Goodly news ,goodly news.

My favourite magazine in the whole wide world 'The SHOp' http://www.theshop-poetry-magazine.ie/ has accepted one of me poems. I'm totally delighto.
YAAAABBBAAADDDAAABBBAAADDDOOOO!!!!!!!!

It is a poem that will change your life and possibly the way that you walk , it has answers to questions that haven't even been asked yet, it will make you smile on the outside while weeping bitterly like a Liverpool fan on the inside, it will bring down walls and re-point chimneys, it will tell you everything while giving nothing away, it will cure warts, the common cold, PMT and premature male baldness, it has already been turned into a religion by tribes living along the banks of the Limpopo river and in south-east Carlow ,it has been used as a totally carbon neutral replacement for all fossil fuels and will soon be available at petrol stations across the developed world at a cost of just 12 cent per litre , yet will yield up to 200mpg in the average family saloon.(unless it's a Ford, Fords are shite especially Mondeos, I hate them and what a stupid name FFS)In short it has been hailed as a panacea for all the ills and woes of modern man and a woman. I'm sure some of you out there are asking yourselves 'But poetry changes nothing, can a single poem, even one by the legendary genius that is EEjit, can it really do all this?' Well let me tell you brothers, sisters,YES IT CAN! *

*Source- Guineys book of Bollix.Terms and condiments apply, apart from the fact that EEjit really is getting his blather published, TFE plc totally reserve the right to deny any of the rest of this information at a future juncture, investments may go up, or down , as well as around The Red Cow Roundabout, your home may not be safe if it has woodworm. TFE plc is a subsidiary of MUIAGSICDWIL (my uncle is a guard so i can do wot i like)

COW CAT.Totally the greatest poem ever written?

Cow-cat, Cow-cat ,
You know where it’s at, man.
A real coolio Daddy cat,
No bread and Honey, that would be funny,
You aint no fat cat
Out late at night life is black and white
like your fur, hear you purr, the lady cats think
you’re so cool you’re Fresian.
But what are you at, cat?
Don’t you hear the car coming ?
Soft rubber Pirelli tyres humming
You’d better scat, this
Driver is a speedy twat,
not doing his Honda Civic duty,
thinks his blinged-out ride’s a beauty,
too late –SPLAT!
Now you are flat,
like a pancake or,
a furry Cow-cat pat,
Holy cow, cat ,you
were from where it’s at
and without you,
it just aint there any more,
Drat!

It's like TOTALLYPOPTASTIC

Just got issue numero uno of 'popshot' poetry + illustration magazine-'the wonder of the ordinary' And I have to say I think it's great and different and stylish and new.The pages are black and the ink is white and each poem gets a full page illustration all of which are totally superb and worth buying the magazine (£6 inc p+p) for on their own..and there's a two page centrefold illustration too.Some of the poems are better than others but our own Nuala Ni Chonchuir is in there (and everywhere at the moment) and that's always a good thing.It's a great little magazine where perhaps the poetry accompanies the pictures and not the other way round.They'll be looking for (poetry) submissions from 1st May but no details of how the illustrators get in.It's a mag I'd like to be in so I'll give it a lash and if you are an illustrator I would definitely recommend getting in touch, it's a real showcase for your work. Buy it if you can comrades and wish it every success.

Click on the collage above to make it bigger and if you'd like to know more then check out their website http://www.popshotpopshot.com/popshot.html

I'M GREAT !!!

I recently completed my first ever short story and I'm delighted with it ,partly because it's a story and it's short and therefore fulfills the criteria of the genre, but mainly because it's the best story ever written*. Which is pretty good for a first attempt.It has everything you expect of a top notch shorty, it's full of words and people and Tayto crisps and incredibly it's also got stuff like punctuation -some of which is even in the right place! I'm new to this form but if there is a short story equivalent of 'The Booker prize' I'll definitely win it and the money will sure come in handy as here at the castle a couple of chimeys, a gargoyle ,and most of the staff, need repointing. But back to the story; it's hard to define though I'd have to say it's a bit of a comedy and a tragedy.I'm not sure if it's a tragi-comedy , or comi- tragedy, but either way it's the meaning of life explained in 1500 words, 1475 of which are the same word,but there's a very good reason for this and a clever twist explaining all right at the end, just like Jonathon Creek. I've called it 'The meaning of life-the greatest story ever told, in a short story' I thought I better set my stall out from the start-no point in hiding your talent under a bushel and it's the kind of sexy snappy title that just seduces you into wanting more. And believe me there is plenty more for the inquisitive reader, murder, mayhem ,love, hate,jealousy, ham sandwiches and a betterware catalogue.This is a story that will make you cry and weep at the same time.it will make you question everything and give you all the answers, believe me you haven't read anything till you've read this story but be careful for when you do your life will never be the same again!
Available soon in a bookstore near you soon, real soon like really soon, or prepublication hand- signed, signed A4 sized,signed (Tesco's 'finest') copies can be ordered here (signed)at the castle at introductory special offer price of €19.99 per story or €30.00 for two if you want to treat yourself and surprise a loved one/neighbour / friend/bank manager.

