Thursday, April 29, 2010


I'd like to say how much I benefitted culturally, emotionally and industrially by being away from my Dell from Hell. That it gave me time to read and write and think, to dig the garden, get closer to nature and in touch with my inner self, to go for picnics and long sun-drenched gambolling walks picking daisies in the beautiful bucolically bountiful spring-flushed meadows of Wicklow. But, no. In truth I was as frustrated as a dog with one of those protective cones around it's head dying to lick it's balls, but unable. Yes, that was it exactly.

And to be fair to Mc Afee they did ring back today, were very apologetic, very polite and extremely helpful in fixing the problem.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Still broked

Hey guess what.MacFuckfee never rang yesterday. Mucho hassle moan at them .Did ring back laterExpert technician one pound per min man .Couldn't fix.Engineer to ring sometime in next 24 hours.Guess what.I was out.Silly fuvkin me for leaving the house in a 24 hour period.wot was i thinkin? Spentanother 20 mins on hold to Englo.Put me through then to wrong number.who Gave me another number.Guess what.Theyve fucked off home for the night. So Dell still broked.I'll feck it out the window soon.
I know why there's no real people in the world and you have to talk to someone, a million different ones, in another country the whole time.It's so you cant hit them ,because believe me i would, many times over,unless they were very small and frail in which case I would poke them hard with my finger, in the eye.

Here's a public service announcement DONT BUY MACFUCKFACFEE!!!!!! Get graham Norton or wotrever the other shite is.

Hope Bus prophets that all is well, apologos to argentino.Watercats is next. I haven't even done the clicky thing but you;ll find them.

I have 5 mins on a friends laptop.Its a dreadful feckin thing.I always wantedone but they is shite.You need the dexterity of a sober neurosurgeon to operate the keyboard.And the mouse! Lord God if that wouldnt drive you beserk. I've got RSI just looking at it.

Keep the faith my friends.GET ON THE BUS. THE MAG is coming soon and by feck its brillo!

Friday, April 23, 2010


computer broken.I think McAfee broke it. the bastards.I've snuck int the librarybnd blagged 10 mins but I forgot my glasses and I can barely see athing. Argent is driving the bus this week.Please click on her link in my sidebar to see this weeks task.It's amazing how familiar the keys are as I can type almost blind.But for all I know this mcould be coming out in swahilish.The font on this screen is tiny even if i wasn't blind i could not see it.

GET ON THE BUS remember your poems are needed to save the world.Every time you write a poetry bus poem another angel poet gets his wings.Unless he/she is downstairs (lets face it most will be0 in which case they get a hot poker up the hole.

Get on the bus, get over to Argent.Click over there on the right hand sise.

McBastardAfee tech support are ringing m,e on Mon.Hope that fixes the dell from hell.Else I'm sunk.

Keep the faith.Get writing.Wish I could see my emails.I've probably won the Nobel prize or sumptin but will miss out by not replin and they'll give it to 'chop his head off Roger McGough instead.AAArrrggghh.

In the meantime if there is an emergency sent Walter the mail pigeon.He's i hhes in a loft at the top of the poolbg chimney stacks.

Pip pip! TFE.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


Poetry changes nothing? Or. Poetry? Nothing changes! Something must come from something. Nothing comes from nothing. Let us do something at least. The world is rotten the world is a beautiful fruit, we can at least choose to care or rage or make mistakes. Fail then fail better.

Well done PF for setting such an intriguing task and thanks too to the stout warriors of poetry that stood against them (words) and sent them heaven-ward to think again.You is all magnifico, be tall be proud be strong if a little flatulent but above all BE A BUS POET. You know it makes sense, even though it's nonsensical.

We will not try to change the world,not one hair on it's head, we would not be so presumptious, but we will travel the world and sing our song of hope or despair in an effort to change ourselves.

Many thank-yous too, PF, for the trip and the lovely buisciteens.She (PF) , her job dutifuly, beautifully done, hands over th magic starting handle to 'Don't cry for me, Argentino' Who not only writes but sings too! Will this effect /influence the task ahead? Only time will william tell. Her blog is rather magnificently called 'Delusions of Adequacy' one of the few delusions not to have infiltrated my deluded existence.See her blog here.. DOA DOA ? Dead on arrival.That could be my next poem. Go for it Arent, the world awaits. (No pressure!)

