Scríobhneoireacht a dó
Writing II
Zealous housekeep
had to work late; which fucked my plans
then run faster around purchasing things
as would a faster after abstaining
then whiffing a beef sandwich
I’d a shower to take; badly
then dinner to make
and for my brother, an I.D. to fake
garments needed a wash
and I’d growth to scrape off my face
and you just can’t not fold the clothes
compartment them too
during this hole of a remarkable night; can’t settle
and I haven’t even turned any bad news on
there’s no need,
no calling to see India burn effigies of Richard Gere
see a car carcass after doing another Shiite market
perspective processor: put my own crap through it
and come up lucky.
my hair’s oil-based paints
life is therefore turpentine
not troubled by that at all
and you have to ask yourself
did Caesar sample lasagne in his day.
Bush approach
it’s the eyebrows now not the lashes
that have curved their way down
to disrupt eyes' blink ability
noticed one time not long ago they were fine
then all sorts of length started coming from them
they seem to have arrived at their own conclusion
– each basic eyebrow shape is a river
thereby these coarse renegade hairs
took it upon themselves to act as bridges
looping over, especially on side view
won’t be too long now
‘til I can tuck them
behind my ears
like the olddays
Kind of decorum the Catalans will be expecting
opportunity for an imposter into
their culture to spout about nowt
A Week in Barça Come the End of July…
† what tissues to use, the same for sneezes and toilet.
† what elevators have good vents in case of any (¾-reluctant) emittance of hind gas.
† what shops are tolerant of a male breathing on their window in order to write ones initials in the purposely fogged area.
† what way to look at a bespectacled local - just short of appearing completely impressed or tell them that I have a pair too
but just haven’t them on at the moment.
† what to do if the little green man doesn't work properly or throbs in a hesitated fashion at crossroads.
† what part of the Sagrada Família cathedral is tops for a spot of rogering.
† what in the name of all that's holy should one do if one were to bump into Dinkus and he/she wishes to return to Damascus.
Cows in the Countryside
The cows graze in the one direction.
Not that all cows across the countryside
are ALL facing north, east or south-westerly.
But within the field where they munch,
their heads head the same way.
One cow in Gilfoyle's field near Athboy,
rather than reversing,
turned herself 180° to get at a particularly juicy tuft.
She stood there then, savouring it.
But was she really savouring? One couldn’t tell.
She just felt all the other cows’ eyes trained on her;
as if to say
Why must you compromise us as a herd?
Turn back round the fuck.
Bear
rolling a fluffy brown bear tobacco
and its got no eyes;
it's tobacco.
scraggly at times, strands
hanging out sticking up
barely looks a bear now.
bear jumped out of the rizla
and rolled up a day later
wearing a small shirt stating:
conservationist v conversationist
which'd be better to be?
We haven't spoken since
The roll and the seat
Patience my dear Fester,
the tide won’t be long
feeling the moon
and your luck
will about-turn
like a soldier
at shoulder arms
…sure so what if Glee Demerit meant it
when he said he’d go
and have a dump until it decides to be finished
and if no more cometh,
he’d sit there anyway,
he doesn’t realise that
the toilet paper in there with him
is a conniving painted wooden cylinder,
with barely half a sheet billowing for effect.
Now go up to my en-suite
and have at it.
And the black switch
in the red tile warms
the seat.
Best foot forward
when you give
the tongue a good
scrubbing before keeping
the appointment
with the dentist;
the systematically gorgeous
dentist who’s hands
you’d trust
operating on your
japs eye,
for whatever
reason.
ingestive downturn
her skin invited
comparisons then
of how lustrousness
was intended
on the eye,
she’s not that
beautiful anymore
said one pear to an apple,
ah, but back then
she used to gorge us.
Implanted, circ. 1589
There’s a knurled tree in
a sequestered part of town,
environ of clay surround.
No grass for two meters
outwards, and who’d live
above earth? why many
roots live above earth;
and they
do shine; so polished.
It’s said the planter was
gnarled himself, a Spaniard
who made ashore
off the bay.
Commencing to father
Galway’s prime black child;
he’s accepted amongst town,
as though a razor
to something that’s for chopping.
Oak does stand, as do his descendents
except for the wheel chaired one.
Hard yawns
That hideous axe barely drew
breath but for the yawns.
Reading her magazine,
an article of wisdom like
‘How to become more…’
and every time she yawned,
she yawned hard and a stink
would be deflected off the
pages right up into my face.
So I held my
breath knowing an
exhalation was due,
which was often. Wouldn’t
be minding if they were burps
from the village of Red Onion, but yawns;
the poor thing and me poorer still.
