THE PROTEST BUS!

(Putting the Ha! into hate.)

What gets your goat, up yer nose, sticks in your craw?

Do idiots irk you, are you browned off by bores, piqued by politicians, angered by arseholes?

Do you take umbrage at eye level umbrellas wielded willy nilly, are you peeved by people with no sense of personal space,do you hate it when someone get's a cheque out at the checkout, do you bristle at people who whistle, does another meaningless statistic drive you ballistic, do jeeps give you the creeps, , does tobacco drive you wacko, an opportunity missed make you pissed , do only twats have tattoos, is it cruel to have zoos are you sick of bad news, tell me your views.

Do The Bee Gees give you the hebeegeebies, Johnny Cash give you a rash,would you choke if a bloke preached another smidgen of religion, would you ask an atheist to desist, can you handle another scandal, would a Duke make you Puke, a King soil your ring, is a president the wrong kind of resident,is beer too dear, are drugs the dregs?

So have a wail about war, a pop at the pope, bellyache about Berlusconi talking baloni, frown at Brown, be dow-n about Cowen, barrack Barack,and just for the craic if you think poets are pests or you hate string vests,if you're a victim of crime , or unjustly doing time, then put it in rhyme.


I want anger!I want bile! I want venom! I want vitriol! I want fury!I want passion! I want wrath! I want rage! I want a lie down!

Be as serious or as flippant as ye like, but pretend you've just stubbed both your big toes on an iron bed leg, that's the level of fucking anger, pain, and annoyance I want!

THis is THE PROTEST BUS! Bring your own banners and loudhalers, we're going out across the world!


Altogether now,

" Whada we want?"
"Protest poems!"
"When do we want 'em?"
" By next Monday at the latest!" Etc etc etc.

Stick two fingers up to the world, it won't make any difference, but you'll feel a lot better, I promise.

Ps.For inspiration. A protest poem.(found this on Rachel Fox's blog)

Poetry Bus the report

Twasn't the best of prompts,I'll give ye that. A toughie it turned out to be,what the feck was I thinking, in me Irish blog olympics week an all?

I get most of my best lines on the cusp of sleep lying in bed (or on the floor) , sometimes maybe even the gist of a short story and I always think Janey Mac, that's brilliant , I'll bish-bash-bosh that out in the morning, fame and fortune will be mine.Then morning comes (or afternoon ) invariably by which time, of course , it has evaporated into the ether like the steam off a cow's moonlit piss .

But this one 'She was wearing Stella MaCartney,I was drinking Stella Artois' lasted the night.Probably because it was really rubbish.I say rubbish but the other one that stuck was 'I've got an itch in me throat, I've had a scratch of me scrote' -So count yourselves lucky.

Poems are like children, you raise them but then ya gotta let them go. They're your's to have, but not to keep.They have lives of their own.If people love them don't get too big headed and if people hate them , don't take it too hard, they are your's but they are not YOU.

I got two comments of polar opposites on my poem this week, one I loved that told me exactly what I was hoping, the other precisely what I didn't want to hear.But which was correct, either? Neither/ Both? Who knows?

Ya gotta just do your own thing, sing your own song. If you like it ,then stick with it. Be the judge. Sometimes you've gotta keep singing the same song till people like it, other times you've really gotta find a new one, but knowing which to do might take a lifetime to find out.There's the rub, and there's the fun.

You can't control what people read into them either.Ted Hughes said that poets build houses, but it's up to people how they live in them.That said , I have to point out (Kat!) that there were no wives battered in the course of me pome and Mrs EEjit as is, and Miss EEjit as was , is not, and never will be (prosibly)* a punchbag in real life either!

Even a prompt has a life of it's own I really didn't see the slapstick coming.But variety, the spice of life, that's one of the reasons I love The Bus.I can't wait each week to see where we are going! There was multicoloured threads of humour and there was doggerel, there was mad and crazy rhyme, but there was other stuff woven as well, ecclectic hardly does it justice.But mucho thanks to everyone that took the time and talent to join in with a poem or a comment.

