THe Late Late Poetry BUs Show!

I'm late! I'm sorry! The Poetry Bus this week is driven by her Bugness , Dana Bug. See her prompt and catch up with all the other passenglos HERE

I wrote two pomes, more or less to the theme of home and they could be two sides of the same coin, or the sides of different coins, or the edges of madness, or non of the above.

The loneliness of the long distance drinker

They come and they go,

from being there.

While you are never there,

always there,

they have homes to go to,

travelling with a sense of belonging,

the colours of the rainbow before them,

the light of hope above them,

god love them and saints preserve us.

I see the shadows one, two, then three,

I no longer fear them,

the shadows are me,

but which one am I

Among the trees,

the wood, the nails.

Branches reflected in the roots,

mirror images, reflections

reaching up, delving down,

into the light, unto the dark,

becoming each the other.

Spent leaves tumble from the branches

their days in the sun short lived.

Falling to the ground

to feed the roots

which feed the branches,

to make new shoots

of reckless hope.

The Field.

The field was beautiful.

Its beauty was hidden.

We had fought them hard over it,

footprints then even of brother

against brother.

Yet blood stains were fading now,

the ground was strong,

the soil fertile.

Green shoots reached up

for sun and stars,

but some only dug down for gold,

trampled all before them.

The field was destroyed

it’s gentle slopes in ruin

left gouged and scarred,

a people massacred

without a single shot being fired.

The people devoid of hope

asked how could our field

ever be beautiful now?

Then in the dark night a

single snowflake fell

And another shining white

Joined and fell, a hundred,

a thousand, a million strong

blanketed the wealds and wounds,

drove those of greed to the margins

to suffocate there in droves.

The people reigned

and the field

breathed its beauty

for the first time...

Wish Weaver well

Lovely person and Poetry BUs regular Weaver of Grass (Pat) is a bit under the weather to use her euphemism for being airlifted to hospital after a seizure.She is back at home but still shaky. Please wish her well in thoughts and prayers or whatever meditation works best for you when those you care about are unwell. Maybe leave a comment...
HERE

BUS LEAVES EARLY!!

I have a sore head.Haven't been round to see all Enchanted Oaks Passengos yet (but I will) and here we are ready to go again, YABBADABBADOO!!.
Chris drove brillo last week many many thanklos and now she hands the keys over to Dana Bug, who has set three intriguing prompts over
HERE

Dana is a long distance lorry driver(Trucker) so driving a bus should be no bother to her. Dana likes to sing country and western songs and play the guitar while she travels the highways and by ways of America in her 18 wheeler. Luckily she has learned to steer and change gear with her double jointed toes. She is also an expert roller skater and is the blindfold freestyle on one leg world champion of Belgium.In her other spare time she makes high class jewellery out of teeth and wool.. Luckily her husband is a part time dentist and sheep shearer, so she has a continuous supply of materials. A keen extreme explorer she once crossed the mojave desert without the aid of a compass, backwards, wearing flip flops and balancing a fruit bowl on her head. All this with only a thimble of water and a demi baguette (ham ,cheese, mayo) to sustain her.

Still at it, there's no stopping me now!

Picture this.



Work it out
Three simple steps
One moment jig-sawed.
Wide open abstraction- BREATHE!

I never felt more, alive.

You could never find it,
solution, salvation?
All roads lead to Roman
Candles, let them snuff out,
before it… shines.

Never did nobody no wrong!
Grammar, gramer, grasmmer.
Pieces:
of silver,
of gold,
of the pie,
One way puzzled heart
pounding in the flesh.

Top of the flats Ma,
Notice me!
A single shot,
shutter speed slow,
aperture wide open.
Swifts swallow the
black night,
tungsten lights
the way beautiful,
the city shines.

Frame it, the answer unquestioned,
warm breeze through corn fields,
minimum wage, maximum words,
saying nothing, doing…nothing,
living on the way down, this is freedom,

this is how happiness feels,
this could be for ever,
this is my time.

More bloody misery!

Those of a disposition that (quite rightly) renders them pissed-off with maudlin self-pity and gratuitous self indulgence of the 'woe is me kind', please look away now.

