Thursday, August 21, 2014

I'm on the wind-down. And poetry has to be truth.It rarely is. Life is the distraction that we deceive ourselves with and death is the ultimate truth.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Phaedrus, Brother.

Well I can't think, is the noise an echo or a reminder?

It's the three R's that I could never master, 
Rue, Regret, Remorse.
Why go back, 
when the only way is forward?
You were with me brother,
though I held the knife,
you were with me brother,
the best friend of my life,
you saw them on their knees,
you heard their puking begging pleas,
standards and heads were held high.
You and me against the world, kid.
Took the jibes with me
felt the blows, held the spite,
held them tight,
grist to the gin mill
the bitter pill,
swallowed, swift.
Life is a subtlety, like a sledgehammer.
What doesn't kill you,
makes you.
And me.
I loved you brother,
we were united,
we were never alone,
you were never heavy,
you could never die,
you could not live,
because you were never born at all.

Dear Diary,

It was that kind of a day, the usual kind. The best of times the worst of  times. Sure we got petrol, we ate baked potatoes, there was sufficient for drunkenness , darkness ,light, halogen, almost lightening the weigh. Things done, so many things to do. A search for truth, a will to embrace it, reflect it. A desire to do good, be good. I met a good person  and I met . We all meet. We all lie to some degree, for gain, or for kindness. But we've got to stop meeting like this. Words flow from my fingers,that's a search for truth, a search for self, a glorious tragic waste of time? Time can be misspent, but it can never be wasted, time is its own reward its own downfall.
things were achieved little
was lost, much was maintained, and oh, and dear and, I wrote a poem.

Monday, January 6, 2014

Dear Diary,
Today was a really shite day, a day as bad as only a Sunday could be. Morrissey was right. And it rained.
I got a really bad dose of the yips around Teatime, the shakes were so bad they measured 8 on the Richter scale and a local earthquake alert was issued.
Thank god for the back of the cupboard, the salvation of many a dipso. Down on my hands and knees ,stretching in past the Daz and the weighing scales I salvaged a quarter bottle of gin, some flat tonic, and a can of Carlsberg (probably the worst lager in the world) that had been left by a relative at Christmas.
Stormy weather abounds, people have been lost at sea, cliffs have fallen, streets are flooded and one of my best socks, the Italian merino wool one from TK Maxx, blew off the clothes line. Is there no god?
I did also find my missing paper weight and a reasonably edible mince pie, so maybe 2014 won't be so bad after all?
Love Peadar.

Friday, October 4, 2013

A blank page, like a sheet of snow, perfect, it covers everything, all the dirt and debris beneath and you've just got to get the size 9 wellos onto it, into it, steal a Subaru Impreza and donut the world back into reality, fragility, ugly isolation, vituperative vicissitudinous machinations preparations delegations and procrastinations,well? Maybe. Later on.
Such temptations, such freedoms to speak, what holds back, tugs the coattails, don't push this to the abyss, just look in, from the edge,don't do, see what looks back from the black. Take words out, let lies, lie, truth dares,multitude of sins in us, pulchritudinous , paltry chewed in us, fortune fooled in us, life wasted by us, weighted bias, nighttime google vision, starlit monotheism , sotto crescendo, fresco, duodenum, step ladder. Words. People saying words doing deeds picking up stones throwing voices shoutly louding, deadpan eyes, windows, curtains replaced by blinds. How was this path trod, how many bootmarks in the white, this snowy landscape, this beautiful escape, why, how is it, how do they, dare they, how say they, who says they can say, where this is where where is this is this where is this where are we, going? Do we leave any trace in the snow after the snow has gone? And does it matter. Anti matter.The grave it e of the sit you a shun.Transcend mental medication. Letters pray.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Getting Back To My Roots!

I miss Totalfeckineejit, you know where you are with an Eejit. I think I miss blogging too.Comparing it to FB is like comparing the first world war to a Friday Night punch-up in the pub car park. No, I'm not really sure what that means either, but I'm sure it means...something. A hate,  a love, a mood, a feeling, that is always preferable to, more beneficial than, ...nothing.
Nothing is (paradoxically) the 'thing' we must avoid at all costs.

'Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all'  Alfred Lord Tennyson

'Ever tried. Ever failed.No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' Samuel Beckett
'He who dares wins, Rodney' William Shakespeare

You get the gist. I've tried the Barcelona style, very fancy, very expensive, very...irritating. I want to go back to Wimbledon, route one, I want the crazy gang, I want it to be...emotional.

Being a fish out of water is ok for a while, but then you get a bit panicky, specially when size nines are squeezing down on your gills. Deep down I know what this is all about, deep down I have no clue what it is all about.A Dickensian paradox.The best of times; the worst of times. Paradoxes galore this night, brother,sister.