Happy St Patrick's Day to all.

Ps. St Patrick if you're up there/out there/ in Aldi, come back, we need you, you left the worst snakes behind, the bishops, the politicians, the bankers, the lawyers..........

* 'Prosibly' A word I invented to cover the space between 'possibly' and 'probably', but slightly closer to the latter.

THe BUS The Busz The BUsh the Brash the Bushell The Brushes TheBes The BUSt The Bustard The Ballilika The Ballustrades The Bollix

Will I ever forget?


She was wearing Stella McCartney
I was drinking Stella Artois
An homage to the pastiche of ourselves
We were a match struck in heaven
But lit in hell fingernails painted and bitten
In equal measure the pleasure was in the pain
Hold on, hold on, tight to the night
Neon gypsy bus tripped out wires star crossed
Danced dizzy in a haze of love of excess
Sense yet to be learned our fingers burned
Fireworks in the black, black Manchester skies
Police helicopter marlboro smokes searchlit
Platt Fields bodies in the pond words on the wire
Fists before dawn guns around the corner
Of our lexicon, fight five times a week
Battered blue boy, the drunk kid on the block
Self-defence was excused
Downstairs in The White Lion subversive
Subterranean, survival of the luckiest
Danger licked the corners, bravado
By the pint more desperate than strong
Kiss me Judas-quick if you think that wrong
Rough injustice no friend of mine, but
She was the stars, I the moon
We blaze our own neon nebulas
From the back of a stolen car
the sodium lights blurr 70 , 80 ,90
Princess Parkway, one way, one way only,
And that was Out.

Some more Passengers, wonder where they're going, Ooo-er! Carry on busing!

Bonking Bill
http://usuallyconfined.blogspot.com/2010/03/night-out.html

Something's Bugging Jeanne
http://revolutionaryrevelry.blogspot.com/2010/03/monday-poetry-bus-stella.html

Fox's A musing mannequin
http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2010/03/two-for-one-poetry-bus-special-offer.html


Pukin' Pete went a step too bra
http://stammeringpoet.blogspot.com/2010/03/ticket-for-poetry-bus.html

Argents subject is feeling a bit cut off.http://argent-delusionsofadequacy.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-complete-following.html#comments

Stella crossed lovers from Niamh

http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2010/03/early-monday-bus-stella.html

Stellar line up from Titus

http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2010/03/riding-that-bus-this-time-im-done-for.html

Oedipus complex from Weaver?

http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-moves-on-monday-morning.html

Full moon from Karen

http://keepingsecrets-karen.blogspot.com/2010/03/stella.html

Padhraig's Bolt from the blue

http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-monday-poem.html

These watercat shoes were made for walking (out)

http://thewatercats.blogspot.com/2010/03/eejits-monday-poetry-challenge-d.html?showComment=1268653267577_AIe9_BG3WCX3EH_De3SSD6PYQgGGxggV4hl3cW-0_FmHR7TcPr53MshxQuEnOS0mFqrvMuseXRXszctCxxfCysi7Mf_7-8zg4al_XL8vrGqocKNSqMJq0VYCstU6Lo5Nx6qFPxnbhjWHp0065iioC3uy4LAnfjELINHpuLB9lyrb2UGnXAhs9yCwtKc9Uckfk7TNDXFdNv_hKCwNGqKjmkfFxYsl8gkfVa1v8X6LBDyOpPfuk-mHvAtQ9a4P7H-Eh7Kr0vCqW0U-#c727265155653959034

Ringo you're a star from Don't feed the pixies

http://hungrypixies.blogspot.com/2010/03/tfes-monday-poem.html

Swiss has had a skinfull

http://travelsinthefloatingelvis.blogspot.com/2010/03/it-being-monday.html

Southside girl Northside Bar NanU

http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2010/03/stellabus.html

Unrequited lust from Heather

http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2010/03/aboard-poetry-bus-and-hellebore-bore.html

Life can be Hell without Villanelle- Ask Poetikat

http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/2010/03/catching-up-to-poetry-bus-wait-for-me.html

