A visit to Mulranny On a pigs back To many Daddy Long Legs Crossed the road Too slow He came a cropper A vehicle hotter Than ash Shot through The Blue Bill Board Of tomorrow And hesitated Before today.
A VISIT TO MULRANNY
A visit to Mulranny Polis called to the house She stepped outside And kinda lied But kudos to the copper Who wore a crown topper Velvatine drank Ovaltine And he knew that It meant the end Of her camouflage They took her away.
The moon fell over the hill When we entered Mulranny It was 5am and my car Had miles too many A badger on the road Heard my loud tranny My sister sick beside me Too many drinks for Fanny Levelling out we found the house The innkeeper was canny Just enough to get up my goat Especially when he called me Hanny The story goes on But I won’t bore you to long so ‘I’ll exit while I canny.
A HOARES BREAKFAST
Don’t hop me a kettle of fun
Into the bargain
Of desire
Just drop me a line
In your own hand
And wish me farewell
If pure bliss escapes me
Never mind the few times I laughed out loud
Swore blue blazes
And dreams of a prince
The perfect man
Is only down the road
Sweet poppy.
FALLING IN LOVE
It’s been a long road
For a toad
That drives a tractor
To slow
But Mr. Fumbley
Never tired
Of telling tales
Too long
For Mr. Rabbit
To catch up on
And his dream
To let the maple tree
Grow out of all proportion
Was a mistake
THE OINTMENT OF LOVE It was only a joke at first. We traded fun like it was going out of fashion; both of us glued to the T.V. and determined to liven up the dance when we arrived. Our clues were got from “The Immediate Fun Lovers”, a group of Reality T.V. mixed sexes whose purpose was to widen their circle of friends. This included sexual partners. We began at The Halidebob Dance Festival. One of the first things I noticed when we entered the hall was the faces of the people. The very crowd we were targeting with our charms. Whilst every face was different, they also had a look of carved stone about them. I very quickly did a scan of the heads and decided most, if not all, resembled “The Potato Eaters” by Van Gogh. One face hit me sideways when I remembered where I had seen him before. He looked very different from the scruffy long whiskered look that had been obviously his disguise at The Busking Festival the previous year. At that he had stood out because of his engagement with the street audience he preformed to a mixture of hot songs and tall tales. Oblivious to my looks he chatted a saucy looking lass of about 20 with a long belt that posed as a mini skirt. My friend and I parted with arrangements to meet at intervals throughout the night. I skirted around the floor observing, but keeping my distance and waiting like an osprey for him to spot me. He did, the hairy faced traveller, obviously a man of perception, noticed the call of the wild. I could feel his eyes upon me, whether to responded to my nervousness in a local crowd or be drawn magnetically to my presence I was still to find out. I had almost given up, following an hour of cat and mouse play, when I heard a voice near me say “Darling”. I turned my head to observe the wide smile of the same man, his eyes fixed on me with laughter. No other word was said as he slipped his arm boldly around my waist and lead me onto the dance floor. When I next met up with my partner she relayed the following to me. She had scored with a chap with glasses and two recent hip replacements. My ambassador had disappeared following five close dances. His last chat up lines had been, “Your lips are to me like the ointment of love”. Reply Forward
AFTER SHEILA IT’S LIKE STANDING IN A POOL KNEE DEEP, OR WAIST DEEP UNABLE TO MOVE FROZEN SHOCK WAVES SLICE THEIR KNIFE EDGES THROUGH MY HAIR. IT’S A DREAM MAYBE WHERE WAKING IS NOT AN OPTION. SHEILA HAS GONE TO THE OTHER SIDE OVER THE FLOAT TRANSPORTED WHERE TIME HAS NO MEASURE OR SO WE THINK THOSE LEFT BEHIND CALLING UNHEARD VOICES CHALKED ON BLACKBOARD MESMERIXED WE SIT AND WAIT FOR TIME TO PASS PAIN BY. PHONEY VIRGIN’S Elizabeth Trask never knew when to stop nagging her husband about his “Phoney Virgin’s”. He had built up the business from lying in Blanket Bay in the 80’s and made a comfortable living for himself, Elizabeth and their lovers. But she still nagged him incessantly. The