The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Friday, July 21, 2017

a brief appeal to sense

How wondrous God is.
His glory is in each human being.
Every person on earth reflects some unique attribute of the Creator.
He has made us this way.
Our souls complete the universe.
The cosmos itself, the stars, the whirling galaxies, would not be complete without any one of us.
Why would mankind ever abort an unborn child, or euthanise an elderly person, or assist to suicide someone in despair.
What limitless beauty, riches, joy is lost when we do this.
Never acquiesce to such destruction.
Instead rejoice in the mystery of eternal gift that is people.
The God of Moses, the God of Abraham, the God of Jacob...
... is calling you by name.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

dog mathematics


(Woof x 3) minus the square root of a tailie, divided by PIE, times 7 chasing my cousin Vinnie, plus 8 times rummaging at the fence of the hen run next door multiplied by a snuffle times 8 chasing a tennis ball over 6 times raiding the cat's bowl + a pat  + the universal constant (a chewie biscuit) = a snooze break.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

homage to an immortal


into every emily dickinson poem
- there comes a sudden - heft of sleight
where rhyme o'erbalences into meaning
and i think - well - this is alright

it cannot be - but yesterday
and yet - the aeons hem -
something something something - something
something something - again

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

a miktam of james

A fox wandering from the ancient fields into my garden at dawn pauses to praise the creator of the universe.
Sweetest breezes whisper good news.
The hedegrows shiver with elation.
Birds in flight call out the name of God rejoicing by their very being in what they are.
The mountains of beautiful Wicklow, the very stones, proclaim the royalty of existence.
A river cascades like prayer through our town and through our lives.
God made every human being on earth.
He did not make any mistakes.

Friday, July 14, 2017

a heelers riding by

The Tearman cafe, Main Street, Ireland.
Me holding forth about matters political to Ron Baines.
With measured tread I am elucidating various perspectives on a meeting held by businessman Donald Trump Junior with a Russian woman six months before the American Presidential elections which last year returned Don Junior's father to high office.
"We had an old saying back in the Revenue Commissioners," I murmur sagely, "Cui bono."
"I never knew you worked in the Revenue Commissioners," says ye Baines du jour. "You? You of all people. You were a tax man?"
"There's lots of things you don't know about me. Try to stay on the subject."
"Okay, okay. What does the saying mean?"
"Cui Bono... It means: Cootchy Cootchy Coo Bono, we're going to take all your money in frivolous taxation and spend it on our ridiculous salaries and pay rises."

Thursday, July 13, 2017

it's a rum rum rum rum rum rum rum rum rum rum rum rum world

Wandering up the Main Street of Naas, a dowdy little would be mercantile town in the heartland of South Kildare.
On a nondescript building wall, a business plaque catches my eye.
It reads:
"Conal Boyce, Criminal Attorney."
Well, well, well.
A bit blatant.
I would have thought he'd have to make some effort to conceal the fact.
Alas poor Boyce.
I knew him Horatio.
(Horatio is Horatio Aloysius Semtex Six Counties O'Toole an IRA skang who is purported to be the only current reader of the Heelers Diaries website - Ed note)
(Why don't you just call him Ron Baines like you do with everyone else whose identity you wish to protect? - Ron Baines note)
(I'm not protecting their identities. I'm protecting myself from being sued by them. - Heelers note)
(Anyhoo - Anyhoo note)
I shared a stage with Conal Boyce once in a theatrical production of a play called Boeing Boeing.
Although to be fair he didn't really share.
That old gag.
In the play, I portrayed a womanising playboy.
Conal Boyce acted the role of my best friend.
He stole the show in a way a real best friend wouldn't.
Him and his louche effortless charm, shiny bald patch, Bohemian charisma, atheistic innuendos, shameless over acting, look at me, I'm funny, blah blah blah, etc etc.
Incredibly, I later gave him a free exhaust for his car as a bribe to clinch the deal for him to take part in my own production of a Woody Allen play called Death. a production by the way for which I still owe Woody Allen some royalties.
Hint.
They didn't come to much.
Death was actually my production but having been cast, Conal Boyce more or less took over.
It was not what he did to his character in the play that annoyed me but the way that he did it.
Him and his flamboyant homosexualist subtexts.
I ask you.
He put things in that play that neither me nor Woody Allen ever expected to be there. (By the way Woody Allen filmed his own version of Death years later as Shadows And Fog, his effort I must say in all modesty turning out not nearly as good as the Healy/Boyce b-st-rdisation.)
But I digress.
I squiint again at the plaque.
So Conal Boyce is a criminal attorney.
No secret.
It's all out in the open.
You've got to admire his chutzpah.
Kind of courageous really.
I glance around the street to get my bearings.
I am trying to figure out if the nondescript building is the same one that Judge Coughlan used to rent out to a drug gang that dealt their products there to children, teenagers and others under the guise of what they called a Headshop. Could it even be the same building that Judge Coughlan afterwards rented to the IRA to use for one of their money laundering front operations masquerading as a barber shop?
That would be a hell of a lineage.
Absolutely hilarious.
And now Conal Boyce.
Someone should warn Judge Coughlan.
Arf arf.
Ha, ha, ha, hoo ho, hee, hee, haa haaah haaaa.
Oh come on.
That was a good one.
A cool breeze ruffles Main Street.
I shake my head, chuckling.
Conal Boyce is a criminal attorney.
Like it says on the sign.
Right there.
You gotta admire the frankness.
Whatever next.
I must say I would find the possibility of a trend somewhat refreshing.
My old pals Judge Martin Nolan, ex Prime Minister Enda Kenny and Police Chief Noirin O'Sullivan could have a field day under the new dispensation with those sorts of signs.
I hope it stays fine for all of them.
Presently I tear myself away from the contemplation of Conal Boyce's name plate.
Already it has a lot to answer for.
I saunter off up the street into the mists of time and fantasy.
A certain famous fleeting grin is playing on my handsome preraphaelite features.
Not for the first time in my life I am touched by the strange ineluctable paradoxes that gild the goonish underbellies of things.

Saturday, July 01, 2017

television detectives and the end of childhood innocence


in calm contentment we could review
shoot outs bank robberies all the rest
secure in the knowledge that the hero would come through
that rationo legalism was the best

then one day in the late 70s
kojak was shooting at some thugs
i was relaxed in all my certainties
until kojak went over like a sack of spuds

and here's the rub he did survive
to keep the streets of new york free of human vermin
my sensibilities died that night
i never put my trust in pop culture again