a poem after tayto park

The Crisp factory Ride

There they were beneath me floating on by,

their white patterned images reflecting the

creative design of nature’s greatest art.

Above me the fellow members of my tribe,

their breath exhaling the whoosh of the warrior

chariots sweeping rise and descent into joy.

Within their blood Cu Cuchulain’s people shared the

joint heritage of the DNA gift of an African Jane who’s

tribe ventured beyond the Pale of their jungle home.

A crescendo of human vocal exhalations reached out

to the spirit of the man from Tir na nog whose sliothar’s

path if true, would have sliced a straight tunnel to Irelands

freedom from the wrath of the modern Hun and the

ancient beguiling weakness of an island’s lack of esteem

in what it was and who it’s people could transform to be.

The knowledge of garments, whose time had arrived to

overcome the grime of life’s passions and reach into the

bubbled waters of a washing machine cycle, grasped me

by the inner male reproductive organs and imparted upon

my now delicate stomach the rotating screams of dizzy

stumbling steps and mumbled whispers of irate brain cells.

Before one leg went west and the other went north at the same

time, I hung inside out and upside down and opened my eyes

and unlocked my mind and felt the purest of enlightenment

sweep me away to the lake where the swans of Ireland’s myths

Floated freely upon tranquil waters.

And the one with the auburn hair and the wit in her eyes

Grasped one hand in hers while the one with the smile

In his soul and the humour on his lips held the other

And I looked at the one I made the vow to and

I smiled

© frank McGivney 29.08.15 after tayto park

The funeral (a poem)

The funeral

—-

Along the crumbling sides

slithering deep in their

disturbed home the worms

turned from her cries

A virginal tongue hung

out of the gaping mouth

where a trail of garlic

tinged, spittle dribbled

along the pale cheek

above the white collar

—-

The decrepit retiree, who had only

the week before, in a moment of

clarity concerning the inevitable,

picked out his own final home;

a mahogany coloured box

with fake silver handles and

a cross in the style of a Celtic

Warrior’s sword-handle emblem,

dragged a shot from a newly lit

Major, watching the smoke trail

in blue fog circles through a ray

of freezing sunlight and yawned

—-

The busy one who never missed

a funeral, state occasion or the

seldom invited weddings

nodded a fickle head

Containing a barren brain,

Supported on a crooked body,

Turned to his non attentive neighbour

who ignored his complaints of

annoyance at the delay the

audacity would cause to the

rest of his self important daily

schedule of gossip filled meetings

—

There was a brown jackass in the glen

who regularly refused to comply

and a herd of cattle in the pasture

waiting with teats in need of emptying,

united in ignoring the amorous

advances of a rampant bull jailed

behind an unfortunate white washed wall.

On the hill above the honey valley

a goat mixed with sheep consuming

anything foolish enough to succumb

to natures desire to bring

forth a vegetative head or end

out of the craggy stone-dotted soil

In a wooden shack a chicken delivered

Her morning prize unaware of a bushy

Tailed devious desire for her flesh

All of them combined in a distinct

Lack of concern for the occurrence

—

The boy’s body never flinched

His eternal sleep unperturbed

His soul shed not a single tear

His mother’s prone body

six foot down, five foot length

ways and loads of feet around

shook with her loss of the only

One who smiled at her for no

reason other the inherent desire

to reply to her own

—

The cantankerous man

who smile was never found

who grumbled at teenagers

who snuffled at gossipers

who cursed freely at priests

and shopkeepers and everyone

in-between, with equal resolve

reached out unthinking a hand

calloused but gentle to take her

from her refuge, ignoring the

Scratches, leaving the broken nails

in his cheek to be removed in time.

She melted into him until the heart beat

steadied and the mind fogged enough

to never forget but to survive

as the patient clay filled the space

She had vacated.

—-

© francie mcgivney spain summer 2015

Falling

and I pray I never fall in love with you

Again

Take me baby take me away

To a time when all I need is you 

While the silver haired gigillo dies

From hip replacement surgery

And the moon shines on a bare ass

Mob of delinquent pensioners singing

The last tunes of franks wild years .

And I’ll try baby I try my best

I’ll rip my soul

Ill take the plunge

I dance the last fan tango 

But I think I fell in love again