I tried,I really tried to do uplifting, or happy, or beautiful but as soon as I looked at the myriad poetry skies of opportunity they turned black and it pissed down. Three times I tried and failed.I even tried using my imagination but that's like using a bottle opener to bake bread.

Anyways IT'S POETRY BUS TIME!! And there will be nicer and better poems by other passengers
HERE

And If YOU haven't already done so BUY THE POETRY BUS MAG it's bloody brilliant and stocks are running low.


Here's my tickets for Enchanted Oaks bus. Don't read them all, just browse and put something vague in the comments, in fact don't read any of them, go and do something more interesting. Or visit the other passengers.

I am

Broken.

Not fragile,

what doesn’t kill you,

makes you die a little each time.

Sheltered but homeless.

Worthless.

The entirety of my experience.

Not the worst person I could be.

Rich enough to break no law,

Poor enough

To appreciate it.

Wise enough

to know the luxury

of choice.

Lacking in confidence.

Suspicious of certainty.

Unforgiving.

In forgiveness.

Able to cry

At the drop of a hat

But not the dropping

Of a bomb

A husband.

A Father.

A Son.

A Brother.

Unqualified.

Running out,

but not out,

of time

A dreamer still.

A survivor so far.

A rebel by answer.

Inadequate by question.

My own best friend.

And worse enemy.

Angry, bitter, twisted,

fearful, hopeful, desperate,

vicious, cruel, unkind,

kind ,gentle, loving.

A new song everyday.

I was

A child.

Unsure.

Unsteady.

Forever young.

Unsung.

Unready.

Unable.

Wasted.

I will be

Someone.

Something.

Someday.

So what

If not ?

(I told you not to read!But look here, if you must, I even started with a happy title, it didn't work.!)

Beautiful Day.

On a day like this,

Snowed-in .

Music floated snowflake-light

Bathed low in winter sun

nurtured warmth, held only love

This big world bright,

shiny-faced skittered

seeds on thawed darkest soil

They painted the blank canvas

And I spattered blood

Crimson cries to earthly hell

Became what I feared

Broke bones like promises

Heard the strings the chorus

My hardened heart a fist

I could kill, I nearly did

this haunts me now

Broken ghosts remember shadows

Seeking the light where I try to shine.

(And this one!! I actually really like our town!)

Our Town

This is the peaceful town

talking up the strangers hand

local garbage round the back

The rats know the craic

Christmas lights line the way

Twinkle tears for

Madtroplis hell

This your day

This our town

Feet grind the pavements

Jaws drop the goss

Dish the dirt

Dirty laundry in public spaces

Dirty dishes in the sink

From last nights Indian

Drizzling rains grease the streets

Greasy tea greasy tills

In the cafes of the lost the lonely

Darkness comes early

To our town

MORE BUS POET ACHIEVEMENT !

JoAnne McKay (Titus) is doing this.. click HERE
to find out!

Peter Goulding has more successes than I can keep up with. This was a recent one here

THE ENCHANTED BUS!

Well my little apple strudels it's that time of the week again where a marvellous blogpoet sets the weekly task! Gasp and yippee! Many thanks to last weeks driver Karen who took us down poetry lane so splendidly.

This week tis the turn of Chris (Enchanted Oak) whose blog is really worth watching, specially for poems. Chris is a giant Bonsai tree specialist. No she isn't giant, the trees are giant. Years of experimental grafting and manipulation have produced bonsai in excess of thirty feet! A marvelous achievement I'm sure you will agree. In her spare time Chris likes to yodel and knit teeth warmers out of Yaks wool. A keen racing driver in the 80's she once lapped Brazillian ace Ayrton Senna several times in her three wheeled Reliant Robin only to run out of elastic bands on the final lap.
Her task this week is HERE
But don't rush over there just yet. C'mere here to me, there's more.

