter chained by this present mind, to inherited form of bodies and people disappearing in sequence, each

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-35032318848475714942010-01-03T21:57:00.000+02:002010-01-03T21:59:02.680+02:00

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-54830941872477762292009-12-02T07:39:00.016+02:002009-12-17T01:15:04.527+02:00

Being very much a minority art-form since time immemorial, all one can hope for is to create well, that which appears, here and in the applications with which literature's delivered to a minimum six hundred million of us who speak, read and write the quarrel within ourself that is..this experience of a container and lens, mind and consciousness presenting itself: us in what we construct, demolish

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-16862272879846013642009-11-21T19:38:00.020+02:002009-11-23T08:22:46.846+02:00

"Ireland had chances at Croke Park and in Paris but didn’t take them. France were there for the taking but Ireland never grabbed it – as usual. They were afraid of that next step and were mentally not strong enough. They can complain all they want. That is not going to change anything. France are going to the World Cup – get over it. They want sympathy as usual. It is the usual carry on and it is

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-18944180164948184742009-10-28T04:42:00.009+02:002009-11-21T12:42:23.145+02:00

Congratulations to Craigavon's Séamus Fox for securing the first prize winnings of 200 euro at last night's All Ireland Poetry Slam Championships, in the Crane Bar, Galway.Second was Stephen Murray from Cork and now resident in Galway.It was all good fun and more about the doing than the winning. Judging poetry and performance is an on-the-night lottery, and often the difference between first

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-77682821280611361442009-08-15T23:51:00.018+02:002009-08-16T01:47:03.566+02:00

Along the flight-path of angels was a village called Poetrywhere stir the artful dawn-dropped moments picturedthree floors above a flat centre of what green coldsweat, threatening to tear out your eyes, as lust, bushelledunder a thick rain, pitch black, no flickering spotlightin the earth's ceiling this morning:"not the scars of your childhood and childbearing, not the birthmarks and blemishes of

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-86604756591493338022009-08-02T09:18:00.008+02:002009-08-02T09:31:51.452+02:00

TAZZSometimes, at night the same darkness shares the same tablewe pull this swollen current across: this river, this stream and oceanof memory where lines cast as if, not by you who keeps us barelybreathing at dawn, but this climate; always the same warm windby a river, and walking this river, or any river, whether the Rhineor la Plata, a depth wisest in the widest dark of the world, closedwhere

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-11338308252327345212009-07-12T01:41:00.018+02:002009-07-12T02:26:47.663+02:00

Conceptualist Tony Gormley, a substantially subsidised intellectual ex-public schoolboy and deep thinking sculptor whose rusty works supply a metaphor for all that is (not) new, exciting, shared, (or) inclusive in Britain, and whose conceptually common experience of Britain mediated through the mind of an artist who can empathise with the average Briton so much they attract £140,000 of gambling

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-82241111408256073872009-07-09T02:44:00.008+02:002009-07-09T03:25:34.394+02:00

What is the Muse but Memory of a great tradition, Finnegas and Finn McCool speaking the meaning of *éces* - which the modern Irish word for poetry, *éigse* routes to.Éces is an Old Irish word which the word *poetry* as we understand it today doesn’t really capture. In the most basic of sense it means the nuts and bolts of knowledge.~Mnemosyne, the original Greek muse, the etymology rooting to a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-2806614791814920072009-06-15T22:35:00.006+02:002009-06-15T22:48:02.604+02:00

At five pastTuesdaycelebral lunaticstalking of relevanceon art boardsin cyberspacegather soundclaiming to makepatterns of exchangewhich createa number of truthsthat show their commitmentto concrete expressionby anchoring sensein earth-bound imageswithin the contextof modernity.She listenstransfixedhypnotisedby the weightof voicesandtests a theoryof howto picturemeaningby measuringthe

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-5610078778399387232009-05-31T13:15:00.003+02:002009-05-31T13:21:37.433+02:00

