'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Thursday, December 29, 2005


Sarah and Colin

They went around the hillside.
They walked there hand in hand.
No one they'd rather be beside
In this vast grassy land.

They sat down near a tree
And he got out his grey flask.
He poured a cup of tea.
She didn't need to ask.

A biker frightened off the birds.
That's just what bikers do.
His leather jacket bore the words
'I'm going to marry you'.

The biker said to Sarah,
"You're coming with me now."
But Colin coughed and said 'ah'.
He'll intervene somehow.

He didn't want to fight him.
Colin's not so brave.
This biker might be quite dim,
But his middle name is Grave.

Colin said he'd love to fight,
But he's wearing his good sweater,
And he can't see in the fading light.
Next weekend would be better.

Grave took out his diary.
There was no empty space.
In every day all he could see
Was 'Punching people in the face'.

Apart from twelve on Tuesday.
'Viola class' was there.
He'd been learning how to play.
He wished he'd left that bare.

He covered that one with his thumb,
And showed them all his meetings.
He then spat out his chewing gum.
He does that before beatings.

A pirate with his sword out
Came charging down the slope.
Dangerous, without a doubt.
He offered Colin hope.

But the charge came to an end
When he ran into a tree.
Colin said, "He's a friend."
It was either that or flee.

The pirate lay still on the ground.
Grave looked to where he lay.
Neither of them made a sound.
The pirate stayed this way.

Kids poked the pirate with a stick.
He didn't move one bit.
Even with a well-aimed kick
He didn't mind being hit.

Grave looked at his watch and said,
"I'm supposed to do some deed."
He needed to be there instead.
He rode away at speed.

Colin held his head up high.
"You were great," said she.
To Grave they waved and said goodbye.
They went back to their tea.

Thursday, December 22, 2005


Santa's Reindeer

Santa's in his sleigh in the sky on Christmas Eve,
High above the sleeping land below.
He'll visit all the houses with the kids who believe
There's a man in the sky saying 'ho'.

The stars are out above and time is flying by.
There's just enough for all he has to do.
He talks to himself and to the reindeer as they fly,
And he thinks that one of them's a kangaroo.

Flying over rooftops
With gifts for kids and spouses.
Tens and tens of thousands
Of identical new houses.

Those houses look the same even in the light of day.
It's just like looking at a concrete wall.
If it hadn't been for a brown envelope in his sleigh,
He wouldn't visit these estates at all.

He lands on a house thanks to Rudolf's nasal glow.
The kids hear something jumping on the slates.
He slides down the chimney with his sack of toys in tow.
Breathing soot is one of his pet hates.

He looks in his sack,
Leaves the presents by the tree.
They've left a glass of brandy.
The last place just had tea.

He sits down by the fire even though the coal is black.
He remembers when they flew above a town.
A man dressed up as Santa with something in his sack
Was exiting a shop when they looked down.

They landed and he said that he broke in coz he feared
That a little robin had been trapped inside.
One of Santa's reindeer pulled away his beard,
Hopped down the street and tried to hide.

Santa says to himself,
"It's a kangaroo alright."
He hopes it won't be jumping
For the rest of Christmas night.

Thursday, December 15, 2005


TV Talent Show

Things have gone downhill at a quite alarming speed,
Since appearing on a TV talent show.
A brand new identity is the one thing that I need.
I hear them laughing everywhere I go.

I've been humiliated. People shout abuse,
And more than just the ones who bear a grudge.
They think I'm thicker than a goldfish or a goose.
Why did I agree to be a judge?

I used to have respect but it's drained away for good,
Because of cutting comments and put-downs.
I thought we'd be admired and respected like we should.
But we've become the sad, pathetic clowns.

The latest act before us is a toaster on a table,
Doing nothing for a minute and a bit.
It doesn't make us toast, even though it's able.
They forgot to put the bread into it.

"That was truly awful," is the comment that I make
When the toaster pops up without the toast.
"You're stupid and as useless as an oven that can't bake.
"Silence is the best thing you can boast."

People say I'm playing to the cameras and I'm cruel.
But I say these things to my own toaster too.
The kettle finds them funny, and the kettle is no fool.
And I only say what I believe is true.

Thursday, December 08, 2005



Joe paints a room a lighter shade of green,
  And Carol helps as well.
But all she ever does is stare into space.
  Even at the sound of the bell.

And she holds the brush as she stares ahead.
  She's like this in the car.
Sherlock Holmes and Watson are in the back.
  She still has the brush at the bar.

In the swimming pool she's staring still.
  Holmes has his pipe and hat.
Watson tries to swim with a thing that floats,
  But he's not any better with that.

The paint brush is gone at a garden party.
  She still holds out her hand.
Ben plays a song on his saxophone
  That he played last night with his band.

"That looks like a good lightning conductor,"
  Watson says about the sax.
People tend to stare at Watson after this,
  With the evening sun on their backs.

Holmes then says he can say what's wrong,
  Despite the lack of a clue.
"You painted the room a lighter shade of green,
  When you meant to paint it blue."

Carol starts to smile and nods her head,
  But she feels very silly indeed.
Everyone there now looks in her direction.
  A distraction is her only need.

A cloud appears above and it's very dark,
  Then a blinding flash of light.
Ben falls over as he plays a high note.
  His face is frozen in fright.

The guests all look at Ben on the ground.
  Carol's very glad of that.
"That looks like a good lightning conductor,"
  Watson says about the cat.

Thursday, December 01, 2005


The Speech

Our member of parliament started to climb
The steps to the stage for his speech.
A little squirrel clung to his leg all the time,
And hung on like a very big leech.

"I've secured funding for so many things,
"For pedestrian lights and foot paths.
"I brought the road and the business it brings,
"It was me who got rid of the rats.

"I'm glad to announce a new tourist centre,
"To be built by twenty-fifteen.
"Where tourists can visit and after they enter,
"They'll wish every sight could be seen."

He listed out things he'd done in the past.
He told us he's not here to boast.
Each of us wondered how long he could last.
The squirrel hung on to its host.

And then a slight change as he told us all how
His critics are now staying quiet.
"They called me a fool, but where are they now?
"They're lost with a cow in the night."

Another half-hour of stories and names,
Of people who'd questioned his mind.
Most of his mishaps and falls he blames
On a file he can't seem to find.

The squirrel was starting to doze off to sleep.
The speech never slowed down at all.
The rest of us sat there and struggled to keep
Our eyes open wide in the hall.

Sleep finally came for the squirrel and he fell.
The speaker looked down with delight.
"Aha!" he said. It was almost a yell.
"And it only took half of the night.

"There's no tourist centre or holiday reps.
"I've just played my very last ace."
He ran from the stage but he tripped on the steps,
And the squirrel returned to its place.

He stood up again and went back to the stage.
His leg and the squirrel went too.
He started the speech that had taken an age,
About things he'd done and would do.

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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