Here’s a bit of an auld poem or whatever you would call it about the town I live in, which I just wrote because sure why I wouldn’t I. 
The people pass me by while I walk 

With the pages of my words in blue

My pen is black my hair gone grey

My dreams still a rainbow of hope

They nod and smile and I reply 

With a wisping joy of a home I found.

And the pubs stand with open arms

And there’s more Chinese food than

Native grub to purchase in silver trays.

The cross has a head missing and when

I stare the pagan in me sees the 

Beauty of the three spirals designed 

In the wind and truck beaten stone. 

The book, they pilaged to the place 

Where the west brits learned the rules 

Of domination, is missing, driving the

Spirits of the monk’s half lunatic mad

In the quest for their coloured pages. 

They look and can’t find their inks.

A tower is round, a saint’s home square

I sit in front of a wall writing auld words 

Some which rhymn and some which shock 

And inside I remember the people who 

Came before me from this historic mammoth

Of artistic beauty and wealth of creativity.

While somewhere beneath, a river runs, avoiding 

The stone chasms which need pile-driving to 

Penetrate the heart of a place where a gypsy 

King lies sleeping in gold beside the graves 

Of nuns and people of all shapes and sizes

I meander along the boulevard with my 

Thought which turn into wonder seeking

Moments of eternal relaxation while 

Around me they all seem to do the same.

The tale ends with a sun set over a spot 

Where the Vikings plundered and Cromwell

Marched and the monks hid and the priests

Said their auld prayers to the devout masses

From books at a hidden alter by a well

And the world is for a moment as it should.

© Francie McGivney 26.06.15

#hayfestivalkells Hay Festival Kells

Father’s Day


It’s a tale like the rest

They all come to know

The man is your father

The script of the poem

the words in the rhyme

he sings to your soul

the beat of the drum

you danced with his love

the smoke trails a path

from the front to the rear

you sit alone and remember

his song, his reverie

the voice of a man

the spirt of a king

the eye of your friend

The one you hold dear

The hands were all calloused

The touch it was soft

The path he lead onwards

Was the best that he could

Now he lies floating

Away from your sight

Beside with your dreams

Inside you in love

And all that you long for

is the day when it comes

when he takes your hand

softly and leads you on home

© francie mcgivney Fathers day 2015

the hospital part 3

The next half hour consisted of all manner of probing in a disturbingly gentle way by John who stuck needles into his arm, thermometers into his mouth, wrapped Velcro straps around his arm and finally probed his mind, asking him a heap of questions to confirm if Patsy was who he said he was. By the end of it he had forgotten his disappointment but wondered had he any blood left inside of his body. Even more unnerving was why anyone would want to pretend to be someone else, who was about to be half slaughtered on an operating table. Even one of the boys from the home of the deranged would have more sense surely than to have their back bone sliced and diced just for the fun of it. Yet going by the amount of times he had to give his name and date of birth there must be lunatics out there willing to take on surgery not meant for themselves.

“Is the accident and emergency room busy today John” Patsy enquired, a serious look on his face and twinkle in the one eye facing the nurse.

“I wouldn’t know Patsy, why?” John replied as he pulled back the plunger of the syringe, attached to one of three different needles sticking out of his arms and hands. A trail of rich red blood trailed into the test tube to be replaced quickly by another.

“It’s just you are after taken enough blood out of me to keep the whole of Dublin in blood for weeks” Patsy replied watching in fascination as the stream of liquid was pulled out of him.

“You’re a gas man Patsy. That’s fine strong looking blood you have there. Pure dark red, are you taking any medication or drugs or anything?” John wasn’t the type of man to indulge in humorous banter while caring for his charges.

“Not a thing” He hoped his face wouldn’t give away the slight bit of guilt, he felt over hiding the truth, but he was damned if he was telling them something which would for ever be on his medical record, to come back to bite him for the rest of his life. He had looked it up and there was no real harm in it anyway. The whole of the country were on some form of drugs and most of them used stuff which made you weak where as he took was something making you strong.

“Well you know it’s better to tell us, the anaesthetics can mix badly with some things. Especially the likes of steroids, you are a big lump of a lad.” The fun and games were gone now as John stared into Patsy’s eye looking for answers where none would be given.