I just received an e mail which is both laughable and interesting as it raises a fundamental question about Freedom of Speech:Dear Background Artist:I just ran across your article entitled Guest Poet: CAD Laureate, posted on May 6, 2009, http://irishpoetry.blogspot.com/2009/05/guest-poet-cad-laureate.html, and I would like to raise an issue that is of concern to Selling Power magazine, which is

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-71497694251115019072009-05-20T23:05:00.007+02:002009-05-21T00:02:20.417+02:00

The 14 psuedo-autobiographical second world war books of 91 year old Danish author Sven Hassel, (translated into 19 languages), stands up to numerous re-readings. Danish, he joined the German army, he claims, because it was easier than getting to England and joining the army there.He deserted and when caught, was put in a penal tank regiment made up of "criminals and dissidents" and the material

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-87167864659349593272009-05-16T20:55:00.001+02:002009-05-16T20:57:23.431+02:00

Rupert Brooke was dreadfull borewho never wanted da de da morede da de da de da de da da andwho wrote with a rubbish handde da de da de da because hecould not write for effin toffeeAnd now here he is held up highTo us the plebs, as high as skyJust because he could rhymeBut not do enjament ever at allWhich even a ten year old cande da de da de da da da da andso we have him now as the man.~Dear

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-58982871952921223312009-05-11T19:10:00.009+02:002009-05-17T18:25:30.583+02:00

EyeletFor GillianDecommissioned by sleepI wrestle a dream’s surface tensionto near breaking point-disarmed in her weightless arms.*Housed in a natural tiltlike an unstoppable riverlooping through a slope’s eyelet;my laced-up touchskims her impalpable rush.*Her ghost-lipsmeet and partmy transparency.~Adam Rudden was born in 1983 in London to Irish Parents. He has been living in Dublin since 1986

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-24269817546983270912009-05-07T01:42:00.004+02:002009-05-07T02:11:01.169+02:00

I was never a rugby fan. I hated it. Rugby was a shite game for thickos.The rules were more baffling than cricket. A load of fat fellas huddling into each other every two minutes, throwing in and lifting each other into the air and all in all, utter wank.Then i got a number stewarding at Lansdowne Road when i was dossing in Dublin's premier homeless hostel.It was a uniquely Irish set up. There

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-54025354422048752312009-05-06T02:48:00.013+02:002009-05-06T04:42:57.907+02:00

***We love the English, IrishScottish and Welshbut not the Britonpreaching imperialism.***Trevor the Tramp***Carol Anne Duffy is a much cannier choice for Poet Laureate of Britain than the previous incumbent.A red brick gal, more or less polytechnic class, who knows how to parry and jab; how to stick the stilleto in and make herself the centre of things with a few choice words her supporters in

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-18996650371459812202009-05-05T00:40:00.009+02:002009-05-06T04:15:09.776+02:00

Rooms. Writing-rooms writers reconnoitre and delve into, in search of some spine-tingling inspiration begotten by chancing upon notebooks, draft manuscripts, pens and even the clothes of everyday wear our scriptural gods and goddeses wore as they peered through inward windows contemporary literate polity rotates out from and into. Revealing day to day around this business of being human we all

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-53799952338589779932009-05-01T21:55:00.003+02:002009-05-01T22:00:54.400+02:00

Birds, the symbol of our souls and deeply embedded in myth and mystical literature the world over, represent the ultimate freedom a poet can attain upon qualifying after their course yields - in original voice long imitative study and practice sets free to sing in its own note -- a spread of wings spanning the spectrum of skill and artistry needed to swim out amongst one's peers and capture the

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-24667038080266533902009-05-01T01:18:00.004+02:002009-05-01T01:31:30.820+02:00

The day begins at dawnJust before the rush of pure cut chit chit chattingets surround sound switch on boiling into life.They’re talking on the sofaTripping out celebritelly voices and whipping up instructionsthat are pointing all directionssending out to the brainwave central spacebehold no loss or trace in space becausebecause; the tv told us soto listen watch and have a goat knocking up some