fact that he never listened kept them together. He nodded and read the paper, only the headlines, he never read beyond. A favourite trick of his was to see how many headlines he could remember when he got to the end of the “Wet Rag”, as he called it. Because depending on how many headlines he could recall was the secret to keeping his clients happy. His “Phoney Virgin’s” organization was run to perfection with unusual catch phrases, removed every day from the headlines he had read. Even Elizabeth did not know where he got his inspiration. Headlines like, “Phoney Virgin’s drink you’re Dirt Tax”, was sure to get his top class clients charging to the phone to book in for a full day’s session. Elizabeth was in charge of costumes. A top designer herself, she was an able dealer when it came to furs, her speciality. She always felt that leather and plastic were overdone and over rated. Silk and satin she could tolerate, but she really came into her own with furs, even the sex toys had fur attached. The girls loved her and were often called to her side to “shape up”, as she called it. Individually they did not stand a chance, but collectively they mattered. “The Phoney Virgins”, as a group, dominated the sex industry for almost twelve years. Then with no warning, they disappeared and not even the cleverest reporter could decipher the whys or the wherefores. That is not until now ten years later the truth has finally come out. “Sally-but-no-Dally” was Elizabeth Trasks favourite girl. Unknown, or not, to Elizabeth this dream girl was also her husband’s favourite. “Sally-but-no-Dally” has just released the truth about “The Phoney Virgins” in the form of a diary. Not alone has she mentioned The Virgins pet names, from, “Surreal Suzy”, “Uncle Rita”, “Cyber Cyril”, “Red Hot Rory”, “Scorched Pumpkin”, “Squeezy Kate”, “Blow Justine”, “Slip me Senseless”, “Roar-in-Wafer”, “High Hopper”, “Fuzzy”, “Furry”, “Forever Lusty”, But she has named them by their real names and now each one of them is looking for a slice of the bestsellers cake. The book went straight to the top best sellers and “Sally-but-no-Dally” has made a fortune in a short time. Following the runaway success Elizabeth Trask and her husband are coming out and announced their memoirs release date. Their combined truth will be a cocktail of lies.
ROCK BREAKING AT JULIO’S Julio was just a name, someone Spanish, living down the road, below the field with the young bullocks, below the field with the sheep white and creamy fleeces young and in lamb. He only came in the summer, from Spain, but he had this newly built house and had big plans for further development, including rock breaking, that sounded best late evening, when the light was fading and the small hedge birds swore revenge on the coming night. The rock breaking had a purpose. It was to clear land of bog and rock to prepare for the golf course, recreation area etc. for the Spanish students that were to arrive in the summer. I had other plans. Being a true Capricorn, I could see prospects for my boyfriend, who spoke Spanish, French, Arabic and God only knows how many other languages besides. A job at Julio’s would be very handy, students to teach and just a bird song away below the green fields in sight of Mount Gabriel. “Julio will make or break you,” I said it him when he phoned from Catalonia. “What do you mean Saucy Girl?” he replied. “Well if you don’t get a job teaching with Julio, you can always break rocks with him”. Julio’s red jeep is never there and the rock breaking has stopped; now months have passed. My lover comes under cover of a large rainbow coloured umbrella that I bought at the charity shop beside the viaduct. His tea gets cold in the sweating mug. We have lived on the wildness of the wind and stars, making love and chasing rainbow dreams. At our age it does not matter. Julio’s rock breaking and his dreams of a holiday resort for students have come to an end. It was partially only in the minds and voices of the neighbours who got it wrong. The swimming pool he built is magnificent. We use it regularly now that my darling is running the show at the language school, a building already in existence in the village that Julio bought when the prices of property fell to almost nothing last Christmas.
