Tuesday, April 26, 2011

THe Poetry Bus poem type thing


Shadows will cross your path, dead people rise up or lay down to haunt you, but it's the only way ahead, no turning back, never look back except in anger.

Tis a catharsis a symbiosis, a process by which..., a coping method, a linear procedure, a putting of one letter in front of another like feet of a thousand miles. Why, because they (b)are there and the only other alternative is not to, and that seems the greater of two evils and somewhat negative.

So to accentuate the positive while still (or through) emitting/ expunging/ processing the negative in a written detox seems like a reasonable thing to do in the face of everything we are faced with in our daily lives which like the courses of true love, never run smooth. In this life you will only regret the things you never did, unless you supported Liverpool Football Club or murdered all your family.

What I am trying to say is that this may not be a good poem but it might possibly be better than no poem , for the writer if not the reader!

Nothing exceeds like excess and Nanu was in search of too much, I hope she found it in spades in all your poems

Today I have mainly been drinking Obst- Schnaps and lager and am on the ledge /knife edge of relaxation and vomit. Such a thin line between too much and way too much and this ironically when your judgementy/perception of excess is at it's least accurate.

It's so strange. When you're sober you'd be at your best able but least likely to climb a lampost, and when you're drunk you are conversely at your least able but most likely to climb it. Life can be a sardonic bastard.

Also, and,if ,or but, the thing is, when things are really desperately bad you are paralysed in the moment and can't /won't/ wouldn't/ couldn't write at all. It is later when you are (almost) safely ashore that you can dare to go back. You need a little sunshine to cast a shadow.

The Easter song.

We had it all we wanted for nothing
We wanted more

And how will I cope how will I live
Among ghost estate life
Turf fires, embers now
Glowing in memory
Enough was enough
Never now
Too much is never…

Juke box bandits one-armed legless

Keys in the lock
A different lock every night
Oh,nameless as the stars above
Houses, houses ,houses
Up on the skyline we yearn to
Float flee fly free
Life once enjoyed,now endured

Thick through the thin years
And (pity me
Have mercy on me)
Money passes hands far
Quicker than the lives I broke
Goat rough hollow heart

The wren in the hand I held
The wren in the hand I crushed
Cowardice in telephone booth
every card held, poker faced
those thin lips I almost kissed
I wonder if that love is hate

too much is never enough


glass of red pint of blood
scar lit city
dirt beneath the nails
filthy lucre
skip filled, the in, the out
the richest corpse
the glory and the soul
worms turning
that forgave the plough
but who will live
to forgive
me

As rain’s river falls
In tumbling cats and dogs
I look for wounds to sink my hands
To kiss another cheek
From candlelit page
To moonlit street
My head bowed drunk
Over bare boards
Screaming hordes in my forgotten head
Forget-me-not
Lover, brother, sister, fool.
Hallelujah.









And all you need is intelligence a Swiss Army Knife and charm!!




12 comments:

Enchanted Oak said...

Peadar, there are things going on inside your head that explode in words and images in your poetry. I see you putting one letter in front of another, as you call it, trying to grab the explosions and write them down... then off you go to tackle a lamppost.

The image you chose for this poem is perfect for it, I don't know why.

I'm glad you're over there writing writing writing like a banshee sometimes even when the poems hurt.

Hallelujah back.

Jeanne Iris said...

What would Jesus do? He'd click his fingers in awe of this one, Peadar. My favorite line: "Float, flee, fly free."

NanU said...

Always so much crammed in there; not sure if the poem is the first part or the second part or if it's all one part, one whole thing, let's have some more.

Heather said...

You poem is amazing Peadar - I must go and read it again. It is so deep, so full, yet my words of praise sound banal.

the watercats said...

would you believe, my brother and myself were quoting billy bragg lyrics last night.. he's a man that can actually do a protest song.. and you're a man that can do a protest poem.. the rage and the irony and the fragility of being human...

Peter Goulding said...

Wonderful commentary on where we are now and how we got here. The religious imagery is quite shocking.

Lolamouse said...

I like the intensity of this poem. "Too much is never enough" could be the motto of most of America!

Niamh B said...

really brilliantly honest piece I think TFE, love the bit about the lamp post, so true and obvious but something I've never noticed before

Emerging Writer said...

Some nightmarish images there Paedar. Evocative

Karen said...

Excess, indeed! You really do pile image on image and achieve a whole that I never see coming. Wonderful work.

Padhraig Nolan said...

Pow! Zing! Biff! Crack! Love it! Fitzapoppin' fireworks of expression burning the sky down to the soul. More please!

Helen said...

Just when I thought I could hold no more of your wonderful words in my tiny brain ... with every emotion overflowing, you hit me with Jeff Buckley and Hallelujua!
Bastard!