The Poetry Bus Magazine funding REJECTED by Artslinks (Arselinks)yes I am bitter and twisted and hypocritical as I would have been singing their praises had filthy lucre been winging it's way Castlewards.
In all honesty I take a peverse delight in rejection and get further steel in my determination to publish this excellent publication come hell or 20 pints of Guinness.If I can do it without any kind of funding at all I would be all the happier. Fuck the lot of them!
In short I'm gonna pay for it myself. I would have done this ages ago but severe negative finances make it very tricky.I know however I will get my (borrowed ) money back, hopefully before someone breaks my legs.
So if YOU yes YOU have any interest in buying The Poetry Bus Magazine (details to follow) please express your interest in the comments box. Let me know how many copies you would like, please order as many as you can to sell to friends etc.If I know roughly how many I can initially sell ,I'll know how many to order.Simples! I'm hoping to keep the price to a rock bottom bargainsville €5/$6.25/£4.29 plus P+P because I want to get it out there.
This weeks ethernetBUS is being most brilloish drively by the world famous poet and soprano Barbaro Smith. See HERE
She gave us the first line of.."I got down on my knees and smelled the new linoleum...
I changed it slightly but a nods as good as a wink to a man with his head in a Hawthorn bush My effort is not a WIP (work in progress) but best described as a RIP (a rant in progress) Drink and loud music to blame.
I got down on my knees to pray and smelled the new linoleum.
Twas better than waking up to smell the coffee
And I needed to get away from the fumes of the paraffin stove
The nearest thing we had to a loaded shotgun
Eco friendly under floor heating windmills in the skyline
Solid fuel solidarity parity of pay of opportunity
On our knees ice on the floor cancer in our hearts
Corrugated iron kept the winds at bay
Bay windows double-glazed south facing Agapanthian blooms of love
Life money in the pocket where dreams once rubbed with bare knuckles
Lies so deep, life so cheap, the brand new ML 350 Jeep on the gravel extended driveway
Stairways rendered to heaven help us Jacob's ladder broken
God turning in his grave not in my name black-hearted priest
St Francis of
Money in the plate for golden crowns Pontiff Pilots ,Mammon we love you
Your altars surround us, poets clamouring to pat each other, Mwah!, Mwah!
Snake like conceits of kisses daggers held in abeyance for the summit supper
My back backstabbed/ backscratched like yours, like mine, keep the plate clean pass the buck, the honey, the bees knees aren’t we, la plus ca change.
Pass it on amongst us keep it to ourselves the goal is our goal the gold is our goal
Alchemists we plunder dissect reject renew gametes divide and rule
Forgetting we were stuck travellers once on the road the Mohican boreen
Grass bled green from our teeth
Fear now holds tight now drowning in the waters of our greed
Rattling raw towards the hollow empty grave a finish line unseen
Conversely this has nothing to do with linoleum, sometimes I just get tired of fighting.
I remember when dreams were dreams, not memories
And we wore platform shoes
And train tracks led to somewhere
Not the hell out
I remember when the sun shone and reddened our necks
When we pumped water from the well
And the coldness of it’s clarity took us by surprise
Our turf cut hands healed quicker than
Our broken hearts
But nothing was forever
That was for the old
Something we would never be
Fortunes told by a pack of cards glances given on the dancefloor
Like your life depended on it
Heightened summer love
A different girl each year, like the seasons
Things bloomed then fell
By the canal we walked, in Gleeson’s bar we talked
The river was too wide the Winters were too wild
So we sat in buttercup meadows and made love
While we could.