a paragraph I wrote and i just liked the sound of it

The only time he actually did bring us to talk to a man about a dog, he brought Nan along with him. We ended up in the cow dung splattered yard of some cottage up the hills half way between the middle of nowhere and the end of the road. There was the pure sickening smell of dogs mixing with the bovine excrement, filling the air with an intoxicating mixture. We all bundled out of the car on to a driveway where the once solid concrete was chipped and lying as dust on the ground waiting for a wind or a splash of rain to take away. The cottage was in a state of disrepair beyond anything imaginable by a person from outside of the rural way of thinking where a caravan with a rusted roof and no running water was a grand spot to live. However it lay in the league of a palace compared to the out buildings which had the appearance of a site which had been hit by a stray bomb from world war two, most likely from a German plane which had been flown across the whole of England by a pilot with bad eyesight and a dodgy aim, who upon seeing the state of the cottage decided he would do the world a favour by cleaning up a tiny bit of the world by way of dropping a bomb on it. Thick Ivy shimmered with the rhythmic motion of a huge wave of green leafs which had settled over the walls of the farm and had forgotten to ebb back out to sea. Nature came to teach me a lesson of what truly lay in the surrounding shadows when the brother shoved me into the embrace of a thicket of its stems. I came out covered in spiders, the whole wall was a breeding ground for a malignant looking population of eight legged hairy creatures of nightmarish countenance. My fear of tearing down the Ivy which in my mind appeared to act as the mortar  holding the walls up was lost in the realisation I wouldn’t in fact be killed by the falling rubble but instead there was a distinct possibility of me been eating alive. The family who were meant to love me laughed in a most unsympathetic way as I jumped around the yard beating of spiders who seemed determined to cling to their newly discovered residence.

The Ceili

The Ceili

She had a face beneath the red hair,

And eyes which shone in some fathers smile

Her freckles were large in places

Never small to match her eyes

Her breasts shook as her hips rolled

Her thighs would consume a man

My stance was aloof

My chin set narrowing my eyes

Her gyrating built to a crescendo

Tearing into pumping veins

Rising inside

the need

To be the meal for her feeding

I passed the glares

The hungry lustful stares

Of willing girls with smiling

Pockets waiting for lining

She looked my way

with a willing glance

I extended a bare arm

A hand stretching to her body

She stepped forward

Her smell of roses tainted with sweat

Drifted in the air, brushing my shoulder

I stared in her wake

Her ass swinging bumping the hips

Of a farmer with a crooked nose

A slanted smile, an unpleasant disposition

And enough cows to keep her figure expanding

(c) Francis McGivney  28.04.15

something just for fun of a day when a client dropped me in two trout as a bit of a present, happy days


It was a long time coming 

The dream in my mind 

The picture of a life lost

The words formed inside

Where ideas grow  

I stood where she left

A whisper faint in the air

Of a town where I died

Before I could live

I cried for her eyes

For the touch 

For the scream of her rage

For the lies

I hid

 for the hate 

I loved 

Down by the lake 

I swam naked 

Among the weeds 

Caught in her faded

Hold of life
Francis McGivney 

Haven’t a clue what it’s about 

God intervening

if you find the need to believe in a god then I can respect the need for humans to desire an answer to the afterlife in order to ease the burden of death but as surely as the words of man claiming a knowledge of a gods will is preposterous to me so is the resentment of people to a god that doesn’t intervene to stop the disease and disasters both of humanity and of nature.

The reason is based on the most fundamental aspect of life on Earth : free will. To define the reality of our existence on this planet in simplistic terms free will is to me an encompassing definition. The ability to act as we desire. Our actions may lead us to jail or to happiness but in any given situation we have some level of free will. Even where we are controlled we have the free will of life or death. If God stops wars or heals a cancer patient or stops a flood then she takes away the free will of something or someone. If you take it away from one person then you take it from everyone because they can’t do what the first person did without the wrath of a similar intervention. 

