she left of a sunday

She left of a Sunday

Hello is there anyone there

Up here paddy

Is Mary about

No she went out.


Make yourself a cup of tea,


Make me one too will you

Right, I didn’t see you at mass on Sunday

No I wasn’t able to get away.

Right you are, it wasn’t much good anyway

Come on up, drop of milk and one of them sugar cubes

Where are you

in the bedroom

Hi , that’s looks uncomfortable

Ah you get used to it.

Will I leave down the tea

No no give me a sup of it. Hold it there for me

Right you are

Jaysus that’s some weather hah, no wonder you’re in the nip

true, that’s a lovely cup of tea

So Mary she isn’t about

No she went out.

And left you there

Yeah she said she would be back soon

Ah fair enough so.

You wouldn’t throw the quilt over me there.

Right did she leave the keys to them

I don’t know I’m not sure.

Your hands look a bit pale.

Ah they’re grand

Fair enough are they regulation issue

She got them at a party

Ah right, I heard of those ones, the bolde Maggie ryan holds them

So was there many there

Half the women of the parish

No, at the mass

Quiet enough, loads at the early one for the match

The Usual

Yeah the usual

Give me another sup of the tea

That’s a fair small one you have there


You know your weaponry

Ah right

Never grew for you then

Nah that’s the length of it

Right so mary’s left then

She said she’d be back

Right so will I leave you to it

Yeah fair enough

See you then

Good luck

When did she leave by the way

Oh Sunday

Sunday, that two days ago.

Well you know yourself Sunday is fun day

Fun day?

Yeah you know, rolly polly day

Ah right, Sunday, sure that’s right


Right do you think she will come back

She usually does

Has she gone before

Ah yeah, regular

Ah right


Good luck then

Bye thanks for calling, give Josie my best

Fair enough

paddy and the referendum

I could see it in the look they were displaying

What could you see?

The lord himself.

Did you bless yourself?

No, I laughed

You’re damned

No doubt and do you want to know the worst bit

The fires and the stakes

Not that rubbish, no Paddy, they didn’t know

Know that you are damned

Ah here keep up, they didn’t know what was inside of them, what was leaning into their souls, what was pushing them down?

Are you sure they weren’t the crowd from the back hospital

Smart arse


His will was pushing them down, the words they put in his mouth were weighing upon them like a big bale of damp hay, making them forget the meaning of his message.

That’s shocking

I seen it myself. Auld lads in brown suits and mad eyed auld ones in their best coats.

Did they salute you?

They did and all, with big suspicious eyes cast down upon me as if they knew.

Knew what

They knew which one I was voting yes for and which is voting know for

Well you know you do go on about queer like

The ladies like it seemingly

Yeah right

Yeah exactly.

No harm in fooling yourself

No harm at all

So what else

The girls at the desk

I know

Yeah good for the humour or what

I’m still smiling after the look of them

Should last a few days

The weekend even

Would you by the way?


You know with a fella

Only if he had long hair, real boobs, smooth legs and no willy

What about a pair hanging

Nah better without them either

A Brazilian

Spanish even

Good night

Good luck


lieing here half asleep

My eyes telling me

Go asleep fat boy 

My body fading and

The words keep 

Calling me
Listen Francis joe

Listen and take down

These words 

Their quality is doubtful 

Their meaning never found
A care couldn’t be given

The dreams continue
Too tired to carry on

Good night

Francis Joseph McGivney 

the rocky way

this is lovely country side
A load of auld bollix
you what
sure look at it, its desperate
its a bit run down alright
run down are you mad, the place is only fit for blowing up
ah now Paddy
serious look at the state of the walls on the fields they haven’t seen white wash in years
still its lovely the old stone walls
they are in their arse,
what bite your arse
carry on there and be minding your own business
where is the home place anyway
up yonder beyond that tree and the hawthorn bush
Right you are.
Pull over to fuck there.
Jaysus fecking sheep
that’s a goat
no its not
its a hairy goat
fuck of
yeah serious
still in all its lovely here
fecking idiot,
where is our home place
over yonder
what you think
of what
the home place
in front of you
theres only a miserable looking rough field in front of me
yeah beautiful isn’t it, I grew up here
jaysus, explains a lot
so right where’s the house
our standing on it
fuck of
reverse up the van and we will throw the rocks in
right you are
only the house rocks
how will I know which ones
just take the nice looking ones


they walk fields of green 

With red rose smiles

She dreams of a lover 

With a smile at dawn

Above ample breasts

I see hands with rings

Silver and gold 

Two tuxedos no regrets 
Beyond the yes I hear

The whistle of freedom 

Beating the tune 

Equal tides for different strokes 
Rain forests grow where greed dies

Marriage vows sing a hymn 

To hand holding women
10 billion to be the same 

To walk the same path

Nightmare visions I see

In their words of no 
Different make me different 

To stand on my own 

Beside the rest I love

They’d rake my soul

To plant their holy words
Frankie McGivney 21.05.15

The Bar made no Reply

The Bar Made no Reply

The bar was the third

The keep was the fourth

The woman with no teeth made up the quintet

Until they walked in blossoms of earth

Bringing the leprechaun’s path to gold on their chest

“Who the fuck does he think he is” the paddy enquired

“The state of your one” the patsy replied

Their erections would have stirred on their own accord

With the blue pill consumed for the Sunday night

For the cook out of sight alone with her dreams

The toothless one smiled behind her frown

Remembering the smell of him she once felt

Her heart flew to another town, another life

And left with a smile the quartet would miss

“He’ll catch the clap” the keep informed

The bar creaked no reply

“Children by different men” the other two uttered

I’d pay her money their eyes confirmed

“Two vodkas and red bull” the tattoo one asked

“You what” the three who could talk replied

“There’s none of that in these parts” the keep was sure

“Smirnoff and ice” he conceded, no need to be their fool

“No pint, he’s not a man” patsy was drooling

“No Bra “Paddy was dreaming

“He will have a black one next” the money he counted

The bar creaked no reply

“A shower of oddballs” she smiled

“Weirdos of the highest order” he whispered

The curtains in the window creaked to their exit

Their clothes and dreams shone beneath an accepting sun

with love for each other the quintet was forgotten.

© Francie McGIvney 15.05.15

slaves and celts 

B. B king has headed of to some other kind of smokey whiskey blues joint but his blues are brightening up my own bit of paradise. Blues and jazz real music from the bayou where the slave man and woman beat the slavers with the rhythm of black soul. A different tune but the same theme as Celtic music. Mad white red headed celts and black proud Africans torn from their land fighting with the beauty of music 



A kaleidoscope of ink pressed the words of no

What has been should be and always will be

The words of a man they call a god

Printed now to condemn the few who love

Not woman or man but man and woman

Twisted inside they twist the plot to suit

What they believe is true will always be true

Is their earth still flat with a sun orbiting their fear

Fear of a man marrying a man

The horrendous thought of a woman loving a woman

The shocking realisation of their truth been lies

A cook, a florist, a wedding cake maker afraid their

Right to be a bigot will be swept to sea by the wave

Of gay men and gay women and straight men

Voting for gay women and gay women loving

Straight men and straight women loving a gay

Man and they all confused because they don’t want

To serve a table with two black suits instead of one.

But you see in a corner where the truth lives

Those who have a mind, realise the real concern

Is not the marriage, is not the love, is not the sex.

all those are of no more concern than a fly on a pen

rather the Irish inquisition with a different rack

the velvet dresses passed on silently to torture forever.

© Francie McGivney 13.05.15