Tuesday, 31 May 2011


Some of the saints came by,
Bless them!,
and brought the board.
Adulf was there. Sieg heil! He did not smile.
You know, mein Freund, the etymologish
origin of this Wee yah?
Hau ab, Adulf!
Columba, Brendan and some Holy Teagues came by.
Stout fellows!
Arrah! Begorra! Holy Mother and all the saints!
And isn’t it terrible bad luck, you know it is now,
To see an empty glass
This time of the evening?
And upside down too, bejasus!
Here too, Monica, our token woman,
Despairingly depressed, pathetically and pathologically
Dull as a beetle,
Generally out of sorts, spoke staccato to the click of the needles.
It’s being so cheerful as keeps me going!
She said. We launched the glass. Away we went
And summoned a spirit as easy as catching
A three legged camel’s
But the Devil,
Who envies holy Guinness drinkers,
Sent us a baddie. A mean spirited spirit.
The glass began to prowl
Under the fingers of liplicking saints
I looked for you but you had made yourself
Scarcer than nooky in a sandstorm.
The glass prowled on, vindictive in its emptiness,
Fractious in its upsidedownness.
You kept your snout down, did not show up!
For the lads
I found a plate of locusts,
Of both kinds.

Sunday, 15 May 2011


A good Sowe was ther of bisyde Bathe,
But she had lost her tayl and that was scathe.
Lusty she was, with hipes large of caste
And nipples ech more lufsom than the laste.’
That sort of thing. I spouted and your snout
Hardly flickered.
It’s Geoffrey Porker, Piggles,
Seminal pig-poet.
You munched your turnip and you did not care
For literature.
It rhymes. I said.
I waved my arms and gave
My sostenuto rendering of Porker
The all, but you were not impressed.
You might have been
Ted, the late lugubrious donkey
Who turned the screw,
For all the fun you were.

Was that my first moment
Of flagitious thought,
I loved you, Piggles,
Enough to eat you?