a child is born

the drunk and the drug dealer
from the ashes of their lives
have brought forth this jewel
shining like the centuries
their own and others ruined by what they are
but their blood will know the future

curse them
curse them as they writhe
i am sick of their riddle
a buffoon and a criminal
between them can make a miracle
what idiot tortured destiny is this
how i envy it

envy beyond saying or sensation
for as the child's face lit up with sweetness
never was a smile so like redemption
proof positive there is majesty in the universe
and i must learn to live again

rapping with the colonel about ufo's

My cousin Howard is the Irish army's senior weapons expert.
I phoned him tonight.
"Hey there Colonel, can you come over for twenty minutes? I want you to look at our video of the UFO's."
"James I can't. I'm in the middle of something that has to be finished by tomorrow."
I allowed a gentle sigh.
"Do you remember how you used to bully me in childhood?," sez I conversationally. "Do you remember that time where you were pushing me around in front of Helen and Patricia? It was very humiliating. I often wonder if I'd become a murderer or a rapist would you have been partially responsible."
There was a groan from the other end of the phone.
"I'll be over in five minutes."
Ah, the advantages of a lousy childhood.
Don't judge me too harshly bold readers. Everyone uses what they've got.
The cousin was as good as his word, arriving at the old chateau within minutes.
I put on our DVD footage of the lights.
He watched intently.
"I think they're parachute flares," he said. "You see they seem to fade out after thirty seconds. That would be the fuse burning down."
I asked why they were static in the sky.
"They look static because you're twenty miles away," he said.
I pointed to the light that had moved.
"Well it didn't move much," he said. "But I've seen things like that. The one that moved might have had a faulty parachute and fallen more quickly."
I asked would he not expect them to fall to earth.
"Yes," he said. "Whoever's firing them is firing them high. That is unusual. Winds from the mountains might be keeping them up. Normally we time them so they burn out as they drop towards the ground. We are aiming to have them extinguish just as they reach the ground. But they probably aren't as high as they seem. Remember you are looking up towards the mountains. The firing is probably coming from off the mountain side."
I reminded him that the upstairs window of our house is at a higher elevation than the mountains and that we were in fact looking down on the mountains.
"I don't think you were," he said. "I think you'll find the house is actually lower down."
I asked would it change his opinion of the lights if we turn out to have been higher up.
He said: "No. What I am seeing there is parachute flares."
I asked him about the patterns of triangles and straight lines.
"I'm not surprised by that," he said. "We would lay down a diamond formation in the sky. This is in keeping with what I would expect to see."
I showed him our photo from the second incident, the July sighting.
The photo shows a red light.
"Now that's funny," said Howard. "Our flares are all white. Okay sometimes behind cloud they can appear red for a moment. You might see them showing red before they break cloud cover. That's possible. This picture is harder to explain than the film. But you've no other footage with it. I'd have to see it myself in person to assess it properly."
I asked him was he absolutely sure the film showed flares.
"I've seen nothing that I think cannot be explained," he said. "To me those are artillery or mortar flares."
He left.
There was only one picture I didn't show him.
As you all know, some of us got a bit excited after the first UFO incident. We started seeing mysteries everywhere. You might remember me telling you about framed photos tumbling off pianos, broad luminosities in the sky, etc etc.
And one other thing.
A light emanating from a black triangle, precisely the sort of thing beloved of UFO enthusiasts around the world.
We saw it and photographed it on August 24th at 6am.
Over Howard's house.

answers

An Irish army officer phoned me this morning.
"I know what your lights in the sky are," he said.
He had reviewed our DVD version of the phenomena.
"Those are military parachute flares," he told me. "They're of a type I've seen the Israelis use. I have seen this effect in Lebanon. I am a hundred percent sure. We have them on our mountain range. There was a night firing exercise the night you made your film. Okay. You say you saw eight. That sounds like a lot. That means the timing of the firing was off. Normally we'd fire clusters of up to six. And they would all have faded before any more were fired. You say the event went on for twenty minutes. That does sound long. Normally we'd be firing for five or ten minutes at the most. And you say it happened at 2.20am which would be quite late. But maybe they wanted to use up the ammunition in stock that night. On the film you can be heard wondering could it be a sign from God. Actually it was a sign from the Fourth Artillery Regiment."
I asked him had he talked to Brigadier Berrigan.
He said he had and that he was aware the Brigadier had not accepted these explanations.
Before ringing off, the caller repeated his own level of certainty.
"I am one hundred percent sure," he said. "I wouldn't bet the mortgage on it. But I am certain. They are flares. Or they are something else. But they are not UFO's."

A BIT IRISH (by Medbh Gillard and James Healy)

"Hey kid, I don't suppose you're starting to get tired..."

facile insolence towards the famous

i was reading WH Auden writing about the death of WB Yeats
not bad said i with a weary smile
for i was in the mood to disparage the dead greats
it hurts them not but it helps to pass the time

not bad said i with a short laugh
and it seemed a strange and fitting epitaph
for two considered king of the road
when knickerbockers were considered a la mode

perhaps i should temper this vain exultancy
with some dull reference to their immortality
but i don't think that applies
the great poet strives and self promotes and dies
his flesh his verse his bones consign to ground
i'm not a great poet but i'm still around