If we can’t decide what to do of our own volition then we are in effect robots and the whole basis of our nature is gone. Each action has a reaction and the beauty  of the world is our interaction with our ecosystem. It’s too much to abandon for the ease of an omnipotent God making  

 life easy for those who want soft answers. 

Francis McGivney 



Your desires slide freely along

a rainbow shimmering through

the humming blur of a

dragonfly’s wings hovering

over the water lilies,

floating along the bank,

where her naked footfalls

splash in the cooling spring

among coarse grass blades

stretching to tickle faintly

along her curved white thigh.

Languishing in love

Pulsing in lust

Alive in wonder

Jenny holds you now

your body desires her kiss

your mind feeds on  her words.

Escape’s grasp fails

to the sting of nowhere


all you have is hers alone.

Your bag of coins jingles the

Wasted sounds of chattel’s


Your mind and heart,

the cost you feel

concealed with all the rest,

measured in highland peeks

and briny depths of hope,

lost to memory’s void

arriving after and lasting

your squandered eternity

Her love with tender touch

will reach warm fingers

into your chest and caress

what is hers

you will be her one

her only one,

her one true love,

for that moment.

She will cloth your soul

in woven fabric to deceive

your naked hope of eternity.

Later wandering through a desert

of burning sands, each grain

a million memories, skipping

away into your past,

your tears will dry, wasted.

Jenny gave you a taste,

smiled then turned away.

Your mind will languish, vacant,

torn and bleeding from

your hearts path through her

opaque window of whispers,

where loving thorns

lie in flesh filled lines.


Jenny can’t see you behind her

when her eyes are fixed on

the heaving bosom of the next,

floating virginal in front of her view

All now is an echo of her

naked footfalls splashing

in the crystals of her crumbs

© Frank McGivney



i know I been chained

By the sins of the song

I know I been judged

By the words of the poem

They sung to my soul

I know I been taken down

Where the sun shines

I know I been caged

In the hell of heavens cloud

You gotta tell me 

Tell me straight 

That you love me

That you need me

That I can kill you

I can smell the rope

The hangmans chain

The wax of his erection

It’s swinging for me now

Above the barking

I can smell their bullshit

I can sense their lies

I can taste your blood

On my lips

I know I’ve been left

To swing

Above the ground 

Back and forth

I know my eyes are bulging

The silent scream 

I can finally hear  roar

I know I’ve been saved 

As the fire burns 

My skin to peace 

Francis McGivney 19 April 2015


Bundle of joy

euporhia swept in

Taking his soul 

He’ll lie here and watch

The leaves fall

From the bosum

Of its sadness

Stripping bare the world

Revealing the joy

The words inside 

The laughter for all

The gentle touch 

The soft lips

pretending to sleep

So she can strip

With her desires 

To show him the branch

Where knees can touch 

Where skin can kiss

While  eyes watch 

Reality pass by

Within the circle

Of his hearts 

Bundle of joy 

Francie McGivney 18 April 2015 



You that have power
Listen to the world
Sing me your song
Of why I should fear
Your weapons of war
Tell me your tale
Of peaceful death
You killed all our sons

You poisoned our souls
With your weapon of war
Sell me your
fairy tale of old
Cut me a dream
A slice of your soul
Serve it with a scream
For us your foolish pawns

Francie McGivney

A poem that rhymes (the worst type )

I wandered through the furry glen

Those sticky balls were everywhere 

I had an itch with out a scratch

A poem without a theme

A song without a tune 

A love with out a lust 

A flower without a stem

Purple mixed with yellow 

Green with black and blue

The valley deep 

The mountain high

The song sad

The singer mad 

The poet quite bad 

For three rhymes in a row

Just to make the lines flow

The end is nigh 

The theme never found 

The cuckoo nest’s buzz

Is waiting to shock

The phone is drunk

It’s time for a book 

(C) Francie Mcgivney