She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah? Crazy Field Mouse

http://crazyfieldmouse.wordpress.com/2010/03/15/the-stella-poem/

Lemons but no sour grapes from The Alchemist's Pillow

http://www.alchemistspillow.com/2010/03/stella-by-starlight.html

Oh, Ruby, don't take your love to town- Susan Sonnen
http://web.me.com/susansonnen/Susan_Sonnens_musings/Blog/Entries/2010/3/15_My_Ticket_For_a_Ride_on_the_Poetry_Bus!.html

Ah, Feck, feck and feckitty feck!

How fughin typical is that? Here I am a leg end in my own lifetime, a bloggo genius at the peak of bloggability and on the cusp of blogging immortality in the Irish Blogger awards (apparently I breezed through round one.Round two ,a mere formality, is on Friday) and my prize winning header blows up out of all proportion. No matter how hard I hit the screen with a hammer it just won't shrink back down to normal size. Despite officially having the best blog in the WORLD * , I surely might possibly miss out on a top prize now. (This may look like a handy excuse for losing, but that's only because it is.)

Rather cleverly, however, I have managed to upload my old header pic underneath the new bloated header to illustrate the difference whilst at the same time creating an exciting and somewhat avant garde collage that may well win the hearts and minds of the rather gorgeous and highly astute judges that will be popping in. I in no way wish to influence their decision by saying that any prize monies , freebies,groupies, trips, pot noodles will be shared among them when, I mean if, I win. No, that would be plain wrong.

Don't forget now this weeks Poetry Bus challenge is to craft a poem using the breathtakingly brilliant first lines wot I rote but can't (yet ) finish

'She was wearing Stella McCartney,
I was drinking Stella Artois'

Or swap it about to suit yourself/gender.

If anyone from Mars or Carlow are looking in, Stella McCartney is a fashion designer and daughter of famous ex Beatle, Ringo Starr. Stella Artois is a Belgian medicinal cure for warts and walking straight.

Get your poems written, post them on your blogs next Monday, leave a comment in me box and I'll post links to all the doings. All aboard!



* Source: Guiney's Book of Bollix.

Hell hath no fury

like a magazine mogul scorned.My (our!) funding application to Wicklow County Council has been rejected. Are we disappointed? You betcha, big time!. Are we surprised? Not a jot!The realist within me is downhearted, the remnants of the young rebel that I once was is delighted and thinks Fuck them! Who needs their money anyway? Go it alone, independent and free. Be in no one's pocket.

Either which way this magazine will go ahead, it's a good thing and won't be killed.I'm more interested in publishing The Poetry Bus and all it's poets than I am in publishing/writing my own stuff, so I won't give up.I'm more determined than ever to make it a great magazine.

Rejectees are allowed to ask for feedback so I'll be doing that.I'll also be very interested to see who did get funding.If they have a better project than our Poetry Bus ,then fair fecks to them, they deserve every cent.

The next step is to seek funding from Artslinks,I'm more optimistic about this. I was hoping to seek funding for a new camera there, but that can wait. (Cue violins)

Should this fail it's plan B, which is a totally foolproof plan.Not sure what it is yet, but it's brilliant and won't fail. (Please note, no animals and very few humans will be hurt in plan B)

As for the virtual poetry bus, lovely poems again this week and thanks to each and every one of you that took the time to create . That's the whole point of the thing, to encourage everybody and anybody to write and provide them with an outlet for it, then to get people to read it. This is the Peoples Poetry Republic! Neither The Bastards nor The Angels will grind us down.

THIS WEEKS POETRY TASK is to finish a poem starting with these genius lines wot I thought of ages ago but cannot finish(yet)

'She was wearing Stella McCartney,
I was drinking Stella Artois'

If you is a woman ( I love women) you can, if ye like, switch it to

'I was wearing Stella McCartney
he was drinking(stinking of) Stella Artois'

And just go for it, whatever comes into your head, and let's see where everybody ends up. Oh, and if you want to know the names of the people who thought our poetry enterprise was not worthy of funding they are....

