The Monday poem

Well I think the ones on local time are pretty much in so a big thanks to everybody ,I hope you got something out of it,a poem, a stanza, a line or even a notion that you can work on during the week.I also hope you got a full five mins and more P+Q than I did, but that's the whole point just go with the flow.Here's the list with mine at the bottom and I'll post all the new links as they come in.

Feck I never thought it would be so laborious fetching clicking cutting and pasting links! Might be a few more so keep checking,we've our American and Canadian cousins still to go!


http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/





http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/



http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/where-are-you-when-i-want-you-euterpe.html



http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-five-minute-poem.html

http://thewatercats.blogspot.com/2009/08/tfeejits-monday-poem-thing.html

http://domesticoubliette.blogspot.com/2009/08/tfe-monday-experiment.html

http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/

http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/

http://dominicrivron.blogspot.com/2009/08/7pm.html

http://bt-thecraftygardener.blogspot.com/2009/08/five-minute-poem-challenge-from.html

http://iconicrealism.blogspot.com/2009/08/poem-for-tfes-assignment.html

http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/

http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2009/09/5-minute-poem.html


Time was never on my side
Always conspiring against me
Singing whispering
Shouting in the background
Noises off, if only
I could turn noises off.
The thoughts in my head
not my own space,
lord give me space,
Give me peace
Give me patience

1 minute and 15 seconds of bedlam

Last minute reminder for the hard of remembering

You forgot didn't you? How could you? Well listen it's not too late to join in the monday global poetry zeitgeist experience.

The rules are like me.Simple.

1) At 7pm start writing whatever comes into your head, think as little as possible, try to relax and go with the flow.

2) STOP writing at 7.05 SHARP-I'll be watching!

3) No re-writing, what you see is what you get.Post it on your blog and let me know by posting a comment on mine.I will then post links to all the poeple who have participated.

4)This is a new rule so pay attention.If you like all or a little of what you have written work on it during the week and post it on your blog next Monday,again dropping a comment into me.
Best of luck to you all.We're not looking for winners or losers ,good or bad, just write and let's see what we get.If you come up with nothing or something you really hate pretend you were watching Emmerdale or Home and Away or whatever is on at seven and forgot all about it.Relax, ENJOY!

The Wrong Miracle

Just finished reading Liz Gallaghers debut collection 'The Wrong Miracle' and loved it.Liz Gallagher was born and brought up in Donegal, Ireland but has been living in Gran Canary Island for the past 14 years.Surprisingly, she only began writing about 5 years ago yet has already won a variety of awards in both Ireland and the US: Best New Poet 2007 (Meridian Press, Virginia University) First Prize in The Listowel Writers’ Single Poem Competition 2009 and she was selected by Poetry Ireland for their 2009 Introductions Series in recognition of her status as an emerging poet.I'm sure many more accolades will follow but for now It is hard for me to tell you about this book and do it justice, the best advice I can give you is to read it.If you buy only one poetry book this year, in fact if you only ever buy one book of poetry, buy this one.The cover itself is beautiful but that is almost an irrelevence to what's inside. It's not the wrong miracle at all.Brilliant is the only word for it,well there are much better ones like whoomahabba! And Fabbadabbbdabdabbooo! It's a fantstic book, Paul Durcan ,Eddie Izzard (years ago at his best) Salavador Dali ,even Ted Hughes all spring to mind but none quite fit, the book is uniquely Liz Gallagher,Totally unique.Everything from an angle that we didn't even know was an angle tumbling down a surreal hill that we could never climb and bumping into an oblique juxtaposition with a head turning, mind turning THUD!Zest and zing and humour and sadness and a fair bit of grit further in. We have love, we have war, we have people throwing shoes, we have fun, depth, darkness, we have life in all it's zest and zing all it's confusion and doubt and glory.In many ways it's mad to use words like surreal and juxtaposition for these lines and images that make perfect sense of themselves and the moment.They are beautiful poems and I'm going to start again and read one or two each day in my best chair with a quality beer and silence. This book would be great for poetry lovers but perhaps more importantly , it would be great for people who have never read poetry and for people who are totally pissed off with it.Everyone should read this book, they deserve it.I think 'POETRY' might not be a good enough word to describe this book. That royalties from this book go to the 'Sands' (The stillbirth and neonatal death charity) Is a small snapshot of the compassion and kindness that Liz exudes in every poem. Here is one of my favourites from the book.