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-68171914435315629882009-04-27T01:16:00.007+02:002009-05-06T04:12:29.480+02:00

There are so many great American poets working, and so few reliable recommenders to know who they are who champion them.I chanced across three very different ones in the last week, all with distinct reading styles.Tonight it was Jane Hirshfield, who appeared at 15 Usher's Island on the South side of Dublin Quays, reading with Irish poet's John O'Donnell and Dennis O’Driscoll, marking the 40'th

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-5470405001872871812009-04-20T06:58:00.007+02:002009-04-20T07:43:29.559+02:00

Woke early this morningTo the sounds of you leavingClipping the wingsOf a new day dawning.I grieve-like, then cleaveTo space in bedWhere an angel used to be.Ah ! faint form - like breathingThe ghost: tasting it whollyAs it hovers in, on, around,Under the bed-cover - onlyA memory.To discover, I turn againTo sleep, eat dreams, sweetDreams fed to the soulWhile spirit-likeOn a silver thread, it's

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-75792280949046772632009-04-20T05:14:00.011+02:002009-04-20T06:14:03.378+02:00

Dún Fhearghusa (Newgrange) on a bend in the Boyne valley, 5000 years old and restored by Prof. Michael J. O’Kelly, from the Department of Archaeology, University College, Cork; was originally a tomb and its corbeled roof has never leaked since it was built in 3000BC.~Highgate cemetry, Karl Marx, i think i saw once, or perhaps not. If i did it was a singularly uninspiring experience.~Keats in

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-74017480059330935192009-04-16T23:15:00.009+02:002009-04-20T06:32:22.578+02:00

Every Saturday and Sunday, three second-hand bookstalls appear in Dublin's Temple Bar Square, a stones-throw from the river Liffey. One in particular is run by a chap (sat down with his back to us in the photo) who is the moustachioed, fez-wearing shopkeeper to my Mister Ben - (from the children's TV series of that name, whose secret doorway and portal to the otherworldly adventures was a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-208798709303577472009-04-10T19:14:00.009+02:002009-04-10T22:46:06.032+02:00

Good Friday?Grant me sleepEven in this raw shaking spring -And a new bird in a tree. Fill meWith yourGood news,Or mould meIn your redBreast.Spend a million yearsIn the hunger of my hands,When every tree wavedAnd every shadow grew.Passion wasA profane clause to unite the lonelyBlood that spilled into me.From the intriqueOf flesh and lust.And lies of lust.And love andLies of love.Where I've waited

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-87739538880107608752009-04-09T00:43:00.005+02:002009-04-09T06:09:17.294+02:00

Remember when we laughed at life square onin days existing now as only memories held inside,distanced from this momentby rotation measured timewe'll never haltor with any words define?Words will conjure imagesand spark all sorts of trains of thoughtcareering through the mind,like kaleidoscopic pictures,but these we only glimpse upon in passingwith internal eyesthat swiftly frame in wordless

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-20189815586905653742009-04-02T06:03:00.008+02:002009-04-08T21:59:27.631+02:00

The obvious tenet on which the concept of Fashion is founded, is the principle of the fewer the more fashionable, achieved through either exhorbitant prices or extremely sophisticated (good?) taste.As a life long fashion no-go area sartorially, I cannot begin to pretend to speak with authority on fashion; but as a younger chap, remember it well. Lime green kecks (pants) at the barn dance. The

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-36771059158792655992009-03-26T01:30:00.004+02:002009-03-26T01:35:06.832+02:00

We are all stars, but some of us are gazing in the gutter - ha ha ha.Are we not clever dearest fops, in a fallen age of awfully logical angelic buttercups praying to a yellow cob of sun - ho ho ho: aren't we so dainty with our hair so flopped and fingernails manicured to mirror the transulence of rain in a verbal storm of moi moi moi - ha ha ha ha.oh ! Oscar, darling, Lord Sloames is driving to

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-90783762403771369422009-03-20T05:11:00.020+02:002009-05-24T17:31:45.963+02:00

