the green eyed yellow snurdface

Driving Miss Lily through the heartland of South Kildare.
As is its wont my mind betakes itself to rambling.
"You know," sez I, "I think I have a very actorly voice. I could be one of the great reciting actors like Richard Burton or Peter O'Toole. You can just imagine me declaiming poetry to stunned audiences around the world. They'd be hanging on my every word."
Whereupon I began to declaim The Green Eyed Yellow Idol in rumbustiously classical tones.
"There's a green eyed yellow idol to the north of Kathmandu.
There's a sort of a cross roads type thing below the town.
And a broken hearted woman tends the grave of mad Carew.
With the idol forever looking down."
The Mammy shot me a suspicious look.
"Are you sure those are the words?" quoth she.
I shook my head.
"Us classical actors can't be worrying about things like the words," I told her. "Whenever I get stuck I just make things up."
The car swerved as I avoided a farmer. When I'd gathered my wits again, the recital continued.
"He was known as mad Carew,
To the men At Kathmandu,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
Like an idiot she was.
Grinning all the time.
Obviously intensely repressed."
My passenger released a long and weary sigh.
"Please stop," sez she.
"Okay," sez I, "How about this:
He was known as Heeler the Peeler
To all the wheeler dealers
And some Hindu babes smiled on him as well..."
"I doubt it," said the Mammy pointedly.
This reaction did not discourage me as much as you might expect. And it was a pleasant drive we made of it. Me declaiming madly a la Peter O'Toole all the way from old Kilcullen to sweet Athy.

A BIT IRISH (by Medbh Gillard and James Healy)

"Nurrrrrrrrrse, my nose hurts..."

fortuna favori heelius

Morning at the Chateau de Healy.
Ireland's greatest living poet is in the kitchen quaffing coffees with his mother.
"Jackie's been looking for you," sez the Mammy, referring to my rich sister in law.
"Bloody hell," quoth I.
"Why bloody hell?" sez she.
"Because if Jackie's looking for me, then the odds are she wants to give me money for the American trip."
"Do you think?"
"I know. And not only that. Uncle Scutch is up to the same trick. He told me last night he was going to pay for the whole thing."
"Why would either of them be doing that?" wondered the Lildebeest.
"Lil old pal," I explained earnestly, "it has to be pity. There can be no other conclusion. I'm not going to fight it. At long last being the black sheep of the family is starting to pay off."

evening elegies of light

among the americans

there was a curvy woman on the street corner at copley
she had big bouncy blonde hair
she exuded tremendous vitality and well being
i thought the universe somehow favoured her

there was an old lady in the book shop at harvard
clutching an unlikely amount of parcels
bowling along between the aisles
like nothing so much as a bowling ball

there was a black man on the train to riverside
he looked like the toughest black man in america
sitting in a pool of stillness
quietly reading his bible

my life is bearing me away
but you people
yeah you people
you people are poetry