A Poem that Thinks It Has Joined a Circus

A handkerchief is not an emotional holdall.

A cup of tea does not eradicate all-smothering sensations.

A hands-on approach is not the same as a hand-on-a shoulder

willing a chin to lift and an upper arm to stiffen.

A forehead resting on fingers does not imply that the grains

of sand in an hourglass have filtered through.

A set of eyes staring into space is not an indictment that the sun

came crashing down in the middle of the night.

A sigh that causes trembling and wobbly knees should be

henceforth and without warning trapped in a bell jar and retrained

to come out tinkling ivories with every gasp.

A poem trying to turn a sad feeling on it's head does not constitute

a real poem, it is a cancan poem,dancing on a pinhead

and walking a tightrope with arms pressed tightly by it's sides.

http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844715671.htm

Ps Liz will be stopping by Castle EEjit on her virtual world book tour sometime in Nov and I'm looking forward to that.

Drinking water isn't normal

A) We all know what WC fields said about it

B)It tastes like an awful sort of mineralesquey sickly bland nothing,Very, very, well- er, watery.

C) It bloats you up to feck.After half a cup I was like full ,brim full ,right up to the neck from the toes.

D) Humans are about 70% water, so drinking the stuff is tantamount to cannibalism.Give it up I say.

E) Bottled water is always overfilled right up to the cap. All sanitised factory bottled products have like a safety gap at the neck of the bottle so that they don't blow the planet up if you drop them.Clearly most bottled waters are hand filled from a roadside petrol station sink in Carlow.

F) All tap water comes from toilets.Fact.

BIOLOGY

The other day was a trilogy,well today I have 2 poems ,one from now and one from many hundreds left lying (lie-ing?) all over the place,this one from circa 2005.So old I don't remember writing it. It reads like someone else wrote it ,which is always a gud thang.My playlist has been banished and banned, not sure of the laws of copyright involved here so i canno comment beyond to say I miss it sorely.The watercats have stoutly stepped in to put their thumb in the dyke. Go rabh maith agut ,Uiscekateens! So if 3 poems is a trilogy is 2 poems a biology? :)
I don't know, I don't care.


Today

Today I turned a corner
perhaps my lung was bicycle-pumped
in the night.
I felt myself taking a step away from,
yet closer to, the end.
Outside of the walls of home
in this open air,plein air.
I recognise the warmth
of sun upon my back
it's outreached rays sang
'Nearer my God to thee'
but only the flowers were listening
their summer at an end.



Yesterday. This is not a love song

They were lovers, once, arm in arm
and when he whispered, she thought
she heard 'I Iove you'
not the rushing of the waves.
In the skies they had hoped for stars
as in the science of their dreams.
He saw only seagulls crying
for the prodigals return,
circling around loss of faith.
All they hoped ,was for future
all they longed, was belief,
all they lacked,
was each other.

POETRY IN THE COMMUNITY

The five minute Monday poem experience is gathering volunteers like a rolling stone that defies the laws of aphorism, gathers moss. (See comments section of previous post) One blogpoet (Jeanne) was so enthused that they couldn't resist having a go straight away in the comments section

http://iconicrealism.blogspot.com/

I gather the strings

in a glorious cavalcade

a sweep of sweetness

filling the airspace around me

with harmonics in chorus

with the tree toads and crickets,

gentlemen of the night.

And another blogpoet, Sandra, posted on her own blog
http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/2009/08/in-response-to-challenge-i-square-my.html Have a look, see what you think, then join in next monday when poetry in the community goes LIVE around the world tapping into the muse of the zeitgeist of the post weekend feeling.Go on go on go gogo YOU know ye want to!! Remember good or bad is not the point,saying what YOU feel is the whole kit and caboodle ,peeps!

