'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Thursday, September 27, 2007


A Dodo

I found a dodo in my shed.
At first I thought it must be dead.
But when it moved and made a sound
I looked in awe at what I'd found.

I had to act before it hid.
I'm still defending what I did.
Some would say I lacked real class.
I shot the dodo in the ass.

Thursday, September 20, 2007


Some Limericks


I just met a woman called Rick
Who lives underneath a red brick.
She says she knows God.
I drank something odd.
I think I am going to be sick.


There once was a man who loved cheese.
He tried to convince all his bees
To make cheese, not honey.
He offered them money.
They'd do it if he'd just say 'please'.

Thursday, September 13, 2007


Life to the Full

Colin needs a drink
  To feel its warmth begin to spread,
To stop a cold November
  From beginning in his head.

The people in the pub
  Are disappearing by the hour.
They're hunched above their drinks.
  They hide beneath a cower

That keeps the world away.
  They're invisible as drunks.
They drink a type of whiskey
  That was made by island monks

Who went insane and lived in holes
  And thought their heads contained
Sawdust, sand and paperclips.
  Deep mysteries, they explained.

Babies talk of days gone by
  When they were in their prime.
They're yet to leave the pram
  But they feel the weight of time.

Other people in the pub
  Are crushed beneath the weight.
A woman at the bar
  Has surrendered to her fate.

She says they call her 'Silent'
  Coz she hardly says a word.
Her voice is just a whisper
  That would not disturb a bird.

But she tells him her life story,
  Full of whistles, bells and lies
That make the sweetest sound
  And they drown out all the noise.

In Julie Andrews afternoons
  She sings and spins around.
In Mary Poppins evenings
  She shoots rats that cross the ground.

She loves the thought of travel
  But she never goes away.
She knows too well that her desire
  To leave is here to stay.

She'd like to work in airports,
  Or in an old train station.
She'd love to be a bar man
  But she'd need an operation.

She talks till after midnight
  And he takes in every word,
Along with frequent drinks
  Till the outside world is blurred.

A nurse says that he's dead
  And she tells him to go home.
As he walks along the footpath,
  He comes across a comb.

He tries to think of all
  The long-haired women that he'd met.
But he knows to find a comb
  Is as sure a sign of death

As two legs sticking out
  From beneath a ten-tonne weight.
A Banshee would be near him.
  She'd be looking for a date.

He doesn't move as he looks down
  At his unlucky find.
Thoughts of life and death are played
  And re-played in his mind.

He remembers city streets
  On summer evenings long ago,
Wearing chequered shoes
  And playing chess against a crow.

The pubs were full of actors
  Who were posing at the bar.
The men in darkest corners
  Were proposing from afar.

Throughout his younger days
  He discovered many truths,
Like 'never walk on burning coals
  Unless you're wearing boots'.

And wear your running shoes
  When you hear 'Release the hounds'.
The greatest grand pianos
  Can produce transcendent sounds,

And then they fall to pieces
  On the footpath at your feet.
Minds can be affected
  By the night and summer heat.

He remembers days of rain,
  Walking slowly, getting wet.
His thoughts are interrupted
  By the sudden sound of death.

A Persian cat's meow
  Makes him scream and run away.
The sound instils a fear
  That makes him lock his door and pray.

He vows to change his ways,
  Not to waste his days away,
And though he makes this promise
  Nearly every second day,

This time it's for real.
  He can feel it in his soul.
After sleep, a day that's full
  Of life will be his goal.

Thursday, September 06, 2007


Meeting People

He's bad with people, good with pigs.
When sows and hogs wear coats and wigs,
His chat-up lines, he practises.
Real women are like cactuses.

He's afraid of being hurt
By a cactus in a skirt.
Their presence always makes him sweat
Until his clothes are dripping wet.

His brother says, "Just play it cool.
Chicks will dig a total fool.
What you say can be pure shite,
But talk as if a blinding light

"Shines from where you're speaking it.
It beats intelligence and wit.
The way you walk and wear your threads
Speaks volumes of your past in beds.

"So strut and talk relentless tosh.
And it would do no harm to wash.
Your self-belief should always ooze.
And buy her large amounts of booze."

So he decides to roll the dice
And use his brother's new advice.
It's written down within his brain.
In the pub he meets Elaine.

He struggles to look in her eyes,
But then her smile's a nice surprise.
It feels like he's just cleared a fence.
He talks to her with confidence.

"Unlike so many other men,
I'd avoid eye-contact when
I'm meeting human people here.
The struggle fades with time and beer.

"If I should meet with Stephen Hawking
In the park while he's out 'walking',
After saying 'ciao' or 'hi'
Should I look him in the eye

"As Hawking talks with his machine?
Would it be rude to read his screen?
While he talks would it be rude
To look above this chair-bound dude?

"But even if we met some day
He might not have that much to say
To someone who looks plagued by fleas.
He wouldn't waste his batteries."

She nods her head and holds the smile,
And says she has to leave a while.
He looks like he's just seen the light.
His brother was completely right.

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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