Nora Hickey- Director Mermaid Arts Centre Bray

Tara Connaghan- Director Eigse Carlow Arts Festival

Carmel Moore- Executive Librarian Wicklow County Council

Live long and prosper peeps. Bus Poets of the world unite, they will not chain us, they will not change us , we are freeborn people of this planet and we will have our say!Vive la revolution ,vive le Republic, vive la Bus!!!

PS. If any of ye wish to contact Wicklow Arts Office direct to find out why we were denied funding please contact Jenny Sherwin, Arts officer, Wicklow County Council Tel. o404 20155 or easier / cheaper, simply email jsherwin@wicklowcoco.ie

Das Poetry Bus ist schnell und schon.

Can you believe it's almost Monday? It doesn't seem hardly even almost a week since last monday. Time is such a funny substance, sometimes you have piles of it on your hands and you can't seem to wash it off , even with a brillo pad.
Other times it slips through your fingers like sand and you can't keep hold of it, nor track of it. . A buttered up pig on poteen and Red Bull is easier to contain . But what is time? How do we really measure it? In pints or bottles? How do we know when time is up ? How do we know when time has run out? And where is it going, why the hurry? Maybe it's trying to catch The Poetry Bus....Go greased lightning it's burning up the quarter mile, go greased lightning, ooh greased lightening!

Yes Folks , its party time again. A peoples poetry party , where people write poetry and post it on their blogs and pretend we're all on a bus. And why not? We come to raise Caesar not to marry him.

My poem is shite, no sorry, my poem is ' a work in progress' I'll post it now in all it's raw monstrosity and ineptitude and you may even see it metamorphosise before your very mince pies over the next couple of tangents in the cosmos otherwise known as days. Or not.(Time can touch the circle of life but it can never cross it, unless the lollipop woman is there)


I’m still on

The train to Aberystwyth
I had a ticket, a lift to the station.
Early morning, Uncle Liam granite man
The great escape, windows and fields flying by
Every passing house another few bricks away from home
And everything noosed me to the seat

The train to Aberystwyth
Left from Reading or Watford and changed at Crewe
I was meant to try and save me
A lifeline thrown , clickety clack.
Beer and sandwiches, heaven on a plate
Stale dust rising in morning light
Hearts can carry heavy weight
The irony of intent Romeo and due regret
Dire Straits how apt
Clickety clack don’t look back

Trains to Aberystwyth always leave
They never arrive, lost in self
Reflections of faces in the window
A thousand breaths of relief hypnotic
Passing over gravel and sleepers
Iron wheels spark steel tracks
Always there never back
Always there never back
Always there.

The bus this week is driven by The Fonz and first aboard is...

Terry

http://a-word-in-your-ear.blogspot.com/2010/01/royal-visit-1947.html

Jeanne

http://revolutionaryrevelry.blogspot.com/2010/03/monday-poetry-respite-trains.html

Karen

http://keepingsecrets-karen.blogspot.com/2010/03/spring-training.html

NanU

http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-train-1.html

Don't Feed The Pixies

http://hungrypixies.blogspot.com/2010/03/tfes-poetry-bus-everybodies-gotta-have.html

Swiss

http://travelsinthefloatingelvis.blogspot.com/2010/03/train-poems-1.html

Rachel Fox

http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2010/03/what-these-old-things.html

Weaver

http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/catching-poetry-bus.html

Titus

http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2010/03/get-on-train-to-catch-bus.html

Pure Fiction

http://fictionalfictionwriter.blogspot.com/2010/03/all-aboard.html

Dominic Rivron

http://dominicrivron.blogspot.com/2010/03/desperadoes.html

Niamh

http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2010/03/triple-tanka-on-topic-of-trains.html

Emerging Writer

http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/2010/03/poem-for-tfe-poetry-bus.html

Brigid

http://sortofwitty.blogspot.com/2010/03/poem-for-tfe-poetry-bus.html

P.Nolan

http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bussing-training-day.html