In other worlds this and that but nothing much and nothing much happpens and no matter how much does actually happen, even when it's loads, nothing ever changes. Does it?

Anybody remember Del Amitri?

Monday, April 19, 2010

Pure Fiction Driving The Poetry Bus!

Pure fiction set an interesting and challenging task this week, I struggled, it's good to struggle sometimes.
See all the other passengers here Pure Fiction or even better get on the bus yourself.Tea and biscuits are promised at the Rock of Cashel, I'm sure you'd get a whippy ice cream there too.

Firefly Summer

The humming lawnmowers a sweet smelling zephyr
Of honeysuckle daydreams
Golden sun warming cool beers of cultivated thought
A cerebral garden of cosy remembrance not
An earthquake, volcanic ash, planes crashing,
war raging ,people starving, dying by the skip load.
Huge unbearable calamitous monsters
fenced far from the brink of cosy cuckoo coos of
a designer-stitched summer's day.

But a grasshopper’s rasp could push you deep over the edge,
Or the line of a book, the lilt of a song,
the gentle prod of a celluloid smile.
Cavalier of life, cotton wool cloud-dreamer
Could you be safer, more guilty, being
Watched over by angels of white barking in the dark?

Friday, April 16, 2010

Monday, Monday, looks good to me !

All together comrades! (Through loudhailer) What do we want? The Poetry Bus! When do we want it? Not quite today, or tomorrow, or the next day but MONDAY would be deadly, please, thank you very much.
What do we want? A drink! When do we want it ? NOW! What have we got? Nothing, except that left over bottle fromsomebody elses holiday to Corfu, Kumquat liquer! What do we want? Kumquat liquer! When do we want it? NOW!
What does it taste loike? Venos cough syrup and bleach! What do we need? Some more! The label says it is 'Old Fortress' but the taste says it's 'Old mattress'

Okay I'm putting away the loudhailer as it's frightening the Donkeys, one of them almost moved. Actually technically speaking Donkey may be an Ass, but don't tell him.( He's terrified of making an ass o himself.)

And I was also thinking (and you can't steal my idea because it's already patented) after that Kumquat liquer, why not make highly alcoholic medicine? I'm sure there would be a market. After all ,they already try to disguise medicines by making them strawberry flavoured or aniseed or mint or blackcurrant or orange etc. So why not make them 70% proof and market them as medicinal liquers?
Not only do they make you feel better, they make you feel GOOD ! Take the misery out of illness I say.Imagine the joy of the cure and if you die at least you'll die swinging from the lampshade instead of fading away in a miserable bed.

Imagine the wonderful scenario as you crawl paralytic along the street after 3 bottles of Kumquat neat alcohol antibiotics.Your neighbour sees you and says" Are you okay?" and you reply " No, I'm fuckin dying.Fancy climbing that lamp post?"

But I digress. And Mrs EEjit she tigress. What I'm trying to say is that the Poetry Bus is still on its world tour and it is currently in the capable hands of PURE FICTION.... Pure Fiction Bus Driver who has set a challenging but interesting task and everyone/both of you, that read this blog should throw down their shackles, their knitting, their Wii, their wifi, their wife/husban/ lover. Bin the Pot Noodle, switch off the TV, stop worming the cat, feeding the family, playing darts, skiing, naked mud wrestling,doing the crossword, tantric yoga, applying hemorrhoid cream, counting the stars, emptying the bin. Forget the pear,embrace the Kumquat and write a poem for the bus!

And incidentally (Re revious post), though don't quote me ,I am an unreliable sauce, sorry source- I don't enter poetry competitions!
a) because I can't afford them
b) because I wouldn't win them and
c) because in all honesty I'm not feckin interested in them and all they signify/ represent/uphold/promote.

So trichotomy. Do I like poetry comps? No. Would I like to win one? Yes. Would you pay to enter one? No.

The last ( and it may also have been the first) poetry comp I entered was the Patrick Kavanaaarrgh (mucho presteegious) just over a year ago and that told me told me all I needed to know. It cost me €15 to enter and I didn't even receive an acknowledgement let alone a rejection.That's very bad value for money. Great for the winner sans doubt but the poor schmucks like me, the cannon fodder? Nah! I'm very docile but there are only so many hoops I will jump through before I BITE!