But really we do know it is the worst, we are the lucky ones, which is why we must pluck the best from the gutter, the swamp, the greed, the ego, the abyss.I have stared into the eyes of the poetry Tyger; It is beautiful (I'm lying for the sake of balance), it is ugly, it is ruthless, it sees the world, it promises salvation, it is cold, red hot, knows of everything but cares for no-one but itself. Fuck fearful symmetry.

What does it all mean, dear reader? Unfortunately I have only questions. And the people who have the answers, who stick by them, cast them in concrete, do not like questions. Questions lead to change, nobody wants that?

I don't know what this is. All I know is it feels GOOD!

The weekly prompt is back. It would be the best of times if people joined in. Tell your friends, inform your enemies

Saturday, March 9, 2013

New Poem

One Scream

There’s  two screens
One watching us watching you
The other a blank
We should have a gun for melody
As we sink this ship as we
Throw life lines
Like caution, to the wind
Keep it simple
Follow your instinct
We are extinct
Before we know
Go with the flow like dead fish
And the latest a tax
Distracted from the dream degrees from the ideal home
Exhibition stuff
The land's cabin 13
Room for one ‘o‘ one
Tug ‘o’ war man ‘o’ war
There’s a harsh edge to this taste
A machine gunfire the latest light. 

Friday, January 11, 2013

What fresh hell?

Helicopters threatening hope,
blades flashing, twirling,
the knaves are out.
New school is Old school is all,
but twisted, twisted.
And I have to raise my head
to blue skies
above bullshit,
heart above hypocrisy
This new regime that uses the same old machine
and the things we resisted
are now insisted clench-fisted,
blandly or blindly followed.
It breaks my hollowed heart
Fills me with anger
and despair.
Where do we go from here?
Who are ‘we’ at all anyway?
I’ll stick to the lonesome 'I'
The lyrical confession
in hope for a less bitter vision,
a better version of new.

Thursday, December 6, 2012


At last! PB4 has been bolted together from raw flesh and bone and steel in a well used shed in Co.Wicklow. 130 pages of brilliance will be perfect bound and encased in a matt laminate cover and given electrical charges and vodka until it comes pounding into life!

This may be the greatest creation since the wheel (8000 years BC) and the pop up toaster (1567 AD)
Use the 'Buy Now'  above to order before stocks and the sands of time run out of the house and go live in a commune in Zagreb. Prices are €14 for Ireland and €15 for the rest of the world and include postage and packaging and a MIGHTY 12 track CD of music and spoken word.

I'll tell you more about the magazine when my eyeballs stop bleeding and exhaustion turns to euphoria.

Here's a taster! Illustrations from PB4 plus track by Laura Moody plus a few photos of my own.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

The bus has 4 days left to make another €519 to meet its target of €1950 at HERE if we don't meet the target we get nothing !

SO! Here is an amazing offer/opportunity. The wonderful poet Kona Macphee has kindly donated a voucher for Darina Allen's world famous Ballymalloe cookery school at beautiful Shanagarry in Co.Cork.The voucher is valid for the whole of September and entitles TWO people to a wonderful afternoon that includes lessons at the cookery school PLUS a gorgeous lunch for TWO!

The cookery lessons alone cost €140.Lunch there is very rare and by invitation only so this may be the ONLY chance you might get to have this experience!! It is not possible to put a price on it as there are no prices!!
I'm looking for offers to pledge to the poetry bus.The highest offer over €140 will get the voucher and a copy of PB4!! Please share this and spread the word!
Here's a taster from Ballymaloe
'When you step through the little wooden side gate­ and into the courtyard of Ballymaloe Cookery School you enter a different world. A world where the whole emphasis is on food - growing it, preparing it, cooking it, eating it and, crucially, enjoying it. A world that feels wonderfully cut-off because it is in the middle of ten acres of organic market gardens'
PB4 with 90 perfect bound pages of poetry (Lemn Sissay, Ian Duhig, Noel King, Lyn Lifshin, Alan Jude Moore plus many many more including new and exciting voices!) cutting edge illustration, articles, reviews, cartoons PLUS free audio CD of spoken word and music tracks INCLUDING James Yorkston!!
All this packaged and posted to your door for a pledge of €10! Sure ye'd be mad not to!

Friday, July 13, 2012

Bertie Bassett or Bertold Brecht ?

Or both? Or neither?
Find out as the wonderful Niamh Boyce interviews me on her lovely 'Words A Day' blog with some soul searching questions on life, the internet, poetry, and me book 'Jewel' (Currently SOLD OUT at Amazon UK, but still available direct from Salmon, (hint, hint) HERE

IF you have a few moments pop over to Niamh's blog HERE!