THE MONDAY POEM- AN ASSIGNMENT

Dear people of Bloggsville.Monday is not always a great day.But It is a day that I think ,for no particular reason , should be marked by a weekly poem.Thus I say to you, dear bretheren, indeed verilly I say unto thee ,why not join me in writing a poem at 7pm every Monday.Just whatever comes into your head.No forward thinking plotting or planning, keep thy minds as blank as they can be till the clock strike seven ,then write whatever in your head there may be.Unleash it, let it free. Don't guide it or question it, set it free for better or for worse and dare ye not under any circumstances rewrite it. Be sure and be finished by five past of the seven at the very latest.Here is mine to get the ball rolling.I hate rhyme, yet when push comes to shove see how the words rhymeth? Spooky.See you next week at 7pm, be there, or don't be there ,but if ye do be there then post your ponderings upon yer blog.Then let me know and I'll try and post a link to yer blog. I want to see if there is a Zeitgeist.Most of us don't like Mondays for most of us it's the first day back at work after the weekend.Will there be a common feeling around the world? Should a few people actually respond to this I will change the time to 7pm on a FRi or SAt night and see if there is any perceptible shift in mood.Thank you comrades.

So to recap, next Monday Aug 31 at 7 pm your time(or as near as possible) write or draw whatever comes into your head.You must spend only 5 minutes writing. Post the result on your blog, let me know you've had a go and I will post links to all the contributors on my blog. Thank you comrades, live long and prosper (but at nobody else's expense) :)


I should say it all
chinese whispers of truth
the version of the vision
I held so aloof
and would you call me friend
if you called me at all
in our virtual world
the king still conquers all
Passages of time lessen passages of remark
the scars are deeper down than the
flatness of the dark.

This is shite but yours may be good ,or not ,what have ye to lose?And it doesn't have to be a poem, just express how you feel

Trilogy

Second best

I’ve been there, seen that,
I didn’t buy the Tee shirt.
I’ve got the scars to prove it
If you’re given no chance
You look for reaction
A physical graffiti
To say I exist
I was here
And when the body will take no more
When the physical is the past
Then old man, sit and write your
Poetry.


Salford Jets

Bullets fly like swallows,
the joy of the flesh,
the kinetic connection
skin, bone, death.
Hooded clauses
born to be bad,
had the light stolen,
saw hope denied,
their brief fuse lit,
strung out
like a tightened noose.
Brother can you spare me?
A line.


Enough, though I can’t stand the Beatles


If only we knew when
we had it.
Stop stepping on necks,
breaking hearts and minds,
craving the drug of more,
wringing every last drop from,
life,time, earth, each other.
All we need is enough,
enough is all we need.

The unstoppable force and the immovable object

According to latest reports on the stand-off at EEjit castle a resolution has been reached.Mrs EEjit (34) declared that either the beard went or she would. Total EEjit (87) said he would fetch the suitcase.At this point a mediation board chaired by Jimmy The Butler (112) and Cook (3 1/2) was set up and negotiations went on for several hours until a compromise was reached.The beard would go but could come back at Christmas and for 2 weeks in August of every year. It was further decided that the beard should be tagged then released back into the wild.The local council and wildlife trust also got involved, the former believing the beard could become a major tourist attraction with coach trips of beard spotters from around the world.The boost to the local economy could be significant.The wildlife trust said they were very excited about the project as it was the first time in over a hundred years that a beard had been re-introduced into it's natural habitat.Beards are excellent foragers and can survive for up to 50 years in the wild.There is even hope of a breeding programme if a female beard can be found and introduced. The female beard becomes fertile twice a year and can produce up to seven beardlets each time.There is however a high mortality rate among the young beards as they are often killed by foxes who take them to be used as disguises in order to procure fraudulant bank loans.Female beards are much rarer these days and so chances of a successful breeding programme are slim.

A poem

Vespula vulgaris

The back door was open
it was one of the first days of Summer,
despite being one of the last,
so there was no way I was going to close it.
I didn’t lose the head,
I was reasonable,
I gave them fair warning.
They could come in,
that was entirely up to them,
but if they did come in -
I would have to kill them.
And in they came, one after the other,
brazen striped flying banditos.
Dopey, drunken, dangerous,
dressed up like Kilkenny cats
into this Tipperary hearted house.
And I battered them with oven glove,
stunned them and finished them,
all eight of them, spindly feet up
while the toast grew cold and hard.
My tired lungs grew sore, I admitted defeat
and closed the door.