There are one or two magazines I like and respect and I submit to them now and again and I'm happy, if they print the odd thing ( very odd thing), I'm even happier.

And remember, it costs NOTHING, NADA, ZIP, to submit to a mag. OR THE POETRY BUS!

Any way What Am I saying? I 'm saying get on the bus here... Pure Fiction Bus Driver

GET OFF your ARSE and get on THE BUS ! Pure Fiction Bus Driver
You know it makes sense!

Also, another thing. The Sun SHONE today.That can mean only one thing......... Jingle-jangle, jewellery,jewellery, now-then, now-then...


Yes, it's Donkey! And some of his pals.(Other Donkey, Donkey Kong,Okie Donkey, Dinky Donkey,Donkey Derby, Don Quixote, and Horse.) A whole post specially for you Weaver. We aim to please here in the Republo D'EEjit.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Ok fuck it, time to call a spade a banana.

Poetry competitions. What are they looking for? The nextest greatest thing, or a shed load of money and a preservation of the status(un)quo?? Seems to me that traditionally poets were poor sad lonely fuckers up in the garret, with holes in their socks and only a candle for light and a wad of rejections in the fireplace for heat.

But here we are in super shiny 2010 with ethernet and silicone and glamour and glitz and shite The savviest and the glossiest up there flaming their supa novas of ability to jump through the hoops deal with the system pay the ferryman .Wanna do a workshop? That'll be €150 please.

And every competition now has an entry price tag of 5 , 6 , 7 , 8, 12, 15 pounds/euros per poem(s) to enter. Robbery and daylight are lovely words that spring to mind. Not only do you have to be good enough to win, you have to be able to afford to win.

Look at most winners of anything they will have BA's and MA's and qualifications to beat the band.This also generally puts them in the higher wage brackets of life. Am I bitter ? Am I twisted? Am I jealous? Am I a hypocrite? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. But do I also have a point? I'd never win a comp even if I could afford to enter, but I'd hate to think of dormant unheard talent out there unable to pay to win. Which of course is disingenuos bollix, I WANT TO WIN. Honesty please for fuck's sake.It costs nothing and is worth it's weight in gold.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010


Very well done und muchlio merci to Booker prize winner and beneficent broadcaster Niamh who set a deadlio PB task and drove like a demon at the same time. Tanks also to all you passengers out there who took the time trouble and no little talent to climb aboard and write or just read the poems.The Bus is but a howling lonesome void without you. The bus is a double-decker so new passengos are always most welcome.You don't even have to wipe yer feet.

Niamh has now officially handed over the starting handle to Pure Fiction who has set up an interesting atmospheric spiritual journey for us for next monday.Get thee hither ,thither or yon to her blog pronto and immerse yourself in the ambience before embarking on this sure to be epic adventure into the deeply deadly magical mystical world of words and buses and brake pads.
Stuff a joss stick up your hooter and go with the rainbow.

Technical note: Do you see the rather impressive way Pure Fiction is written above in magic clickyable writing? Argent taught me how to do that and now I will conquer the world. So thank/blame her.

Sunday, April 11, 2010


Excellent interesing set of instructos from Niamh this week.I had things floating about and used this structure of hers to galvanise them, So I got triplets, whicxh is nice. See them below and all the other passengers here..... and if you haven't got wroiting yet then what's keeping ye? Don't think, just do! Don't intellectualise, just feel!

Get on board, tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow we die! Remember that famous Latin inspirational phrase seen in the hallowed halls of Trinity, Oxbridge , The Sorbonne and Waterford IT.... 'Carpe diem scrotinium andronicus shako'...seize the day by the bollix poet and shake it!

Fuck You!

Three minutes is all you have
and three minutes is all you need
For a love song dead beat poets of punk
And three minutes is all I need to call you
and if I’m gonna call you,
I’m gonna call you a ****
Pretentious arrogant asshole
Take a mountain and shove it up yer arse.