This is a recording of me (Desmond Swords) made in Damar Hall, July 2006, when I was part of that years Poetry Ireland Introductions Series, an annual scheme in which emerging poets are given an opportunity to workshop and read their poetry under the aegis of Poetry Ireland.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-5412795091534208942009-03-15T03:00:00.004+02:002009-03-15T03:09:15.302+02:00

A traveller on the love-bus, fresh and high from reading Kristeva, Perloff and A Wild Salience by Rae Armantrout, told me of a theory which came in a dream when listening one day to the invisible stars above, calling them to account and make up the map of what becomes of love when roses fade and birds migrate beyond a realm of meaning, subverted, staid and losing faith in the pleasure of

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-82367170165960203002009-01-19T06:42:00.003+02:002009-01-24T02:27:11.057+02:00

This is an eight minute review of Bush's eight years, by Karl Olbermann on msnbc, whose name may be Keith, I am reliably informed by three potato four potato, a valued contributer to world peace around these here parts of nowwheresville, where I am currently vacating for the benifit to myself and those around the blogosphere conspiring to bring me down, right down baby like a record right round

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-37776145111330901592009-01-04T09:14:00.020+02:002009-01-04T11:29:57.679+02:00

A supernatural sky sheathing stonebeneath time gods grantwithin those of graceembeds a sign in the spirituallanguage of spoken loveand the electrical expresswayof an obedient divinity, to becomeinspired and find the Musewho knew wisdom hiddenfrom mortals, comes by divination,water movingcold and fast.At the beginningthe home exactthe epithet illegibleZenophan said you stoppedthe whipping of a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-55221630802533234272008-12-31T03:08:00.012+02:002009-01-01T19:14:53.870+02:00

This date got me thinking of identity. The base datum made when rooting first our mind into place and culture. The signs we follow and/or connected with, which guide us along life's path.Childhood would appear the most logical time for this to happen. When we consciously decide what to buy into. The base line Datum we take our bearing and measurement of self from. The one we trace back to and

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-33579642704970477152008-12-24T22:52:00.012+02:002008-12-25T00:22:24.147+02:00

Yesterday and today, when cycling up Dame Street to Lord Edward Street, I saw an elderly man I used to live in the next room to, when I was a resident at the Iveagh Hostel on Bride Road, pictured above. He is a schizophrenic with cancer, and has deteriorated significantly since I saw him last. He doesn't look like he has long left.He is one of those people who we know to see but have never spoken

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-32860235813548387242008-12-22T22:35:00.003+02:002008-12-22T22:43:22.321+02:00

Arghhhh!!!!! mmmmnn... yummmy yummy yummy.. lurrvve, darlink darlink darlink,squiffy super dooper... oh my god oh my god oh my god !! arghhhh.. gimmie gimmie gimmie -- let me touch, let me touch, let me touch, let me touch - the hair, hair, hair, so so fantastically blowy blowy blowy...arghhh, arghhhh....ummmm, yah yahcome, come, come, need me need me need me. arghhh!!yes, yes, yes -- want want

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-23717427067741845562008-12-15T08:43:00.022+02:002008-12-15T17:08:50.012+02:00

Ireland 3 - Sweeden 01 Mar 2006 ... Steve Staunton the saviour of Irish soccer, starts his reign in charge of the Republic with an impressive victory in a Wednesday night friendly in Dublin's Lansdowne Road.~What you are reading, is Seamus Kennelly and Brendan Heaney making believe, you too can dream of being the one who flies under night heron wings, blushing above memories and cemetries

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-11034273552805346012008-11-07T06:32:00.031+02:002008-11-07T13:26:53.381+02:00

Hallelujah, wow ! wow !Hallelujah, Wow ! Wow !. everthing goan be different after we diewe aint goan be hungry, aint goan be painaint goan be sufferin, won't go through this againafter we die.Hallelujah, Hallelujah, wow ! wow ! @import url(http://beemp3.com/player/embed.css); Amiri Baraka - Dope Found at bee mp3 search engineThis is a circa 1978 recording of Amiri Baraka reciting Dope.Born in