STOP PRESS MRS EEJIT GETS INJUNCTION

In a last minute shock development Mrs EEjit has taken out a court order against TFE's beard.(I seem to have taken to talking about myself in the third person, this is not a good sign.) A spokesperson for Mrs EEjit (MrsEEjit) says that she is prepared to take this case all the way to the european court of human rights (carlow dept) if necessary.She claims EEjit's beard is in breach of the Geneva convention's article 2 'The use of beards in non-military and domestic situations' and possibly breaks the conditions of EEjit's parole.In an emotional statement to the press Mrs EEjit (40) said at first she had been in favour of the beard as it covered up a good bit of her husbands face, but as time wore on and the beard grew more rebellious in it's night time activities, ( these included raiding the fridge and attempting to mount the next door neighbours prize Siamese cat) Mrs EEjit realised the whole thing was a huge mistake and that the beard was causing her undue emotional distress. Local Gards confirm the injunction and that EEjit's beard is under curfew and subject to a barring order preventing it from being within a 20 mile radius of Castle EEjit the couples ancestral home.Mr EEjit (29) who recently underwent key hole surgery to have a key removed, was unavailable for comment.

RESULTS RESULTS RESULTS

The counting ,as predicted, did go on into the wee small hours .Cook and Jimmy are absolutely exhausted.Mrs EEjit demanded a re-count not once but SEVEN times.I realise , with apologies, that most of you will have been up all night at the computer waiting for this result.Some of you have even taken the day off work in case you miss the breaking news.Well your long wait is over and I can announce the results.In total there were nine votes cast making a record turnout of 0.000000000000000000000000000000026 % of the electorate,amazing, thank you.And now the result, I Total FeckinEEjit returning officer for The People's Lost Republic of EEjit declare the result to be as follows; No beard(The no beard party) One vote. Yes beard (The people's republo of beardy party) Nine votes.I therefore hereby declare EEjit's beard the newly elected representative of the republoEEjit.The beard stays, the bic is banished to the bathroom cupboard, the shaving foam is left on the shelf, another five minutes will be had in bed every morning,warmer winters,supplementary auxillary nesting for blackbirds, save it for later food storage,multiple velcro attachment applications,upturn in the economy,nuclear disarmament , world peace and Tipp to beat Kilkenny in the all Ireland final with TFE replacing an injured Padraig Maher, scoring the winning point and outplaying Henry Shefflin so completely that the broken kilkenny king gives up hurling entirely for a life of crochet.

POLLS NOW CLOSED

The polls officialy closed at midnight and our team of adjudicators(Jimmy the Butler and cook) are busy counting and will continue long into the night. Anyone who hasn't yet voted and is still wishing to do so must have his or her ballot paper accompanied by €20 (cash) in a brown envelope.Swinging the vote entirely will cost at least €100 or it's equivalent in bin tags, turf,briquettes,petrol, sweets,whiskey,white goods or stolen laptops.

YOU decide

Luke Kelly?

Or Marty Morrisey

Willow http://willowmanor.blogspot.com/ cleverly suggested to post pictures of myself with and without beard to see if people could judge which is best.I think you'll agree i look fairly gorgeous either way so it will be a tough decision. Votes please, 'Yes please! To keep the beard and'I think I'm gonna puke' to get rid of it.The people's republic of EEjit is many things but above all it is a democracy and you fellow bloggers ,as honory citizens, will have the final say as to whether I, TFE, look a twat or a total twat. Thank you.

Ps. In case you are wondering at the clorious regalia i is wering, it is the beautiful blue and gold of God's own county Tipperary (mainly North) whose wondrous hurling team (hurling: the greatest sport in the world) have reached the All Ireland finals in search of the holy grail,The Liam McCarthy cup.In the first week of September they (David) will take on the might of Killkenny(Goliath)in an epic battle of brain, brawn and unparalleled skill.

Should it stay or should it go?

