'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Thursday, June 29, 2006


Rock and Roll Gardening

My old shoes caked with mud and dirt,
I raked the moss and dug the earth.
I sowed the seeds and mowed the grass,
And said I'd need to go to mass

To make up for the swearing at
The weeds, the grass and all things that
Refuse to acquiesce to my
Demands to live and grow or die.

My shades determine what I see,
Just like that gardener on TV.
He makes his flower beds shock and stun,
Like Sid Vicious would have done.

I threw a whiskey bottle too.
I cursed and swore as it flew
Through the air, towards a tree.
I gave the finger to a bee.

But it's not the same as on the stage
When I was less in terms of age,
And so much more in other things,
When we were young and gods and kings.

Not that I was in a band,
Or ever failed to walk or stand
Because of substances consumed,
When we were young and dull and doomed.

Somewhere between rock and roll
And gardening, there lies my soul.
These two things meet in the world,
In bottles, rakes and F words hurled.

And making gardens shout and yell,
Breaking all the rules as well.
Designs that say 'I'm cool, I'm hot',
And 'up yours if you think I'm not'.

Thursday, June 22, 2006


My Pony Doesn't Like You

My pony doesn't like you.
  My pony thinks you're fat.
But the reason he dislikes you
  Is not to do with that.

My pony is upset because
  You laughed a bit too much
When he walked into a cactus.
  Since then he's used a crutch.

The crutch is just for sympathy.
  He holds it in his mouth.
He says he suffers dizzy spells,
  But that I really doubt.

My pony met Napoleon.
  Or so my pony claims,
Despite the fact he's dead and
  My pony's bad with names.

My pony says Napoleon
  Wore a funny hat.
And he wasn't all that small
  But he was very fat.

My pony went for walks
  With this Napoleonic fella.
By the sea they met a woman
  Who held a black umbrella.

She was looking for her purse.
  She lost it in the sand.
She asked them if they'd kindly lend
  A helping hoof or hand.

So they searched the sand with her,
  And they found twenty things.
All of them were green.
  Ten were wedding rings.

And one was eating paper.
  They left it where it was.
Napoleon said, "Why leave it?"
  My pony said, "Because."

They found her bright red purse.
  Her purse was very red.
They thought it would be green
  But it was red instead.

She took a whistle from it,
  Which she blew. They looked around.
People walked towards her,
  Attracted to the sound.

She said, "I always lose them.
  They wander everywhere.
They come back with sand in shoes
  And green things in their hair.

"Our bus will take us home now,
  A trip that takes two hours.
So we can write about our day
  Of research into flowers.

"We might still change our minds,
  And instead research tennis.
Wimbledon is weeks away,
  But we'll be stuck in Ennis."

She said goodbye and hoped they'd meet
  At some future date.
When they left, my pony said,
  "She was overweight."

My pony's slightly overweight.
  He's sensitive about it.
He says he's just big boned and brained.
  I'd never say I doubt it.

Thursday, June 15, 2006



Her headlock in hockey was feared and dreaded.
A trail of misfortune wherever she treaded,
Or trod on or kicked at or beat light of day
Out of dazed players. She bull-dozed her way.

On all fields of play she was dreaded and feared.
On her school photo her friend drew a beard.
Their friendship came close to a premature end
When she drew a beard on the face of her friend.

But now ten years later she's quieter than water.
She shares a warm laughter with those who once fought her.
And there's not a thought in her head of attack.
Her whole world is white, where once it was black.

She wears dungarees and she sees only beauty.
To be open-minded she feels a strong duty.
She doesn't mind when they say she's a phony.
She says she aspires to be like her Aunt Nonie,

Who lives with a smile and a laugh in her voice.
It's there on her face not by force but by choice.
Nonie's advice to her niece is that life
Is for living and giving and laughing at strife.

And always forgiving the ones who make fun
Of the clothes that you wear or the way that you run.
Ingrid remembers these words every day.
At times there's a twitch in her eye when you say

That hedgehogs can kill a small horse or a cow.
She'll smile and very politely ask how.
And if you respond, "They just can. It's a fact."
You might very well then be gently attacked.

Or you might be hit on the head with a shoe.
And then hear the words 'I'll effing kill you'.
Just say you're sorry. Admit you were wrong.
Or else you'll regret it before very long.

So don't mention hedgehogs and what they can kill,
Or how long it takes them to roll down the hill.
At the very least wait until Ingrid is gone.
And don't say Hulk Hogan could beat Elton John.

Thursday, June 08, 2006


Charlie and the Thief

He talks a lot, he sings a lot,
  He falls asleep and snores.
He wakes and talks and sings and says,
  "I'm wearing new plus-fours."

But no, he's not. His new plus-fours
  Were stolen while he slept.
All this says about the thief
  Is that he is adept.

And he's very, very strange.
  Very strange indeed.
It's not something you'd put down to
  A need for cash or greed.

Charlie says, "I'm outraged by..."
  And falls asleep again.
When he wakes the thief has taken
  His tartan biscuit tin.

The tin is where he kept his hair
  When he didn't use it.
He kept his beard in there as well,
  So he wouldn't lose it.

All this says about Charlie
  Is that he's very strange.
A broken cuckoo clock
  Is where he keeps his change.

He needs to wear his beard right now
  To catch the thief, his bane.
He needs his thinking beard to plan,
  And hair to warm his brain.

He walks around the room in thought.
  He's lost without his beard.
This sad eventuality
  Is what he always feared.

He tries to use his dog
  To replace his facial hair.
But neither of them like it,
  And so his face stays bare.

He sleeps and steps into a dream,
  Where he hopes to solve this case.
But he only dreams about his dog
  Held up to his face.

When he wakes his watch is gone,
  But sunlight fills his head.
The thief has left a gift-wrapped
  Brandy bottle there instead.

The bottle's full, and Charlie smiles.
  The brandy isn't fake.
He makes a toast to a thief
  Who'll give as well as take.

He holds his glass up to the light,
  Forgets his biscuit tin.
With both eyes closed he takes a sip
  And falls asleep again.

For more stupid poems, visit my blog at:

Thursday, June 01, 2006



Daisies on the meadow green.
Robins on my head ow! too.
On many hills my feet have been,
Under skies of grey and blue.

At one with nature, harmony.
Despite the things that hurt your head.
And something living on my knee.
On me it's found a sheltered bed.

I say hello to creatures great
And small and all the plants and trees,
To birds who say goodbye to weight
And fly through blue into the breeze.

I listen to the song of streams,
The flowing water's gentle words,
A voice that talks to me in dreams,
And on my head the dance of birds.

I kneel with heart and soul re-filled,
And thank the Lord who let life be.
And sorry God, but I just killed
The thing attached to my left knee.

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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