The POetry Bus Mag launched last Monday week in The International Bar in Dublin and was a great night, probably mainly because I wasn't there! I got ill and missed it.Doh! But by the magic of the interwireless I and you can watch the whole sheboodle right here here
It's in the highlights and are the first five videos on page two. I downloaded them here but my computer is so old and slow it fecked it right up, so I had to take them off. If stuck go to thepoetrybus.blogspot.com where you can still see them

There is some terrific stuff on there so have a rummage! It was run as part of The Glór sessions which are on every Mon night and you can watch them live at this address every week here , so tune in and say hello (I'll be there online) and witness a great nights entertainment all run by the inspirational Mr Stephen James Smith.

And congratulations to all these bus poets whose fame and fortune has increased no end since I helped them get on the bus.
Colm Keegan (Uiscebot) couldn't even speak till he joined the bus,so thanks to me he is now All Ireland Poetry SlamChampion.
Kate Dempsey (Emerging Writer) is in the latest Magma , thanks to me,after being spotted on the backseat of the bus.
Niamh Bagnell (Various) has a short story in the latest Stinging Fly, again thanks to me and the bus.
Mags Treanor (Arsekick) has a poem in my (2nd) favourite poetry mag in the world The SHOp and Mags couldn't write at all before she was published and nurtured by myself and the poetry bus.
Bus poets St James Harris Wood and his son Zak are also in The SHOp as is bus poet and TS Eliot prizewinner George Szirtes who owes the success of his entire literary career to me.
Triona Walsh (Domestic Oubliette) is pregnant (congratulations), but that has absolutley nothing to do with me, or the bus, at all..



Incidentally Colm, Kate,Niamh and Mags all read on the launch night, as did fellow bus poets PJ Nolan and Carol Boland. So many thanks to them, they were brilliant.

Also The Poetry Library in London have ordered a copy of the first issue of The Poetry Bus Mag and want to subscribe to further issues. Which is great news.


Now you can go to Enchanted Oaks!

STILL TIME TO GET ABOARD !!

Yes peeps, tis almost poetry bus time, monday that half eaten biscuit of a day of the week, that grey featureless blancmange o a 24 hour period, saved only by hightailing it to the stars on the cosmic poetry bus, No time though to think just write like you are Niagara Falls trying to put out a city burning in the night. Think of the STEAM!
Steam age poetry. Get your Mojo running, get out on the highway, let your waters break down the walls of flame, this house is on fire ,the city is on fire, the world's going up in flames, don't let it burn!

Tis weeks task set by Karen is... 'to write about one of the following:(1) a time you had to choose between two clearly divergent paths; (2) a time you were called to walk a path you didn't choose for yourself; or (3) a time you refused to travel the path you were called to follow. If these won't work for you, write anything about a choice you made'

See her own poem, the task in full and other stuff HERE
Many thanks to Karen for taking time off from her elephant reiki duties at the local zoo where she works part time, to set this task. Karen, an ex haute couture dress designer and traffic warden holds the world record for most boiled eggs eaten in a minute underwater (Seven) and is a keen collector of other peoples toenail clippings, thousands of which have been posted to her from around the world. She is particularly proud of her celebrity clippings which include toenails from Nelson Mandella, Seamus Heaney, Lady Gaga and Wayne Rooney.

Remember folks Rome is for everybody, not just for christians and lions, so don't fiddle with this riddle while it burns, get writing!

Birdsong

A single leaf among all the trees,

a single bird among all the birds

Questions without answers

turning slowly above

a universal song

that the simple wren sang

And a broken leaf fell

And kept on falling

Through deepest days

Darkest nights

Fell through time

Tumbled down red and brown

Starshaped brittle

never hitting the ground

The tiny bird just sang and sang

Without question or answer

And while it sang

The world stood still

And time stood still

That the tumbling leaf

Might find some peace.

Get up! Stand up!