I seem to have grown a beard.Since getting ill the bic razor was far too heavy to lift and the bathroom seemed a far and distant land, so beardy I became.I have grown quite attached to my hairy chin and it has literally grown quite attached to me,it will be the hedgetrimmers I'll be needing to shift it, but should I? I thought it made me look ruggedly handsome and covered up most of my face which has to be a bonus, but Mrs EEjit is keen for it to go and my confidence in it's appeal was further knocked by a neighbour who rather charmingly said my face looked like a hedgehogs arse.Except that he didn't say arse but this is a family show and I'm not repeating what he did say. I know one or two of my lady blogpals sport beards so maybe I should join them.I'm trying to think of other great beardy people down the years but am struggling.Hemmingway had a beard but I don't know many other writers that opted for the face fungus.In these recessionary timesI'm also thinking of the cost factors and heat saving. Not only could a beard save me money it might aslo keep me warmer in the winter. I buy a six pack of bic imitations for €2 roughly every 2 months so that would be a saving of €12 per annum straight away, factor in the cost of hot water and shaving foam and that saving rises to €15, or to put it another way, 3 pints of Guinness and a packet of Tayto.Then there's the time factor, shaving takes about 5 minutes per day x 365 days of the year = roughly 30 hours! By having a beard I would get an extra 30 hours in bed! That's pretty cool.I further reckon that if I stop brushing my teeth, cutting my toenails, washing, cutting my hair, changing clothes,wiping my backside ,that 30 hours leaps up to a massive 336 hours,that's a whole feckin fortnight!! Imagine another two weeks holiday every year and you could be drunk every day of the week on the money saved.Come on everybody, let's go for it, the whole worldwide downturn in the economy could be reversed by these few simple steps, global warming would be a thing of the past, summers would be summers again, love and peace would spread like the bacteria in our undercrackers, all mankind's problems (except B.O) would be a thing of the past.You KNOW it makes sense.

Tonibell marks the end of the world

THE DAY I NEARLY DIED.

The four horsemen of the apocalypse
rode in ,a flying tango to a Tonibell
Calypso beat.
I realise pathetically that
there’s no hosanna of glowing winged angels,
nor baying demons with sharpened claws.
I’m fading to the theme tune from Match of the day,
no thunder, no lightening, no seismic chaos,
just the world turning slow beside me
as shallow as a breathless breath,
my passing equally matched
by a 99 with sprinkles.

INSPIRATION

Atvovo Metro station St Petersburgh 2002 ( beats Tara st. any day of the week) Locomotive workers theatre nr Mongolia (Closed ,along with the factory, in 1990's)

Sculptors studio St Petersburgh(Neat old seven series gathering dust)

Installation. Jessica Murray projects, Brooklyn.

The 3 books including the french cafe showing a spartan room near Loches in Touraine.In a back room here they play 'La boule de Fort' and behind a painted window is a painting of a nude lady. According to ritual the loser must open the window and 'kiss Fanny's arse' Now that's a top night out!

A while ago the Weaver of Grass http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/asked what inspires us? A good question that due to illness and not taking my anti-depressants I answered very negatively.I said nothing inspired me when it is closer to the truth to say that everything inspires me,or can. Music is a great inspiration,the human voice is the greatest instrument and if the words and music are right a song can be more affecting and primal and potent than any poem or written word or painting could ever be.Everyone has a soundtrack to their lives and a particular song can transport you back to any day or time or feeling, a n experience deeper and stronger than memory. Drink is the scourge of the planet along with other drugs,I wish I'd never taken a drop ,but I did and I feel it helps me write,whether this is real or not I don't know but most I have written was under the influence.In all probability it is just a psychological trigger I have given myself ,like one of Pavlovs dogs, but there you have it.Avoid it like the plague,I'm suresome people convince themselves that they can't write without it but we are codding our selves and killing ourselves at the same time.

I have 3 favourite books of photographs that I love and when I look through them I usually feel a spark of some kind.Not sure what it is ,but there's always definitely a beauty in them and a colour, a vibrancy and raw creativity (and pathos in the Rusian one) that is contagious and perhaps inspiring. I wouldn't look at them every day ,or even every week ,but just now and then when I get 'the feeling'

The books are Russia -photographs by Andrew Moore. Brooklyn : New Style (718) selected byLiz Farrelly and Martin Perrin and The French Cafe photographs by Eric Morin.