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-54717164056882282442008-11-04T15:17:00.006+02:002008-11-04T16:00:08.313+02:00

There is an article in today's NY Times by Adam Nagourney: The '08 Race: A Sea Change for Politics as We Know It - who speaks how this election has fundamentally upended the way presidential campaigns are fought and how the paradigm got turned upside down and truly became bottom up instead of top down - citing the internet as the instrument making a brand new relationship between our leaders and

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-3170571776216689932008-10-20T03:19:00.005+02:002008-10-20T03:29:50.859+02:00

Hep cat Jack and Al in Vegas, two high balls no hookers, Greg and Ginsey at it like bonobo pygmy chimps with a couple of dwarfs purchased in Walmart - discount for poets - no, no make that a brehon to go, de-capped lower case no need for titular bullshit. Jack was like that, a Kerouac from New Ross, French-Wexford-Canadian, African American, Amergin through and through. Top of the world ma, made

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-20377893678493456352008-10-01T14:27:00.014+02:002008-10-03T17:58:32.910+02:00

YouWriteOn.comFree Publishing for 5,000YouWriteOn.com Will Publish 5,000 Writers For Free!!Arts Council funded YouWriteOn.com will publish the first 5,000 writers who contact us for Free - Fiction & Non-Fiction.Absolutely appalled!!This is outrageous, truly a bad, bad and dangerous development.Quality control gone by the wayside for some tin pot scheme which will bring 5000 books into the world

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-49060421357841636602008-09-14T05:44:00.011+02:002008-09-14T07:28:39.593+02:00

In the warm womb of Augusta bold trace drew within the nighta self-sleight of tongue, by silencebehoven to what force surrendersa flat plate by the sun.Silver, strange and yet it was somestranger star our eye met, stallingabove leaves of grey mist which awokein the depth of a New York dawnthe ermine pulse of a swirling redflicker and blue lit shawl belowthe hollow mouthed source of ouralternative

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-4623390536100338762008-09-07T23:25:00.007+02:002008-09-08T00:16:07.643+02:00

The talk at the latter part of this week, has been about the removal of a poem by an education examining board of a poem by Carol Ann Duffy OBE, whose career has been built on controversy.She was born in Scotland and moved to Staffordshire, before starting a relationship with the now deceased Tranmere - Birkenhead - Wirral born poet Adrian Henri, when he was 39 and she sixteen.Henri was born in

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-2977960968849677952008-09-05T19:51:00.008+02:002008-09-05T20:22:29.178+02:00

Now I’ve experienced McCain's daughter at her blogette and seen the photos of the lovely tee shirts, simple designer duds and gee, really cool stuff.She’s in a car, with a phone, smiling, and it says soo much about how we can all be quick to judge others based not on lipstick and fighting dogs, but on the character of their content, and i realised i was wrong to instinctively judge Sarah as a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-57062043747391456262008-08-31T00:53:00.007+02:002008-08-31T01:19:19.425+02:00

During the final weeks of university four years ago, i purchased a video camera after seeing a show at the National Student Drama Festival in Scarborough (which won best show) that used pre-recorded footage the two performers interacted with, flawlessly.Ian Shuttleworth the theatre critic said it was easily the best of its kind he had witnessed and this was a spur for me, seeing the

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-49015217301691743472008-08-30T10:15:00.004+02:002008-08-30T10:20:43.517+02:00

Have a gander at a drunk in a shopping trolley being pushed home by two salt of the earth Clondalkin Dubs, filmed by a guard with his colleague in an unmarked car who stumbled across them. It makes Father Ted look like real life.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-52638403261254124292008-08-29T00:57:00.014+02:002008-08-29T21:37:27.148+02:00

