HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY!

Patrick was a humble cobbler born in County Roscommon in 1942. He rose to fame and indeed sainthood by ridding Ireland of a terrible scourge,The snake of Knowledge. This snake was the deadliest, ugliest, most feared snake in all Ireland. It was the fastest snake in Ireland.It was the cleverest snake in Ireland. It was the richest snake in Ireland.It was the longest snake in Ireland.It was the shortest snake in Ireland.It was the slowest snake in Ireland. It was the stupidest snake in Ireland. It was the ONLY feckin snake in Ireland.
It had been left behind by invading Vikings in the early 1920's and was really pissed off as it hadn't had a shag in 20 years. This made it grumpy and unapproachable hence its fearsome reputation. Myth also had it that the snake contained all knowledge and if anyone were to eat its flesh they would know everything, a bit like Stephen Fry.

Anyways in the 1960's Jimmi Hendrix was on tour with Joe Dolan and they were to play a big concert at Boyle Castle supported by Big Tom and The Mainliners. Disaster struck just hours before the gig when Jimmi's snakeskin boots went missing, presumed stolen. Panic broke out as Jimmi broke down in tears wailing that he could not go on stage without his lucky boots. The whole town went mad searching for the missing boots in hope that they could be found and the gig go ahead.

Patrick was finishing up in his shed when he heard the news. Taking a quick look around he heard a frantic hissing in the haggard and there among the clamps of turf was the mighty snake being amorous with jimmi Hendrix's boots.Patrick leapt into action with a long handled beet fork and taking the pre-occupied snake by surprize killed it stone dead.You could say It came and went all in one go.
Patrick picked up the boots but they were in tatters, shagged out. Thinking on his feet Patrick whipped up the dead snake and deftly skinned it with a penknife to patch up the boots good as new.

The concert went ahead and Patrick was hailed as a hero, famous the length and breadth of the world, even as far as Ballyfermot. A week later his head exploded when he cooked and ate the snake.The myth had been true the snake did inded contain all knowledge. The vikings had in fact come bearing gifts but had been fucked off out of it by local dairy farmers who didn't think it funny that they had horns on their funny hats.

10 years after his death someone got out of purgatory 10 mnnutes early after strangely praying a novena to the dead cobbler for the help of his wisdom.The Pope at the time, Pope Pontius Pilates Eurythmics, heard of this story and declared 'E musta truly be a saint innit peeps' and so it came to be.

It was the best of times it was the worst, it's all poo and nuts but hope too.

So, the first proofs of me life's work 'Jewel' to be published by the lovely people at Salmon poetry have arrived. This is exciting and terrifying.Exciting because someone is going to put my poems into a real book that will be in bookshops and terrifying because someone is going to put my poems into a real book that will be in bookshops.

I mean when you write the things, you're slamming words together in drunken abandon not giving a flying fuck about anything because nobody's ever going to actually see the bloody things except yourself, the dog, and possibly the wife.It's just like having a poo, nothing much to look at but you're glad you've done it. But now that poo isn't going to be discreetly flushed away, oh no, people (admittedly probably very few , but still) will be looking at my poo and possibly dissecting it to see what's in it or what it means about its creator.A poetic kind of Gillian McKeefe could tell an awful lot from a single stool/poem. I'm laying my nuts on the line here and people might kick them or worse drive a train over them. Now that's going to hurt, big time!

But looking on the brighter side
I'm hoping that someone somewhere might be kind to my poo and find a sweetness in it that they like, Im hoping that maybe at least one single person somewhere will be moved by my movements, that's gotta be good enough?Make it all worthwhile? Right? I'm right? Aren't I?

Social Dis-ease.

The movers are the shakers

see them groove baby!

99 Becks and a bus ticket

We have a boardwalk, we can see the same stars!

But I still wish this was Brooklyn

or Santa Fé, Sacremento, una momento-

'Chateau Neuf du Pape Cristal, Garcon!

And make it snappy, like an allegorical sandwich !'

I wish this was what I had hoped it would be

you wouldn't have deserted me in

The Desert Inn

Lost Degas

Niet Nada

dim parkio

your stretch Limo

Nevada

would you?

Ya gotta love the O's!

Ah,isn't it GOOD to be ALIVE!

What I like best about blogging is there is no control. Like being on a train platform there is nothing to stop you pushing the vicar/parish priest/ pensioner/drunk in front of you under the wheels of the next high speed through train.

If I feel like saying Quantum physics in a pink blancmange I can just say it. Or at least write it and nobody can stop me but me. And I'm an idiot so I'm not likely to do that because idiots don't care about anything so long as they can shop for bovril and anchovies in their stripey pyjamas and fur lined parkas. Besides I'm in the other room and taking no notice of me at all.

On the other paw given such freedom to express myself isn't it a little bit disappointing that that is the best I can manage?

So basically I am a coward because I would never say what I would really like to say. And I think perhaps the world is a better place for that discretion. And we don't want to delay the trains too much now do we.

Fuck it. I think it's time to come back.

TFE rises Lazarus like from the piss stained armchair and rises up up up out of it on his strangely bony (for a fat bastard) knees and rises up up up above the house up up into the sky up up above the grey dreary rainstreaked streets and shits on them like a pigeon on laxatives.

FOLLOW THE BUS!!

http://thepoetrybus.blogspot.com/2011/07/bus-building.html

Go make some poetry flavoured jam!

Let's get the weekly poem goin again!

HERE

GOODLY NEWS

NanU has taken up the gauntlet to keep the spirit of the poetry bussers alive. Get over to her blog, give her support and help choose a new name so that we can keep being forced into writing a poem every week!We need to be pushed!And it's great fun. So come on join in! Over HERE

Gwanyagudthings!
Kosmo.

TFE is dead.

NO flowers no cards no tears.
Hello my name is Saran (aka Kosmo Vinyl) brother of TFE. It is with sadness my duty to report that TFE is no more.Though not actually dead in the real world sense, he is in the blog sense no more, a dead parrot, virtual brown bread, jossed it, defunct, redundant,shot off his perch.

If you try to fly there is always someone to shoot you down, stick your neck above the barricade and someone will squeeze it. It's amazing it didn't happen sooner. It is beautiful that it didn't happen sooner. You can be a nobody all your life and through the power of the written word reach out and touch people and be touched in return.

TFE was able to fight when he was young, but he could not fly. Now he can fly he is unable to fight. It's the drunk and the lampost in his previous post brought to life.

The weekly task of The Poetry Bus produced some amazing work, so much so that a magazine was born from it. That magazine, born of the blogs, lives and breathes to this day with the promise of PB2. There would be no Poetry Bus Magazine without TFE, but equally there would be no PB2 or 3 or 4 or 5 without each and every person who took the time to get aboard and fuel the catalyst of creation.I hope some of you will wish the magazine well and follow it's progress HERE

He would love it , I'm sure, if the weekly task could continue under a different guise, a different name. And a big posthumous thank you, from him, to all that drove the bus through thick and thin.

Best wishes to all,
Kosmo.