PUBLIC HEALTH NOTICE

In case I have been putting the wind up people about the Swine flu I should point out that I got so bad because I have underlying chronic health difficulties with chest infections and pneumonia so other people would almost certainly not get as bad as me if they contracted swine flu.In fact the Doctor at the hospital was even sceptical that I had swine flu in the first place.This is a pity in a way as having been through all that the prospect of catching swine flu this winter is not a little daunting. If I have already had swine flu I would be immune as you can't catch it twice.I'm annoyed that I wasn't swabbed by the GP in the early stages as now I am playing Russian roulette not knowing one way or the other if there is a bullet out there for me. I also should have been in hospital long,long before as I was so bad and the longer you have pneumonia the worse it is. The hospital and all it's staff were wonderful and couldn't have treated me any better.Ifeel my GP let me down badly. As soon as I got ill i was worried about a chest infection ,then pneumonia developing, yet both were allowed to develop being treated too little and too late and then allowed get a deep grip of me befre eventually going to hospital. Try to get a good GP that you can know and trust and even talk to on first name terms. One day it may matter. And don't be worrying too much about swine flu , I was unlucky (even if I had it at all) Mrs EEjit had much milder symptoms than me,felt rotten for sure and wiped out, but no chest infection or any complications. I also noticed (you can't help overhearing) that all of us in A+E (no accident victims) all either smoked, or drank too much, or both. I don't smoke (thank god)but I did feel embarrassed estimating my weekly intake of alcohol. Why should Doctors have to look after me when I'm not even looking after myself?

HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP!

and HELP! Stuck I am. Two clues left, bumper crossword ,much trouble it is (I've turned into Yoda it would seem!?) nice prize awaiting the winner.The finest minds in the universe read this blog so I'm sure at least one ,if not several of ye, will know the answers to these or die in the attempt to find out.
Now listen the first clue is 'Public notices, in short' 3 letters A_S .I'm guessing it's APS but I haven't a feckin clue.Second one is 'They rise in response to cold or emotional stress' 10 letters
G_O_E_U_ _S

Ask not what an EEjit can do for you but what you can do for an EEjit.I'm waiting, come on now,come on, come on! Time is money,get them brains ticking!

Not Dr Ted etc

Don't be expecting much now yous, I'm fecking dying here!

Act one, scene one. A doctors surgery.Dr Ted and Dr Dougal are walking tippy- toe style down the stairs.Ted is wearing a light grey Armani suit with open necked shirt revealing a hirsute chest and chunky chained gold medallion . Dougal is wearing full golf gear including red kangol cashmere beret, studded shoes, pink pringle sweater with yellow and green diamond pattern on the front and old style plus fours. He carries a no. 3 metal wood with him at all times ,night and day.
Entering the surgery they close the door gently behind them so as not to wake Dr Jack sleeping it off upstairs.
The receptionist Mrs Doyle enters with tea and toast on a tray.

'Good morning doctors'
Good morning Mrs Doyle , What have we on today? Ted asks, sipping his tea and checking his Rolex while Dougal vigorously practices his golf swing.

Well Doctor Ted, ye have 3 patient appointments this morning and a test drive with Leahey's garage in the afternoon in the new Jaguar XF.

'Good so!' says Ted as Dougal tries with all his might to free his golf club that he's trapped under the arm of the sofa. 'Who's first'
'Mr Kelly of the hill,' says Mrs Doyle, 'thinks he has swine flu'
Ted splutters into his tea then laughs nervously. 'Swine flu ?' he repeats, gathering himself, 'Nonsense! Tell me Mrs Doyle, does he believe the tooth fairy still exists too?'
'Jaysus, is the tooth fairy dead ,Ted?' asks Dougal concernedly and yanks once more at the club freeing it in a mighty arc across the room.
'Fore' shouts Dougal as the club strikes Mrs Doyle violently on the back of the head knocking her out cold.
Ted stares at Dougal, then Mrs Doyle in disbelief
'It was an accident' says Dougal pathetically 'no harm done' then after a pause 'Is she dead ,Ted?'
'No Dougal she's just unconscious' 'Put her into the recovery position, while I go and get a glass of water and and some ice'
'A lemonade for me please ,Ted'
'They're for mrs Doyle, Dougal, water to bring her round and ice for the swelling' says Ted, heading to the kitchen , Now put her in the recovery position will you?'
'Recovery position, right Ted' says Dougal blankly.
Ted returns 3 minutes later to find Dougal practicing his golf swing and mrs Doyle still unconscious on her head upside down in the armchair with her feet tied to the light fitting by the curtain tie backs.
'Dougal, what in the name of God have ye done to Mrs Doyle?'
'Great isn't it Ted? I found it in a book on yoga, it's supposed to be great for the circulation, whatever that is'

Not Doctor Ted, arriving at a computer screen near you soon, possibly.