Thursday 28 August 23.52Hi M. No probs if this is not the sort of caper appropriate for yr page, but we have just got a new computer and the camera purchased four years ago before we came to Dublin and which i hocked for the ferry fare, has returned and, thus this new direction on-stage here in the guttered back-lit glow of a dark Augustian soul hamming it up.The days of spamming high on legal

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Please turn the volume right up to hear the sound on the video below.It was made in the final days of my time at Edge Hill College (now university) in my home town of Ormskirk Lancashire, but I only managed to get my camera out of hock a few weeks back after going to the Ledbury poetry festival and meeting Neil Astley and Michael Schmidt at an orgy of the imagination and receiving a sixty euro

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-39230556969642668522008-08-23T06:03:00.013+02:002008-08-23T07:44:57.690+02:00

just thought i'd deposit a stream of consciousness.Frostean ice melting in warmth, stipulating what alliterative rivetscourse back a shell, recovering behind the fire behind an eyebehind the hand behind a man behind the *I* inveigling consciousnesssyntax flipped back, reversing one and zero, fed through gozzy eyedoptical data bits fluidly distancing an eye hung detached behind a doorupon a hook

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-17601542402732294122008-08-14T05:44:00.024+02:002008-08-15T04:49:04.047+02:00

"Your SoulYour soul has three names;the mirror, the holdall, the wordyou dare not read......(further)...A poem might be said to save the world by preserving something -- an insight, narrative, or historical moment. I write poems partly as an attempt to gain understanding of what I don't know or have only a vague sense of. I then hope that other people have had similar feelings and questions and

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-6344938403732439392008-08-11T08:56:00.012+02:002008-08-11T09:54:24.880+02:00

An empty ice-box emits its guttural buzz,sparking light at twenty five past oneonto a kitchen clock. Nothing came out straight.A cupboard; stale bread, chickpeas,can of Guinness; and beyond a window,the garden seemed to unravel - patterningwheat (no milk) two cigarettesand last to feel regal under striplight,a cellophane reflection glowing awake -swimming in the lone dark vat of night,pitching

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-48269185813952911052008-07-26T23:45:00.015+02:002008-07-28T01:11:59.917+02:00

One of the most instructive recorded readings i have heard -- and by far the book of poetry which affected me most since arriving in Dublin to continue my research - is Derek Hines, reciting his tour de force re-rendering of the ancient Sumerian myth"Gilgamesh."Anyone professing a poetic interest who has not come across his award winning book should, in my opinion, acquaint themselves with his

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-91050730442061746762008-06-30T14:13:00.010+02:002008-07-01T02:31:14.120+02:00

PresenceA string of dust dropsfrom the corner of the ceilingin to the small room below ---first still, then stirred softlyinto motionby a woman's breath.Her respiration is warmthickening with sorrowwhile the white thread glistens.Floss untwisted from the fine tattingof a spider's craft,it swings back and forthwidening the square pocket of air...Wendy Howe~I began this as an extemporised riff as a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-44463379500962768092008-06-30T01:34:00.019+02:002008-07-01T02:36:06.665+02:00

Hacks being appalled at the Taste their rivals display, was de rigeur online last week, and guardian books bloke editor...brave chief literary dogger Claire Armistead, a deluded mother of two, gave a heartfelt plea and plammy dressing down to all the anonymous ppl who say appalling things, trying to convince this misty fictional bunch paranoia creates, to change their ways, and stop saying stuff

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Blood and the Moon---Blessed be this place,More blessed still this tower;A bloody, arrogant powerRose out of the raceUttering, mastering it,Rose like these walls from theseStorm-beaten cottages --In mockery I have setA powerful emblem up,And sing it rhyme upon rhymeIn mockery of a timeHalf dead at the top.~This is the opening part I of VI in the fifth poem of a 1933 volume: The Winding Stair and

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-46700018088868376082008-06-26T17:43:00.010+02:002008-06-26T22:59:08.856+02:00

At the core of this blog, is a very perplexing question, asked in a language that challenges any potential responder to the full.If the person holding strong faith in God, wishing to share it here; how far could they articulate before their religious views were deemed too dangerous for the reader/s?Is it possible to speak of God in all but the most superficial sense online?~I have donned the

