Sunday, February 13, 2011

DANA BUGS LOVE BUG BUS THING


Well whadya know? Tis election time here where smug craven individuals who, out the whole planet's population, are the least well equipped to be in charge of a social clubs annual outing fund, let alone a whole country of 6 million people, are seeking power via my vote.

Repeated evidence through the mists of time shows that any individual who has the self- serving regard, audacity and pomp to consider themselves a likely candidate should automatically be disqualified from ever having anything to do with politics and really should be deported to a far-flung and inhospitable alien planet to live with all his fellow would-be politicians.

The whole political system is broken. Politics is a haven of crooks, liars, cheats, arseholes and back -slapping croneyistic profiteers. Nobody with an ounce of decency, common sense, or altruism has the least interest for getting involved in the current miasma of uncharismatic medoicrity, corruption and sheer blinkered, ivory towered pretentious arrogance that is Irish party politics.

I'm also fairly convinced it's a similar story in whatever country you happen to live in dear reader.

If any of these people call to your door tell them politely that they are not normal human beings, to go fuck themselves, and that if they persist in talking to you, that you will set them on fire. Keep a can of petrol and a ready supply life sized dummies/ shop mannequins* and a blow torch by the door to demonstrate to them.


There are plenty of these available as almost every shop in town has now closed down.

I'm not voting for a remake, or a revamp, or a re-shuffle of the same limited twisted deck of cards. I'm voting for a revolution.


And now this weeks Poetry Bus, driven by Dana Bug..........


Here we go again! I'm behind the wheel & being dangerous in the curves - but I promise that you'll all arrive safely. Really!

It's Valentine's Day (or it will be on Monday - stop being so technical!), but you don't have to write any love sonnets or Conversation Heart verses. Unless you want to - go for it if that's what's on your mind. I'm listing three different picture prompts below which should hopefully stir some creative juices. I'm sorry that it's on the heels of last week's picture prompt, but not sorry enough to change it.

1. Our neighbors took this picture of the driveway across the street last week. What do you think is going on here? Make up a story about it!


2. Dr. M took this picture of furniture in the cornfield. Now that seemed extra odd to me. I supposed that perhaps a frigid tête-à-tête was going on. What do you think?





3. A closeup of the chair - I'm not sure why this icy furniture has grabbed my attention, but I would love to see what you have to say about it.



After you post your poem come back here & let me know & I'll post the link on this post. Good luck!


I managed two poems this week, using firstly the love hearts in the snow and secondly the furniture in the snow. Go to Dana Bugs blog to marvel at all the wondrrful passenglos!


10 to the power of 158

(closer to a love poem)


Fine line architecture

Molecules of meltdown

Two hearts left in the snow

Could be identical

But who would know?

They say, the odds of it happening

are indistinguishable from zero.


We say fuck you!


I’ll bury the burden,

I’ll put the weight

of proof on you,

I'll just kiss and tell,

Plunge bars and dimes,

Forever at the fair,

Spinning wheels,

Summer evening air,

Two armed bandits.


Time stands still as you blink,

every explanation

needs not to be explained.

Listening too intently and

Not hearing at all,

Falling apart at the scenes.


Keep walking the poetry tightrope

The noose of tomorrow on the horizon

Only one way two go,

Slow down or turn around,

The sunset is still coming at you

And through it all, for it all,

To spite it all, I love you still.






The Streets Of Our Town


Walk through the streets of Our Town,

count the shop boarded-up fronts,

smell the colours of warm aerosol.

People don’t give a piss for poetry,

Heads filled with diesel fumes,

No room for two to pass,

Dreams no longer burn, though

Hearts beat still.


Walk through the streets of Our Town,

Time rolls back through the day

Like dull eyes shine crystal meth.

Souls sifted in the cleansing flame

of dereliction and neglect.


On the streets of Our Town.

Death wears a suit

Don’t ask William Blake

Don’t beg for mercy

whatever you say

say nothing,

What ever you do,

Just don’t.




9 comments:

Niamh B said...

keep walking the poetry tight rope!

even though people don't give a piss. people are strange.

I think that would be an especially good backing track for the second one - just if you were thinking of making a music video or anything...

Enchanted Oak said...

Peadar,
I share your angst and fury, your poetic broken cynical heart. And I am thrilled that you write these lines:
"through it all, for it all, To spite it all, I love you still."
Because in the end it's what we do in our little worlds that matters most to us.

MuseSwings said...

I came on board a bit early I see. Early, late, it doesn't matter for I have Reserved Seating! Now put both hands on the wheel and let's

MuseSwings said...

I must be falling apart at the scenes - I miss read the driver-but whatever I've given you all the credit before dashing off to Dana's bus stop. All three of your poems are wonderful. The play on words are excellent and certainly worth entering into The Big Book of Exceptional Quotes.

120 Socks said...

Don't despair, all is not lost, and the election good bad or indifferent will soon be over!

Gwei Mui said...

Powerful words TFE - powerful no nonsense words. Love it haven't beeen able to read as many blogs as I would have liked busy with the theatre piece but I picked the right day and the right blog to start catching up with :)

The Bug said...

Is it significant that about 45 minutes ago I clicked on your blog to comment on your poem & the power went out? Talk about "Time stands still as you blink" - it was a little on eerie side, although we're back up & running now (and I'm at work, so I only half cared).

About every other week I say, "oh feck it - I can't & don't want to write poetry!" And then a line appears in my head & I just can't not write it down.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Oh Peadar, the poetry muse has really deserted me - even on the theme of Valentine's day - sorry. I feel almost back to normal so I am hoping the muse will call in again soon.

On the subject of politics you have hit the nail on the head - as you usually do - it is all one big sick whichever country you live in. Total disillusion has set in - the rich get rich etc. etc.

Dave King said...

A tad tardy, I fear, but as I say, before I finally got shot of the old equipment I was having enormous troubles on your blog. Now it sings to me, as does your poetry, light and dark, it's all part of what makes poetry the spiritual front runner. Glorious stuff!