THE WISP Somebody threw a Christmas tree Abandoned on Barleycove Beach I saw it on Dec 28th 2008 Along with the washed cleaned sand That curved sensual shapes Around my naked toes Hitting my face grains Froze in loose dresses of wind Sharp enough to plunge Into icicle hearts And root out Lovers lost in reverie But a dog less stranger In red lusty thoughts Travels in the sun lit torches Of waves unfurled, ploughed furrows And rabbit burrows Bigger than donkey yawns I am a wisp Grasping moments with visionless ghosts.
END OF FAVOUR It’s coming to the end of favour Another year To sad memories But the sea salt Stays on my warm cheeks After a long walk On sun soaked Wind driven bay Bless this road Taken and travelled with wonder Bless the nightmare moments Where my thoughts gather peacefully And rest with positive whispers To a dance in my heart
HEROES
I only became fully aware of the moon shining when we turned the corner of The Boathouse wall. Then it sang in all its glory through The Blackwater River. The reflection of the moon was a perfect mirror of itself so as to be virtually impossible for me to tell whether I was standing on my head or not.
The crisp night with stark naked stars glowed of love. I was 16 and he was 18. He was my first, and when I gave to him, two years later, it was with passion and devotion. A hero until I found out differently.
When he went to London I kept my body for him, waiting and wondering what the experience would be like. But afterwards when he told me he had been with another I cried bitterly and inwardly never forgave him. It meant continuing a long search for a hero.
Some men have a way of knocking themselves off the pedestal before they have reached the top. Women also I suppose.
It is with great care and trust that I now stretch into the darkness and touch the velvet lining of a waiting hero.
FROSTY WYNN’S MAIN MOAN
“She is a thundering bitch,” Frosty Wynn’s main moan every morning to the silent listener, his dog Growl.
“If you could only talk,” he continued. “Look at her flouncing about in the garden yet again.”
Out the top back upstairs bedroom window he observed his neighbour Violet Drinkwater, yet again stripped naked washing herself at the kitchen sink which she had installed especially in her own back garden to entice Frosty Wynn. But she was getting nowhere.
This was the only time Frosty got warm. His normal temperature was below zero, hence his name. And to tell the truth his dog Growl was the only living creature to experience his heat and to hear him moan.
Because Frosty was a private man, lived with Growl, and left his house in silence when he walked him. He had a knack of making people cross so they stayed clear of him. Just his face was enough to turn milk to buttermilk and then to sour milk.
“One more peep before I go down to the basement Growl, that’s enough to take any mind off trains.” He almost growled the last words.
By this time Violet was putting on her clothes. She turned to face him before she pulled on her fitted lilac jumper, over her naked cream skin.
Frosty had had enough. He proceeded to make his way to the basement of his house, followed by Growl, where his elaborate train set waited his attention. The pieces were all as they had been from the night before. He began at the tail end of platform 11, brought the train on track 2 foreword a full hour from its intended time and began his game.
He paused at 4pm, went upstairs to make a cup of tea, with Growl following, and returned to the basement door now closed shut.
“I don’t remember closing the door,” he muttered to Growl. He tried the handle, no move. He worked himself into frenzy, still no move on the handle, which was now burning hot in his sweaty hands. He returned to his sitting room and sipped his stone cold tea and tried to work out what was happening. He could feel the walls closing in on him. His mind began to moan and for the first time ever he felt a sting of bitterness for his neighbours because he believed this was their work.
In fact it was the work of one neighbour only, Violet Drinkwater, who had always a fondness for trains and ever since the trains stopped coming to the village she had a desire that was never fulfilled until now. She had spent the last 4 years digging the tunnel connecting her basement with Frosty Wynn’s. This was the day she broke through.
Life was never to be the same for either of them again. In fact a year later they were secretly married in The Fall. Frosty Wynn’s main moan, that night was the arthritis that prevented his hands moving in the right direction.
Growl had to put up with the two of them from then on.
