One night striding windswept and mental along the cliff edge of Corca Dhuibhne grieving the Awful Truth of my mispent youth, the grass rose up around me and the sea sprayed my lips and i dissolved into them. This moment of dissolution birthed my first poem as Gaeilge. Since then, I have continued my trade as a wordsmith using more this more precious metal. Tis harder to work with, yes, but the rewards are
Irene Tanner, visionary that she is put flesh on the bones.
who is you?
She that gives it up easy to the wrong kind of man
or she that surrenders only to the dirt of the land,
that rolls in the hay, with the hay, just the hay
bringing new meaning to the ‘the easy lay’
In 2018, 52 artists of the Dingle Peninsula created a chain of anonymous art works, each responding to the piece that went before. On the third week in January I came up with this...
Project 52: The Genius Daemon
I feel her arrive in the tips of my toes, in the gyrating hip and the click of my bones. She creeps from behind with a crick in my neck and she plays on my mind with her call and her beck.
An Ode to the Outdoors
Film by Shane O'Ceallaigh Words by me
Mar tá an páiste beo lasmuigh go deo for the child is alive outside forever
On the Hill of Tara
On Summer Solstice 2021 after the longest hibernation in living memory, high as a kite and slightly out of breath i throttled out a transmission
Is it you that swallows what you are being fed?
By the lying bastards with no street cred.
Or is it you?
That recognises her own Kind
and knows her own Mind
sees through the veneer
and curls her lip in a sneer
at the tripe peddled as Truth
and the targetting of the Youth
that calls out the Brute
Is it you, who is at the mercy
of the banks and boss and a tertiary
economy that separates
the woman from the fruits
of her labour
with a creche and a disclaimer
Is it you who at the whim
who must sink or swim
in a storm not of your making
in another man’s creation
Or is you who commands the tempest
you are buffetted by,
who is steering the wheel
in this Drive By
who holds the Lia Fál
On the Hill of Tara
on your wedding day
poetry and protest
well you may call me fanatic and anti-democratic to question autocratic policies from politicians saying cheese, throwing me a bone to appease but i'm not wagging my tail at this success that will fail in the bigger picture where the rules are stricter between right and wrong, between winning and won