She should try reading something
worthwhile that’d be of benefit to
her essence and mightn’t then be
stinking people out of it who’re
trying to really read. I got off the
bus two stops early unable to
stick it, and wonder still to this
day if the slow gas I allowed out,
captured by the cushioned seat,
did it mingle into a pre-yawn intake
to mix down the village of Red Onion
Tight Nylon
something’s not entirely
right. there’s something
quite odd about his fixation
with the shapes of the heads
of his mob.
balaclavas aren’t considered –
the Shantalla Knack-Hoors use
them notoriously
nylon tights it is so.
Aunt Bridie-Brigit does the buying
and as he told her that they’re
for dancers, she picked up the
raciest six pairs going, though
not in the know of what the
blazes they were to be used
for, bar dancers’ pins. So
she was mortified, a little bit
wiser and felt a strange excitement
bite her in places she’d thought
were nigh on dormant when in
the post office buying stamps
….five males entered shouting
the odds....distorted heads under
racy tights and grabbed the loot.
later, the nephew came by with
seventy-four euro to tell her she
did a great service and by Jove
she felt part of something at last.
unrighteous riot
protesting pickets
the rise of a faction
bottle bombs stacked
inside a baby carriage
peering over his scarf is a young man
under an awning
a policeman gets separated
takes a brick to the jaw
slumping, he’s let be
nobly
- scarf man sees this
as two police white flag their way through
- he’s to chance at sordid respect
they’re to claim the stricken
he steps out crouches down and penetrates
the policeman’s abdomen with
his gut hook blade
a hush like…..
gape all at the unrighteousness
white flag drops
all stops
one bad apple in a
barrel of maggots
thrusting brackets (an entirely male thing)
(A)
(man)
(named Jalisco).
(such an experienced)
(philanderer that he forgot)
(how not to be bored with procreation)
(when creation is not foremostly why he does it):
….the male, averaging _ _ years of age….
(as innocent and virginally raw);
(when after the climax of)
(the first wank, you)
(think you’ve)
(broken)
(it)
sponge
By the last stanza
you’ll be apprehensive
it’s reached finality
following the motion
of words, with
the mind switched
to sponge.
Seems to be
an old projector
inside the sponge,
its reel fed by
what’s read
– as a flow
not contemplated,
just absorbed;
all the time rolling.
then the explosive
final deployment
of imagery --
involving
Shotokan
My sensei possesses humour
that’s excitably infantile.
He cripples with hysterics
when I send
a saliva bubble
floating off my tongue.
Such a strong man
of mind and discipline,
so serious a demeanour
and a physique
that couldn’t be leaner.
Little does he realise
or fathom as such,
the hilarity he produces
when simply sneezing.
With eyes squeezed shut;
he makes to ward off wasps
with criss-crossing air chops–
seven/eight per millisecond.
His belief is I laugh
at his sprayed spittle.
Not the case, but let him think it
as I conjure to launch another orb.
Slap bang midwinter
old sundial froze
the sun rose
frost marvel of webs
more it grows
on tips of twigs
dew will pose
lone solstice spider
I suppose
Becoming
When I clear
my throat it’s
my Da I hear
The bone dry saucer
Naps Spoonaparte Esq.
with his hand nowhere good,
asked the tea lady to satisfactorily pour
tea into his cup, and not the saucer this time.
But the table was Formica and that set him off again;
as he liked surfaces where upon he rested an elbow and
his saucer/cup of tea to have thorough absorption.
Asking for a piece of carpet ‘NOW!’ to place on table,
he slated the tiny café for health reasons and ambience;
claiming he nearly tripped over the crumbs on the floor
(huge things) and got stuck fast to the condensation on
the walls (obviously coated with Chameleon Tongue).
With the bone dry saucer on his head under his hat
Naps stood up, knocking down the Formica chair
and declared he had already been dead and had
also been incarnated since that fateful day.
“I have an army of male ducks on a lake
in Argentina you brutes! Although they
don’t look like me, they contain my
essence in their penile proportion.”
On taking his leave of the hovel
with pants-opening gestures, the
patrons dived for cover in case
of what may spring out at them.
half out the door, the owner –
“See you tomorrow morning
for breakfast Naps and you
can bring that saucer down
then, like a good man.”
Afternoon with the Man
when asked by God if I’ll have anything in me tea
why yes, I’ll have a ½ spoon of moon
and there he sat - kindling his pecker
thunderumble-flash-sparks, he's a robe wrecker
Sound as a bell
the bell swung and struck its tongue:
( ( ( ( Doying ) ) ) )
no no sorry:
DONG G G G G G G G G
© 2019 John Dowling