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There was a village called civilisation SirEliot's ancient village bought for a kissthrough an invisible pane of intelligenceLittle remains of: nothing of the ownerseye after s/he auctioned his tongue, partI from prayer, part stolen, silently wrappedlustre of a son eying cold the sustenenanceOf oil and the horror of its contract longingin a poetic soul and sold to the high caste.There is a

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-83683198245749260762008-05-10T02:52:00.024+02:002008-05-10T21:45:15.785+02:00

Even non-bardic heads buried sand-like and ignorant - the straw wo/men of our bunch - stubbornly count time within; spell a game between what was behind, in front and yet to come, somewhere between these three states of imagination, where a truth of letters and two linguistic realities lie.Few aware of the filidh/poets tradition -- though all filidh when bardcraft was practiced -- know as

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-82818646429625452082008-05-10T02:46:00.002+02:002008-05-10T02:50:40.359+02:00

Trams heaving up West Street. The extra weight of an ice-cream Bank Holiday and flecks of blood Bubbling from the night before Like some petulant brolly-less kid Caught in a downpour, stalling Invisibly at the Swim Inn awning A bus door opened as the breeze Hurried past and began to move At last again the sudden fleeing Head against a single pulsing blur Quick begins to move and

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A bardic return to ignorance - after a while in the woods hunting for clues to the poetic art - has left empty a scabbard-skein within, sheathing some analytical instrument which calibrates every step took as we make our way along whatever path life and love delivers us.The nuts and bolts of language are…to paraphrase a secluded device upon which the finite balance resting hidden, staying even,

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-11908910782962057182008-05-02T14:02:00.004+02:002008-05-02T18:54:25.065+02:00

Rustling farm dig sniffutterly iambic, trocheesea/s lipped and DG kipL hair bee gad verily it's wand, go'er open relm of a fictional piecrawling to a science, Bohm sear st. eve n's nuts and bolts, believe and thus, the knowing ohems tune, see wy intoan Ogham alphabet, perOxcam and ford Un i-versit yoidelic Galphabet classed telling Q-Celt, ohmB L F(v)S NH D T C QM G Ng(v)Z R.A O U E I...the

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-29440596709809720742008-04-27T20:52:00.013+02:002008-04-27T21:56:22.182+02:00

MY GARDENI thought it a summer twilight,this green pool of light,flowers brightly swimmingand all alight, a snail kissthe skin caught dipping,some day-curved tripperworn muddy, who made nudistsfrolic in a frog-dipped oasisbees dizzy in a hum spinninga broken twig for a drumnoised drone in trusty tuneand perfumed herbsfrom potted moons.No charge for bird-bath coveredgatecrashing parties of

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&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp O Amergin swirl: &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp Tír na nÓg: all &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-61802770209501681202008-04-07T06:56:00.002+02:002008-04-07T06:59:52.664+02:00

The constant rolling dice that never fall stack up the chips of our existence and some days we’re so lucky - the search seeming easy with reward with blessings in abundance - we forget the golden rule that everything’s decided in betweenthe heartbeat of the moment. That reality is one long gamble with final odds fixed by divine orderof old gods; and seizing for knowledge one willnever fully

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Sprung from Rome via France, we cameto Kernow first. The foot of PrydainFawr, a frozen island of twenty fourPretani Brython speaking pre-literatekingdoms there, before the great penalClaudian army came with Atrebates'King Verica who fled from Silchesteràfter Catuvellauni Epaticcus tookhis tribal land Ver's father seizedwhen Julius Ceaser's mind fooleditself in a wind Mark Anthony spedunder:

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-74233129509658462762008-03-22T03:39:00.002+02:002008-03-22T03:51:02.814+02:00

The video below won the best political video in the youtube awards, and has had one and three quarter million views.In this multi-media visual and textually poetic: Clash of the Civilisations, which illuminates by highlighting the similarities between humanity, the juxtopistion of images, combined with text, works very well, and demonstrates the power of the individual to effect change armed