*source-Guiney's book of Bollix.

Not out of the woods, yet.

POETRY IS...........


A misheard word
A broken promise
A burnt letter
A lie
The juice of a clockwork orange
The secret code
A cry for help
A set of keys
An un-pickable lock
Lost in France
The gap between beating hearts
The grit in the sandal
The Oysters pearl
The ribbon of truth
The piss on the pedestal.

Working things out still

and of course by 'poets' I don't mean any of my fellow bloggers/bloggerettes, we is all cool man , by poets I is actually referring to...........well now that would be telling wouldn't it?


Well it’s the year of the Leper

You can ring my bell
as I wander the streets in wonder
at the graffiti and if Art makes a mockery of us-
or the other way around,
I may need another drink.
Among all these ‘poets’
I would suffer a fool most gladly
None of us really know what suffering is,
chattering maybe, have
to think about that.
Depends on the wind
which ways words weave
webs among the willows
Watch them, read them, weep.
And the cherry blossom
waiting so long to do just that,
and for what, our pleasure?
Measuring our dreams
floating away on the summer breeze
humming to the birds, whispering
answers lost like shifting sand ‘till
I’m the Plastic Paddy in Casablanca
‘Play it again Sam,
Play it.
You know how to play it doncha?-
Just put the fuse wires together,
and blow.’

Learning the steps for Lanigan's ball

Six long months ,or was it years I spent learning the steps for Lanigans ball? Doing time with Ronnie Delaney's donkey before the half mile race.And I'm still running (though not in the running) but the rotund woman sungeth allelujah donkey's years ago.I'm in the metal box again but today the blinds are up and I'm looking out through the round window, I can see the skies and the green of the fields, how low they lie around Athens and Athenry .I hear the Greek and double-Dutch Olympiads of olde, selling thirty pieces of silver for the gold. I'm watching hope sail out against the tidal waves of, of , of of of of of ?????

Ah to die ,to be truly dead, that must be glorious, said the Vampire to the leech.Fuck that says the Leech, have ye never seen Blue Peter? Death be-bollox , here's one I made earlier.

TotalfeckinEEjit is back in the building

Blogging writing drinking.Thinking (despite empirical evidence to the contrary ) that if he(speaking in the third person again , warning sign) keeps at them, reality will be held in abeyance, the darkness snuffed out. Life is inexorable and the older you get the more inexorable it becomes The Devil is in the detail my comrades,the boulders keep us forever on the brink ,tis the grain of sand will tip us to the abyss. As Elbow (on my playlist) so awkwardly yet eloquently put it 'There's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late I can't help but fall' Well that's pretty much how I feel, right now, it will change ,but what use is change? Just a different perspective of sameness, a shifting of unchanging sands. Life may be a mystery but it isn't a riddle.
Only poets read poetry , deep down ,perhaps,all they (we?) really want to read is their (our?) own.There's too much, way too much, more than anyone person could read in a lifetime,and still it's churned out inexorably( mea culpa) and for why? How many ways can it be said, what can be expressed that hasn't already been said and probably better.All meaning has been lost. Lost, not as the questionable aphorism says , in translation , but in publication. Ultimately apart from the pat on the ego what is the difference between a published and an unpublished poem? A hill of beans,gaze upon them ye mighty.What makes Shelley (beyond ego ) suppose that art is any more worthy a legacy than a kingdom made of stone or even two trunkless legs.Who do we think we are ? And I mean we for I might not get published much but I'm always thinking about it.

TotalfeckinEEjit has left the building.

There's too much poetry in the world

This is not a poem

This night, here was, here is?
Well let me start again, verbatim.
I have a wife, a son, a life, choice,
a real dog, a plough, a bull and seven sisters.
I have nothing any person could want,
I have everything.
Is there anything lonelier than the distant light
of a ship at black of night ?
(I brought home this thorn with me
under my skin.)
A blackbird broke the silence,
an alarm call.
I could see the dark side of the moon, the veil lifted.
My shoes did their job, my coat protecting me,
from the cold damp earth.
I saw fences keeping things in
and keeping things out,
broken in all the right places.
Like right minds