Why had he tried to be a smart arse with the blood comment, now the fecking gobshite was looking at him all queer trying to delve into his soul.

“It comes from my mother side” Patsy said

“You buy drugs from your mother’s family.” John’s face betrayed his shock at hearing a bigger admission than even he had expected. Just then Gretha lost control of her footing as she leaned too far against the curtain to hear a bit better. She ended up lying across the bed with her face in Patsys groin and her legs straggling up in the air. Her head bobbed up and down as she tried to swing herself back up to standing. Patsy tried to move to help her but ended up with his hips going up and down in motion with Gretha’s as the drip in his arm restricted his movement. John jumped up and ran around to save Gretha. He had just managed to get her away from stimulating something she had never even heard of, not to mind practised up until then, when there was a terrible loud bang behind them. Bridie who had indeed not only heard of but had seen pictures of the same act, came in from the toilet to see her friend in such a compromising position and took a weakness in her knees and crumbled onto the floor. A smile crossed Patsy’s lips as the madness of the whole situation reminded him of an episode from a television comedy show from the 70’s. But the smile was put on the other side of his face when Gretha, who had realised he was laughing at herself and her best friend, suddenly took great offence and swung back a big leathery hand and planted him a slap on the side of the face capable of knocking a brewery strong horse into the middle of next week. Patsy slumped back against the pillow with his hand over his stinging face, struggling to hold on to consciousness, while Gretha ran over to Bridie who John was helping to get back in to bed.

This is a nightmare was all Patsy could think, as John shot him a filthy look as he ran out of the ward to get help. He decided he would try to explain to him later on, that he had only meant he was big because his mother side of the family were big boned farmers of decent stock, with women folk who were as strong as some of the bulls out in the fields. But for the time been he had to live as a drug taking member of a drug selling family, who had just been taken advantage of by a woman in her eighties, who had then given him a black eye when she realised that he had somehow degraded her standing in the community.

Chapter 2: The Move

“is there any chance of an ice pack for my eye?” Patsy asked John, once they were in the corridor and away from Gretha and Betty who were still not the better of the whole incident.

“Ah now John are you not talking to me, it wasn’t my fault” but still he refused to answer. The wheelchair cruised along the corridors with Patsy and his suitcase heading for the Neurosurgery ward.

“Fecking gobshite” Patsy mumbled to himself, he could never bear the silent treatment. He would get up out of the chair and walk only he hadn’t a balls notion where he was meant to be going. When they reached the new ward he was left in the hall as John whispered something to the matron. He didn’t need his ears to start itching to know who they were talking about, as the pair of them stood there throwing him dirty looks. Eventually John passed him by with what looked like tears streaking his soft cheeks and the matron who was a voluptuous woman, with a contemptuous look in her eye, came over to him.

“It wasn’t my fault you know” Patsy said immediately, determined to get his spoke in first. She stood there looking at him over the mounts of her sizeable bosom, without a word passing her lips and a face on her which would turn an alpha male grey back gorilla into a squealing baboon. A trickle of coldness ran down his back where it gathered along the band of his brand new red and green stripped y fronts. Her mouth opened and Patsys’s closed with a deep breath and then just as he was about to get up and do a runner and forget about the whole operation business, she burst out laughing.

“It’s the first time to have someone as famous as yourself on the ward. You’re the talk of the whole hospital, poor John may never be the same and I hear you have introduced two elderly women to all manner of wild practices and debauchery. The female staff will be delighted to get a chance of taking care of you.”

“It didn’t take much introducing, she knew exactly where to fall and what to do.” Patsy replied smiling, he was still too cautious to actually join in the laughing. His facing started to sting again now he had been taken back from the precipice of nursing horror.