Sick and tired ,I'm sick and I'm tired
Of the ME ME ME democracy
the established
path of the poet so travelled
so look at ME ME ME ME
I'm I'M I'm
and the money oh the money oh the moneeey
Don't give up the fight
never give up the light
never a mention but the look at I
grazing in the lush fields of established meant
bursary funded writers centre retreat
from the beat beat beat
this is poetry, this is Ireland
THIS is POETRY Ireland
this is the centre,
this is the writer,
this is The Irish Writers Centre.
This is the arts, here is the council
this is the heart of the arts council
Get up stand up
don't give in the fight
get up stand up seperate wrong from right
listen to the voices of the right
a hard rain it's a long reign
a hard reign is going to fall
get up stand up
don't forget to write
get up stand up
for what you need to write
writing all the wrongs righting all the songs
writings on the wall, hard rains going to fall
heard rains going to call,
'Arm, arm!' they cried
we have come to lead you
to the promised land
to the equal land
to the soft held hand
to the peace and quiet
they can't deny it
if we get up stand up
stand up for our rights
get up stand up
see the guiding lights
saying nothing only let's them win
doing nothing is the greatest sin
get up stand up
stand up for your rights
get up stand up don't forget to fight
get up!

KAREN CAPTAINS THE BUS!!

Loads of stuff going on. Launch was great success, I didn't make it. Tell all when head straight. Yabba Dabba!

Latest Bus Trip
HERE

THE POETRY BUS LAUNCH NIGHT

If you cant make it to The International Bar 8pm Wicklow street, why not tune in live at the link below.The Poetry Bus Mag will be officially launched along with top selling (no 3 so far, in the irish top selling books list) 'Soundings' that has people like John Milton and shakespeare and Seamus Heaney and lots of other dead people.
There will be living poets too like these wonderful Bus poets.. Colm Keegan, Carol Boland, Mags Treanor, Kate Dempsey, Maggie O'Dwyer, Niamh Bagnell, Emer Fallon, Pj Nolan, Stephen James Smith. All feckin brilliant, wait till you hear them!

Live music from Colm O'Snodaigh of top group Kilá.

Do NOT miss this!!
Tune in around 8.30 and keep checking till it goes live on air..
HERE

Also many thanks To Liz gallagher for driving last week and to Jessica Maybury for this weeks watery task, here's my efforts.

Wet Dreams.

Double yellow lines

110 miles per hour

Sal solo

Joe Stalin does what he says

On the tin

We’re in deep

Water

H2 O

Bottled up

Rapid flow

Flood plains

Stagnant jest

Safety vest

Hurricane west

East of Java

Key Largo Orson

Wells Fargo

Water waiter

Walter Mathau

H2O

Drip drip

In the night

Incadescense

Lack of sleep

Liquid dreams

Molten skies

Curly fries

Water water

I don't drink

as much as I oughta

Free flowin lip smackin

Water? Yeuch !

Fish fuck in it.

Plughole... (A song)

no tune yet..offers???

They call me big Fats Waller

Fats Domino, Pizza man-

Though I used be Memphis Slim,

Living drinking day and night

Is slowly doing me in.

Tired of whistling after dead dogs

Pissing up the walls

Senses buzzing like a drone

Gonna unpack a six pack gun

And I’m goin way back home

Tired of losing day jobs

Tired of being tired

Tired of whiskey Beer and Gin

Didn’t get my wishlist

So I’m saving up on sin

Sick of getting no thanks

For the terror that I hold

I’m tired of being what I do

I used to be someone’s someone

Now I’m gonna find out who

Throw away that sawn-off

Poets make no point

Words giving you the slip

This captains going overboard

Fuck that stinking ship

I’m leaving town at daybreak

Not at the break of day

Breaking no more bones

Kicking out the dead men

Rolling away the stones

Dreaming needs some sleep

Sleeping needs good dreams

Not those faces that I meet

Get some warmth in to me

Before I hit unconscious street

One more bottle of whiskey

One nugget of consolation

One little skin of gin

No man can turn the world around

Till he gets his head to spin

Two more nights of drinking

For each day of being alone

Got to do some thinking

Before I head my head back home

Straighten out the rat’s tales

Then I’m going back home

Yeah, I’m going home

One day I’m going home

Soon I’m going home

One more bottle one last song

Then I’m going home

Going home

MORE BUS SHENANIGANS AND TING

Driving for the first time in the history of the universe is the talented Jessica Maybury, so get over there for Mon 8th Nov with Jessica Maybury HERE
Jessica runs her own mobile patisserie and herbal remedy shop from the back of a classic 60's Volkswagen Camper Van, which doubles up as a roaming chipper and bedroom by night. Jessica won worldwide critical acclaim for her theories and papers on' macrobiotics and the deep fried Mars Bar in the modern culinary clique' and' the literary influences of JCB's in both the sanskrit short story and topiary.'