Heather

http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2010/03/bracing-walk-and-trip-on-poetry-bus.html

Argent

http://argent-delusionsofadequacy.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-replacement-train-service.html

Crazy Field Mouse

http://crazyfieldmouse.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/meeting-at-the-station/

Poetikat

http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/2010/03/changing-lanes-on-poetry-bus.html

NanU (part deux)

http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-train-3.html

Domestic Oubliette

http://domesticoubliette.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-train.html

Teressa

http://thechocolatechipwaffle.blogspot.com/2010/03/poem-i-fear-one-day.html

YE didn't feckin miss me!

I was away. Virtually away, or away virtually. No internet connection for two whole days!! ( Be honest now, you didn't even notice did you? Your little world kept on turning just fine without me. Six feet under I could have been and ye would still be watching Bradley getting buried on Eastenders)

Combine this with no alcohol for FIVE whole days and you have a desperate man on the edge. Not The Edge from U2. I've never even met him let alone got on him. But I was baying at the moon, scampering around on all fours and chewing the legs off the table. This was mainly due to the messy divorce from the drink, but also the insatiable desire to check my emails.

Stuff was surely happening, commissions, acceptances, offers, requests, bursaries, all kinds of fascinating, exciting, life affirming stuff was being stuffed into my inbox and I couldn't get my hairy hands on to it. (I didn't have hairy hands till I gave up drink by the way.) From the drink to the brink in five eternal, irritable, shaky days.

But NO! Amazingly fek all was happening as feck all always happens, but emails are like the Lotto, the day you don't check your numbers, is the day your sure you've won.

Anyway I'm back now and coincidentally back on the drink as it's the weekend and to celebrate and for no other reason except for joy itself I'm going to shout out Bollix ! And even louder BOLLIX!! Why? Because I can !

Train Train! It's the POETRY BUS!

Writing poetry is like painting The Forth Bridge- if you fall off you ain't gonna ride the bicycle again. Nope, I'm not sure what that means either, But I do know the Poetry Bus is turning around and coming backatcha again and this week it's got TRAINS on the brain. Write ANYTHING you like but if you canno think of 'anything' then write a poem about anything involving trains.

If ye still canno think of anything turn up your speakers /headphones to the max and clickety clacks down the' ya tube' tracks below for inspiration.( and a bit of perspiration, from The Rev.)

Any-which-way-up write a poem of your choice, post it on your blog and leave a comment in me box so I can provide links to all the poetry. The Bus leaves MONDAY! Good luck and may your train go with you.

Tube station

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgwYYN_f60g

Trés bien

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVVGHkE--XI

A terrible beauty is born

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqPr_hPO2EQ

Ps. If anyone can figure out the lyrics to the Rev's song please put your answers on a postcard and send it to' What the fuck is the big fella saying?' EEjit Castle, Peeps Republo D'EEjit, Tipp North.

All entrants can get a totally cool FREE Rev Peyton's Damn Big Band Poster for FREE here http://www.bigdamnband.com/assets/new_color_poster.pdf FREE. Did I say it was FREE?

Mrs EEjit is getting a washboard and I'm gonna makes me a steel geetar out of empty beer cans.

POETRY BUS DE-BRIEFING

Well , that was a smorgesbord of death and delight! People eaten by cows, scattered among the dirt or lifted high in a soapy bubble and every possible imagining in-between. Thanks a million for all your poems, they were as varied as they were wonderful .The best/ most response ever I think.I used the word 'interesting' and 'different' a lot in the comments.Perhaps this is because we were dealing with the unknown , an ethereal intangible journey, one that can only be guessed at yet one that every single one of us must face.


Sometimes I think, well there's feck all you can do about it, so forget it. Other times I think it's the most enormous elephant sitting in the room and we really should look at it.

I didn't come up with a poem as I had to drive this week. Richard Nixon was booked and paid but didn't show (Busgate?) so instead here is an apposite song by Johnny Flynn. Pip pip!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H23fWzTl9Ow