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-70562663629131659152008-03-18T01:36:00.001+02:002008-03-18T01:36:59.423+02:00

Happy St Patricks day.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-41089748873355338982008-02-07T08:47:00.000+02:002008-02-07T08:59:50.061+02:00

A long-boned boy gliding in rainbeneath the rise or fall, any weatherin the city he'd sometimes sightrolling in at the river bend, clockand lightly the years he faced alone,locked passing tense into the talltethered tracks impaled by fallingrain. A loner running the hail greenface, present sense this tense ticked,each busy hand passing an empty storewindow of absence Dad glanced at;groceries

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Sinead Lohan, singing Bob Dylan's To Romona.

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-6629195351121228912008-01-29T20:00:00.001+02:002008-01-29T20:00:59.316+02:00

You read strangely wound letters in thenobledead silence of a deep dumb worth wewrotein pulsations of faith and flash'd doubtsdwellingwhere each of the letters had scriven well thoseleaves that kept an alphabet mess defiantlya treeof unbroken branches the hidden tonguespokestrange in words silently: the chroi - lovevapourdefying the cry and defining our changedbarkthe cow bard whirring in a

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. in the nemetons of cyberville, where various Mystery rites of the very many Mysteries celebrating life, are practiced by lovers of wisdom too numerous to fully list here, the sage Pythagoras of Samos, occupies a unique position. His intellect was exercised throughout his life and is credited for bringing ancient practical solar knowledge to greece; not only from Egypt, where he studied for 22

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The original alphabet, which Graves concocts his ultimately highly flawed sprawling White Goddess tome with; is called Ogam.It is named after the Tuatha De Dannan (people of the goddess Danu) god Ogma, son of Dagda, the chief deity of this mythological race, who were the fifth and penultimate race of beings to "take" the island as documented in the Lebor Gabála Érenn - The Book of the Takings of

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Parisa is a blog buddy whose enthusiasm for the Mossbawn magus, seamus Heaney, i share as he is simply the best around, in person and print. At any time there is usually one about the place setting the tempo, and he who needs no introduction or naming - nameless sidhe of Kavanagh and yeats - one who lives it as, i think is fair to suggest, the one most likely to garner the appellation of

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Nollaig shona duit.For next year. For this, happy St Stephen's Day.I hope you had an enjoyable dinner on the big day, and i want to say, thank you very much to all here who contribute to making this mirror of literacy reflect successfully since August 1, Lughansa, end of summer.And now, just passed the threshold of midwinter, darkening days lightening up and the first wave of fight and craic gone

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I met her three weeks ago in Delaney's in town. It was Friday night. She was with her sister. I'd just pulled a nice little number with Grebo. We'd had it away with five large off some old dear we'd done a bit of tarmacing for. It was a close thing though. We had to take her down the bank and loiter around outside. She was as good as gold mind, came up with the dough no problem. The son in law

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-73947435943044150312007-12-02T03:58:00.000+02:002007-12-02T04:15:51.415+02:00

Feels like i'm fighting tyson, yeah he heeh, wo ho whay.Only in the sink of doings that is doorty dub can one such as i remain unmolested by the armies of sickos and psycho scum, scuzzed out of the firing line like a drop deed D4 doc of possession, oudle dye diddle doh wo whah so say what mister mammon will you be gluttonous in the fray of feast and...argh, can you tell love of bells and whistles

Coirí Filíochtahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15552554.post-1878866340529251262007-11-13T01:31:00.000+02:002007-11-13T02:53:31.686+02:00

Follow me down to a rock far away, far rockaway, golden bard singing in strings loadedwith karma, naming the street an ocean of loversand night-choir whispering a turnpike turningblack coffee to fine gasoline rain. Clothing twomoon-watchers touching the road-finger,counting the roadkill, uncertainly tipped to followus down to a rock far away; who star in the airabove a changing bay, in acid

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