Feeling the rashly self- hyped ,self-induced ,weighty burden of expectation surrounding my forthcoming play/story /Tv series/Hollywood blockbuster, 'Doctor Ted' ,I have decided to subtly distance my masterpiece totally from any unfavourable comparison to the much loved hit TV series, 'Father Ted', by changing the name to' Not Doctor Ted or anything like Father Ted the smash hit Tv series' This is, after all , just a blog, not RTE or the BBC and things are by the very nature of the medium supposed to be here today gone tomorrow , mere candy floss, vinegar and rain soaked fish and chip paper for the transient ethereal ethernet times we drift through, gutterbound and forgettable. So it would be silly to put any pressure on myself,particularly in my present weakened state, balanced on the cusp of feeling the steel of the blade of the grim reaper(and I don't mean Mary Harney) 'Not Doctor Ted or anything like Father Ted the smash hit Tv series' remains though a true masterpiece and is without doubt the greatest piece of wrting of any kind produced since the dawn of time.

Shite, I think I may have done it again.

Coming soon to a computer screen near you

Doctor Ted.

I is back outta Hoshppidal

and hopefully nearly outa the woods too.Very tired, very weak.Must bed rest for another week then take it easy for another three,then go back for x rays.The roots and branches of infection got a real good grip of me and aren't keen to let go despite almost a gallon of liquid antibiotics and a bucketful of tablet ones.After a day of tests and who wants to be a millionaire type questioning in A+E they put me in a bed on a ward and stuck a four inch nail,er, I mean needle, into my arm with a nozzle on the end.I wondered if they were going to re-inflate my lung with a bicycle pump ,but no, it was for putting huge syringes of antib's into me at regular intervals.It's become a cliche I suppose to say the 'nurses were angels' but this hackneyed phrase is only a cliche because it is so true.I am filled with huge admiration for every single one of them and enormous gratitude.I don't know how they do it, don't know why they do it, but I thank God that they do. I would really love to win the lottery and give each and every one of them a huge wedge of cash and all the catering staff and all the domestics. You hear so many horror stories about hospitals and care and cleanliness that I was very concerned going in. In reality this hospital was everything you would hope it to be and to say I was relieved and highly impressed would be an understatement.They will have forgotten me already as they deal with the next intakes on a never ending conveyor belt, but I will never forget any of them. Thanks to you too ,blog pals ,for all your warm wishes and humour, they are most appreciated and apologies that this blog of photography and writing and idiocy has become a catalogue of illness.Everybody gets ill , everybody has troubles, I'm sure some of yours are worse than mine and you don't bleat on about them.
It's funny I spent a lot of this summer angry at the weather ,raging at it like that fecking other EEjit raging at windmills. I used to walk the dog across this field and a swallow would fly past, up and down , swerving past us at the last secondIt was beautiful and it was amazing ,but inwardly I was still eyeing the grey skies,feeling the cool breeze, and moaning.When I was in hospital and sick I thought of that moment and how I would dearly love to be under those grey skies , feeling the breeze on my face and watching that small bird.So maybe not ALL cliches are true. Maybe, just maybe, one swallow really can make a summer after all.

Gone to hospital

See you all later.PG.

The kiss of death


I was the king of Spain
and she was the queen.
We fought with pillows, feathers and hammers,
through the fever of ourselves.
White canaries sang on the windowsill,
Galleons rose on tall black seas as
day and night in battle we fell.
The heat of her made me sweat,
hot hands and thighs all over me,
long black hair hanging loose,

painted nails clutching at my heart.
She was beautiful, too beautiful, her
soft words were spoken, barely whispered
sweet nothings, in breathy deathly lust.
She wanted me so bad
if I but closed my eyes
and kissed her lips,
I was gone.

EEjit found alive if not kicking

Despite fears to the contrary, EEjit is not dead yet, though I think I came pretty close last night(more about that later) thanks lads ( 'lads' in Ireland means often males and females collectively) for all your support.strange to think I kept blogging when I was potentially dying,what's that all about? Not counting my chickens and keeping well way from the pigs but I think (hope,pray) the tide may be turning in my favour,at last.

The word on the street is...

Pneumonia and partially collapsed lung.

The Word on the street of ill is X-Ray!