Fury like Hell Hath No Poet Scorned

Buckfast breakfast

And I or he
Noises outside or inside the walls
Shuffled in shoes or bare feet
Litter on the table
Sweep it to the floor

Freezing footsteps in the snow
Christmas Eve
The jewelled prize
A black box
Your brother shot someone
that slept with his wife

Money makes the man and the machine, work.
Coins.Trap doors pulleys dumb waiters
This is about poverty this is about revolution
This is the inside of your head
Things roll like stones crackle on the floor
Knives forks tools
There’s a queue for hell civilised as you like
Pause action re-wind stop go
Put the chain around your neck
The instructions make no sense
with or without glasses
clay in their hands
the thin line walked
the floor is cold and dirty
it’s your turn, in you go,
the rats are waiting,
catch their tales
tie them up in knots
over and again.

Kite Flying.

The little black book and I gave you a black look
a backward glance a backhanded compliment
a second hand chance a moving memoir
moving away from a coup de grace
falling far away from grace
far away from a god
and falling and falling like autumn leaves
like the tears from your eyes
deeper than the ocean
buried beneath the sod
where you can fall no more
see no more do no more
kiss no more miss no more
your memory motes in the mist
your portrait watercolours
washed blackbird feathers in the rain.

When it comes to Poetry Buses, It's good to be a passenger...

Thursday, April 8, 2010


Yes, folks the magical mystery tour continues apace. Rome, Prague, Paris, Monte Carlo,Barcelona, Madrid, New York,Barbados, Rio De Janeiro, and this week... Lucan!

The world's finest broadcaster, Nobel Prize winner and member of the world famous Divas performance poetry group who have performed at CarnegieHall, The London Palladium, and Doyles Pub Leitrim, Niamh Bagnell is setting this weeks task and it's a real interesto one, get yourselves over to her award winning blog that has healing powers , the abilty to tell the future and grants immense wealth upon anybody that browses there.

OTHER WORLD NEWS , I can confirm early Reuters reports that my arse is still sore.Standing is uncomfortable , sitting is agony, (yes I said SITTING not sh....) and lying down is unbearable. My butt cheek has gone black and blue and purple overnight, and naked from behind, at a distance ,I look like a hairless albino baboon.

I AM A WINNER! Thanks to Josie Baggley I will be getting a fantastico T shirt.Mucho thanksx ye Josie.Check out her weird and wonderful world here...

And finally some music...

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

A pain in the arse (and other news)

Fell over again today. Second time in six weeks. Right on me left (arse) cheek this time and heavy enough to shake the living bejabbers out of me. My arse is killing me. If there is such a thing as an arse bone in yer buttock, I've definitely broken it. I lay on me back in the mud roaring and repeating Fugh! Fugh! Fugh! Over and over ,with Mollie the Collie looking at me from a safe distance. I thought I'd never get up,I thought I'd never walk again, my broken blobby jellymould body to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my days.
But no comrades, like a phoenix, no, like a partially tranquilised elephant I rose from the ashes of my misfortune and strode again across the earth like a mighty collusus, well , like a limping fat muddy bastard.

Meanwhile in another part of the Cosmos, Bus Driver par excellence, Swiss, has handed the keys of The Poetry Bus over to Niamh Bagnell, performance poet and broadcaster to the world. Swiss hauled in some quality responses to his curiously interesting photos and I'm sure Niamh will get some great results with a different prompt altogether! I'm looking forward to having a go.

Take a quick dose of smelling salts to really clear your head then dive into her labyrinthine instructions, here..

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Swiss Poetry Bus

We had some interesting photos to inspire us . This one above chose me.


The rays of sun that shone
lit the days of June
we basked in the light, thoughts
Paper thin, parched
Skin tight as a drum held us inside
The empty carapace of ourselves
Too young for wisdom June flamed

Unprepared for anything like the November rain
Monsoons set in like discord in harmony
to sag and wrinkle, scar crash and burn,
the Winter of ourselves
a life away but
a step nearer every day.

Easter poem

A work in progress. A thinking out loud. A crisis. Mea Culpa, what do I do?

Easter Rising. Auto Da Fé.

Isn't it awful or is it great
how we just carry on
is carrying on all we can do,
when the blackest night lasts all day long?

Give ourselves no time to think, just do,
for thought would lead to breakdown ,to chaos, to reality.