“Do the women always fall into your lap in the right position” she replied patting the inside of his upper thigh, giving it a bit of a squeeze that drove a pulse of excitement and utter horror and confusion through him. He met her wink with a smile while inside he was trying to figure out what his penis thought it was exactly up to

the dress

The Dress

You waited so long for something

To change in yourself

You waited too long for the kiss

To bring you peace

His tears dripped back on

The silver reflection

The one they saw

The one you knew was wrong

They worried you liked other boys

The playground named you queer

The mirror called you male

Your soul alone saw a girl

Blue jeans ripped and torn

White shirts and green ties

Pink dresses prim and right

Red tights, light and warm

I saw you walking on the cobbles

Your legs were smooth

Your ass was tight, I smiled

An Apple of Adam failed your design

Freedom came to you that night

Some shook their head, some cried

But I could see the beauty had appeared

To free your soul to fly

(c) Francie McGIvney 15/06/2015 someone who stimulated my mind at the weekend made me wonder what trans-sexual people might feel inside, I knew one once in another life when i wore a black jacket and he cried when he told me about walking the streets of dublin and pretending to be confident while inside his light flickered (my words not his/hers) anyway i hope you like.

Alpine goddess 

then the wave hits you and she smiles. 

The calmness is beautifully changed 

And something inside wonders why

Something outside takes her all in

And you know but you don’t 

The sense is right but she smiles

The ice melts in the rivers flow 

You look for more and you know

But it won’t go while you dream

The alpine breeze greets the soul

Of the Celtic rock who waits

Eroding streams where words

Can change frowns to smiles 

Francie Mcgivney drunken poetry 


he clicked the can of beer while

Tom waits sang a song 

Words about a drunken keyboard melody

I walked and talked to myself

And the girl had a bikini on in freezing waves

The flowers were purple some blue some just there

The sand was Peebles and the dog with the bone

Didn’t much care

The cig end sat beside me keeping the company 

Of one whose mind drifted inside meditating to freedom

And the accents are different but the people are the same

Somewhere lovers are kissing and dreamers are sitting

The skaters whosh and the brown legs excite

The terrace are hut residents only

While the seagulls sing the song of my soul

I smile and I write and I am the dreamer 

The soul seeker, the wonder searcher
Francie McGivney 12 June 2015 chilling at the sea in Eastbourne 


she didn’t look the maywest. Her nose was pointing in two directions which made the path of her tears meander in a most preciliar fashion. She was screaming and moaning and mumbling to herself. The neighbours stood at their doors with ears stretched to avoid missing the scandal.

“Bit of a domestic mr shanks” the auld bitch in 12a asked. Her look of concern failing miserably to hide her delight. I heard a thump from one of the floors beneath, where I stood thinking I should have pegged her out the window. It’s not like I didn’t appreciate short hair on a woman but I only put up with this one because of her Long blonde locks which now lay butchered on some gobshite hairdressers floor. I hoped the nutter in 3a wasn’t going to come up to see what was happening. He had just been released and looked like a man who wouldn’t mind spending another spell inside for the pleasure of beating lumps out of a woman beater. 
Francie McGivney on the iPhone with a version of an extract from the novel I working on. Just rewrote it on the phone just for fun

The missing manual

its a boy

Are you sure

Yeah of course 

Yeah of course

It’s tiny

It’s not an it


He is a he

Oh of course

Mad isn’t it

What the child

No that we have one

I know what’s his name

It doesn’t come with one

I know that


No way


Feck of


Have you been on the beer

Seamus I like Seamus

It will get bullied with that handle

Ah right


Yeah paul

So what’s next

Mmmm well you know

Yeah of course yeah I know


I haven’t a clue

Oh here he’s crying

What’s wrong

I don’t know

Check the manual

What manual

The book you know

What book

Do they not give you a book

No they don’t

Ah right fair enough

Prob hungry

Like its father then 

Francie Mcgivney just now half asleep writing this. 


it comes from down in the valley

Where random thoughts arrive

From up in rainbow skys

Where emotions pass me by

From deep in the ocean

Where my body sings a tune
I watch it from the tower 

Listening to the lines

Smoking in its ashes

Feeding on its wine
It stretches to the finite

Where boundaries hold me in

I step beyond the comfort

And walk its lofty wall

Up close the pain is fear

The anger lies to pounce
I dive over The precipice 

Where light reflects my soul

Enlightment awaits the weary

To consume within its flame
Francie McGivney