Through it all,not a single sneeze, n'er a snuffle ,not one runny-nosed tissue thrown down the back of the headboard. No but by crikey a virulent cough to beat the band.I coughed so much and so hard last night that they think I may have pnemonia or a collapsed lung -or both.Hence the x-ray.A vast epic cacophany of a cough, if it were music it would be wagner,mighty and intimidating, it comes in night long bouts that make you wonder if you have an ounce of air, or cough,or energy left in your pathetic little frame.The kind of cough that doubles-up your legs, smashes your ribs with hammers and threatens to break you in two,leaving you shipwrecked and broken on the distant shore of your bed,thrown there as flotsam by the mighty epic sea of the swine flu,and there you sweat barely daring,barely able ,to breathe for fear of the inevitability of the next violent wave.


I was thinking of stuff written on headstones and the only one I really don't like is the 'Only sleeping' one.Feckin hell.! Only sleeping? WTF is that all about.Every time I see that in a graveyard I quicken me pace and keep an eye out over me shoulder.What if the poor fucker wakes up!
Iwas thinking of something fairly conventional for my headstone and even maybe a little poetic so that people would be drawn into it ,and then, written in really small print so they have to lean right in squinting to read it
'You, yes, YOU! I'm keeping my eye on you!
That should put the wind up them!

The word on the street is ,ROTTEN.

totally rotten /wrecked/too ill , feverish exhausted to blog but ,Mrs Niamh, one if the world famous 'Poetry Divas' performance group is going great guns with 'man and superman ,the world tour.' Always a witty blog, go over there and see what she's up to in a tent in a field with 3 other poets. http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/08/poetry-is-new-going-out.html
I'm going now ,i want to die in bed with me boots on not at the computer from hell that has been the bane of my all-too-short life.Tanks fer all your comments good wishes, i will get Jimmy the Butler to reply to them after the funeral

One swineflu does not a summer make

Mrs EEjit also full of it.


US.


Are they swifts or swallows,
I can never tell
and did either of them ever make a summer anyway?
Hard to believe ,now,
in the detritus and deus ex machina of our lives,
as we look with cool autumnal stare,
that once, vital, we loved and bobbed and weaved
upon the wing ,dewy-eyed
and without a care.

TFE Poetry Ireland Review no 71

Anyone who doesn't like the sight/sound of an overgrown man wallowing in self pity and misery, turn over now.On the other hand it won't be forever as I'll either die ,or get better and cheer up,either way the moaning will stop. Currently after another rotten night I am bathed in sweat and appear to have an ice-pick stuck between my shoulder blades,or that's what it feels like.
It gets into you, every fibre of you ,throws you around the ring, pummels you on the ropes,batters the inside of your head with pneumatic drills,poisons you,puts you in a pot of boiling water then dunks you into an arctic lake and leaves you there.This it does in waves, all day all night ad infinitum.till eventually you are destroyed as a living thing and heads for the lungs to finish you off.Totally free,available in an intake of breath, a shake of the hands and all good hard surfaces.Swine Flu-it does what it says on the tin.


'If I had my time again' Part one of a new play ,probably in one part, by TFE.
Scene one a Doctors surgery.


DR: Hello TFE.

TFE:I'm dying ,give me some Tamiflu!

DR: Ah !Now, Tamiflu can make you feel a bit sick you know.

TFE:Swine Flu can make you feel more sick than sick can be and it can kill you.Give me some Tami!

DR: But you only have 'mild ' symptoms Mr TFE.

TFE: Fuck off!

DR: I don't like your tone ,Mr EEjit.

TFE: I don't like your face , Doctor. And how do you know my symptoms are mild, you only see me when I'm temporarily well-enough to drag my sorry arse all the way down to your surgery

DR: How do I know, Mr EEjit , how do I know? I'll tell you how I know,In case you hadn't noticed I am sitting at a rather large desk and I have a brass plaque on the wall outside with a long list of letters after my name.These things tell me your symptoms are mild and you do not need Tamiflu.

TFE: In case you hadn't noticed Doctor I am sitting with a rather large baseball bat in my holdall and I have a gang of mates sitting on the wall outside with a long list of convictions after their names.Give me the Tamiflu.

DR: How many would you like? Need any antbiotics ,you seem to have a rather nasty chest infection starting? How about a nebuliser to ease your breathing?

TFE: Thanks a million ,Doc.

DR: No problem TFE, anytime, cheery bye now !