'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Thursday, October 27, 2005



Another year, November near.
  Halloween is here and now.
Party time at Billy's place.
  He goes with Rachel as a cow.

He wanted her to be the head.
  She refused and chose the rear.
But at the front at least he's free
  To eat and drink and comb his hair.

Their friend Jane is Dracula.
  Someone comes as Santa Claus.
Peter is a wolf tonight,
  With glowing eyes and blood-stained paws.

Kids in masks are at the door,
  Explaining plans in threatening voices.
They intend to burn some things.
  Billy says there should be choices.

And just for that they carry out
  Their threat to burn things that will burn.
But most are in the neighbour's garden.
  The gate won't light but they'll soon learn.

Rachel shakes her head at him.
  She says that wasn't very smart,
That this cow's brain lies in the back.
  The horse is sitting in the cart.

He reminds her of the time she ran
  From the woods at night in fear.
The noise she heard was just his watch,
  But she was sure it was a bear.

She does something painful to him
  Beneath the costume of the cow.
He just screams and runs away
  With the tail in tow for now.

He runs around the lawn in pain
  Until the head and body part.
The head has nothing more to say.
  The body says, "Now who's smart?"

They avoid each other then.
  Billy doesn't miss the tail.
He says, "This happens every year.
  Every Christmas, without fail."

Thursday, October 20, 2005



Walking in the woods for miles.
Happy kids with happy smiles.
They lift a stone from where it lay,
And all the insects run away.

And happy Happy needs to know
Where all the little insects go.
Poppy too would like to hear this.
Daddy's answer they won't dare miss.

Daddy chancer says that all
The insects walk to work or crawl.
Insurance now is where they earn
Their weekly pay. For rest they yearn.

They go to work with sleeping caps
And play with dogs between their naps.
They hide their chairs for a laugh,
And sacrifice a fattened calf.

With kids confused by Daddy's charms,
Mammy says with folded arms,
"Did Daddy crash the car again?"
"Yes." He nods. "Into our recycle bin."

Thursday, October 13, 2005


Our New Computer System

A new office building with shiny glass walls
To let in the light and keep out the breeze.
A new software system to manage our calls.
And sort our accounts and play mp3s.

And save us some money, despite its expense.
A hundred odd million, in euros, not pounds.
But it could be in guineas or dollars or pence.
Because all it does is make some odd sounds,

Like a bell that goes 'ping', is all it'll do
And sometimes 'ding' but never 'dong'.
And once in a while it goes 'a shoe'.
Whatever it is, it never lasts long.

But at least it keeps the cat entertained.
He sits there and listens for hours every day.
A lot we've lost, but something we've gained.
For that alone, a lot we'd pay.

Thursday, October 06, 2005


Ted and Joan

Walking by a place with trees,
Woodland, forrest, one of these.
She says she loves this time of year.
Leaves are falling here and there,

And there and there, and by the car.
Nearly everywhere they are.
A plane across the deep blue sky.
A long white trail, way up high.

Home again to paint a wall,
A light blue colour in their hall.
A little bird outside the door
Walks back and forth and back once more.

He looks lost. He says he's not.
He's walking back and forth a lot.
Ted and Joan have dinner then.
A cup of tea, a glass of gin.

Playing Scrabble for an hour
Joan makes words like 'style' and 'flour'.
Joe sits back and tries to think,
And pours them both another drink.

He accidentally spells the word 'path'.
He shakes his head and laughs at that.
Joan looks for a better word.
"Okay I'm lost," says the bird.

Very Slight Stories

Henry Seaward-Shannon

The East Cork Patents Office

The Tree and the Horse


Words are my favourite noises

Previous Poems

Poems from 2004
Poems from 2005



Gizmo's (Non)sense

Pretty Cunning

The Dossing Times


Cruiskeen Eile
Kevin Myers' blog (sorry, Colonel Kevin Myers).

The Chancer

Sinead Gleeson



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A Walk in the Rain

 | poetry from Ireland

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