Switch on the TV
see them carry on the light entertainment
away from the starving hordes,
the Judas kisses, the stabbed backs,
Orwell's Big Brother telling us, ' all is okay, keep going ,
put your head, your hand, your soul into the mixer '

the giant human machine of heartfilled flesh and bone.
The gristle is grist to the mill grinding out the filthy money
day and night, night and day. Profit before people.

Raped childrens bloody shoulders to the wheel,
fancy dress Popes and Bishops, with Pontius Pilate hands
tell us, the world is wrong
we must change, but they will carry on, hold what they have,
heads in the sand, souls in the gutter, vampires avoiding the mirror.

Bullets in the flesh,
fancy dress Generals tell us carry on,
another hangs by the rope, eyes open,
fancy dress politicians tell us carry on,
nails through our hands our feet,
fancy dress bankers tell us carry on,
shop closures by the score fancy dress landlords,
keep renting on and up,fill the pockets
the greasy tills ,the coffers , the coffins.
We all bleat and blah like sheep and keep on carrying on.

Poor God must be turning in his grave.

We are all sentenced to death and will be judged not only by how we lived but our response to the lives of others. I know I am falling short, I wonder just how far short I fall?

Saturday, April 3, 2010


Have struggled to upload photos for ages, so gave up.Occasionally couldn't access my blog at all, now I can almost never access it.Is this a conspiracy? Has anyone else had trouble accessing my blog or is it only meself that is banned from looking at me own feckin blog? Ad If I can't look at mine I can't look at yours cos that's where the links are.Fuck and feckity! Pissed and offity.

NCT. Did they say the paintwork was a shade too blue? Were the tyres too roundy looking? Was the dust on the dasboard hazardous beyond safety limits? Did the car have too many doors/not enough doors? Was the petrol tooo smelly, not smelly enough? Was the car lacking in personality to such a degree as to be unroadworthy? Was the washerbottle filled with the wrong type of water, should it have been Evian?Was the engine oil too oily, the wiper blades too rubbery, the radio tuned to the wrong station?

I'm pleased to say the answer to all the above is fuck Off! Sorry, I mean, no! The car passed and I nearly passed out in surprise. Thanks for all positive thoughts and good wishes, they clearly made a difference.

Grant application had to be in by 5pm on Friday. At 4.37 pm I was still wrestling with a complicated (to me) photocopy machine on the other side of town.Everything had to be done in triplicate, meh! Job done, I drove like a loon in my newly NCT'd motor vehicle to within 300 yds of the Arse office only to be blocked from turning right by a 09 Range Rover taking up residence in THE YELLOW BOX. Rush hour traffic was literally gridlocked so I pulled in as best I could and legged it to the county buildings.I haven't run in 17 years and and nearly puked my ring with the exertion. The application was accepted and date/time stamped at 4.53 pm. I could have had a coffee and still made it on time.

Walking slowly back to the car I noticed that the errant Range Rover was nowhere to be seen but traffic was still partially blocked and fuming due to a newly NCT'd blue car stuck half in, half off the road.Among the swearing irate motorists was one who actually unbelievably asked me as I got back to the car 'What kind of fucking EEjit are you anyway?' I was going to say 'Total' but I just apologised and got back in.

Many thanks to Brigid for a beautiful blogger award.I is indeed beautiful, so it's well deserved.
I have to list seven interesting things bout myself

1) I have one leg slightly longer than the other

2) I also have one leg slightly shorter than the other

3) I have never won an olympic medal

4) I was the first Irishman on the moon (unrecorded)

5) My middle name is Mary

6) I still have all my own teeth

7) but I keep them in a shoebox under the stairs

I pass this award on to each and every two of you dear readers. Pip pip!

Friday, April 2, 2010


Don't forget the best way to work off the calories of chocolate eggs is to write a poem.This is scientific fact.So when you have eaten choccy till you droppy, or look like Mr Creosote, get going on the Bus.It's still in Scotlo and it's leaving from here... Nice pics from Swiss. Pick a pic and write an epic poem about it, post it on yer blog on Monday(or before , or after) and let him know in his comments box, he'll post links to all the passengers.Trust him , he's a Doctor.