AND, WHILE I'M SHOUTING, DON'T FORGET THE LAUNCH!! DETAILS BELLOWED BELOW...



Yes, folks, the earth used be flat then roundness was discovered,people used to walk miles to the next village to buy things, then Aston Martins were invented. Cyanide , lead and dog poo were used to clean teeth, then toothpaste was invented, people used to read boring poetry then THE POETRY BUS MAGAZINE was invented.

And to mark this huge leap forward for mankind we are having an entertainment EXTRAVAGANZA in The International Bar Wicklow Street Dublin Eiré and EVERYBODY is invited, so get yer coat, get walking, hop on a bicycle, a bus, a boat, a plane, a kangaroo, JUST GET THERE! Monday 8th November 8pm.

There will be freshley brewed Guinness* there will be music from the brilliant Colm ó Snodaigh of Kilá fame, there will be real live actual BUS POETS reading poems from THE POETRY BUS MAGAZINE including host Stephen James Smith, Mags Treanor, Pj Nolan (AKA Scalder), Niamh (various) Bagnell, Triona (Domestic Oubliette) Walsh, Kate (Emerging Writer) Dempsey, Carol Boland, Peadar (TotalFeckinEEjit) O'Donoghue and recently crowned All Ireland Poetry Slam Champion Colm Keegan.
Other things will also surely happen.

The old skool poetry book Soundings will also be revamped and re-launched with poets reading their fave old skool poems.

How much does this smorgesbord of entertainment cost? Is it €50 ? No! Is it €20? No !
not even 10 nor 5 nor 2 nor €1. All this is FREE!
Where else would ya get it!!??


The craic will be mighty, so be there on the nighty



*(other alcoholic products are also available) but they're not as nice.


The pic above is Butane Boy (copyright) by Colm Keegan and available as a FREE limited edition print with every copy of The Poetry Bus Magazine. Copies are still available but running low. BUY IT NOW. Buying the first issue is a vote for people poetry and a financial contribution to both the production of issue two, and the survival of this entirely unfunded adventure. Thank you.

POETRY BUS MAGAZINE LIVE LAUNCH

Yes, folks, the earth used be flat then roundness was discovered,people used to walk miles to the next village to buy things, then Aston Martins were invented. Cyanide , lead and dog poo were used to clean teeth, then toothpaste was invented, people used to read boring poetry then THE POETRY BUS MAGAZINE was invented.

And to mark this huge leap forward for mankind we are having an entertainment EXTRAVAGANZA in The International Bar Wicklow Street Dublin Eiré and EVERYBODY is invited, so get yer coat, get walking, hop on a bicycle, a bus, a boat, a plane, a kangaroo, JUST GET THERE! Monday 8th November 8pm.

There will be freshley brewed Guinness* there will be music from the brilliant Colm ó Snodaigh of Kilá fame, there will be real live actual BUS POETS reading poems from THE POETRY BUS MAGAZINE including host Stephen James Smith, Mags Treanor, Pj Nolan (AKA Scalder), Niamh (various) Bagnell, Triona (Domestic Oubliette) Walsh, Kate (Emerging Writer) Dempsey, Carol Boland, Peadar (TotalFeckinEEjit) O'Donoghue and recently crowned All Ireland Poetry Slam Champion Colm Keegan.
Other things will also surely happen.

The old skool poetry book Soundings will also be revamped and re-launched with poets reading their fave old skool poems.

How much does this smorgesbord of entertainment cost? Is it €50 ? No! Is it €20? No !
not even 10 nor 5 nor 2 nor €1. All this is FREE!
Where else would ya get it!!??


The craic will be mighty, so be there on the nighty



*(other alcoholic products are also available) but they're not as nice.


The pic above is Butane Boy (copyright) by Colm Keegan and available as a FREE limited edition print with every copy of The Poetry Bus Magazine. Copies are still available but running low. BUY IT NOW. Buying the first issue is a vote for people poetry and a financial contribution to both the production of issue two, and the survival of this entirely unfunded adventure. Thank you.