The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Saturday, February 03, 2007

the spanish professor

After she had gone, the ghost of Walt Whitman appeared at my table.
"To what serves mortal beauty?" he murmured sagely.
"Well Walt," said I, "for a start it's nice to look at."

Friday, February 02, 2007

at half past 5 in the morning
the ticking clock
and creaking boards
fill the still house with their whispering
and are joined
by the voices
of unseen birds in unseen trees
such choruses
praying hope in song
crying darkness now
but before long

Thursday, February 01, 2007


Wednesday, January 31, 2007

dances with snurds

Afternoon quaffing a coffee in the Whitewater Centre in Newbridge.
An impulse. On my mobile phone I dialled up Melanie Gibson in the Daily Mail.
I knew her once Horatio.
She worked in the Lootheramawn.
She had honey blonde hair and a most striking form.
Now I wanted to see was she interested in the story of the century.
She agreed to listen to what I had to say.
And what a tale I told her then.
It was a tale about a lone poet discovering a plot within a huge supra national organisation; a plot to subvert democracy and devolve total power to itself; a plot to give exponential power to faceless manipulators unaccountable and unrestrained; a plot to stifle free expression on the internet so that by controling what is said this organisation might ultimately control what is thought.
It was a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying... nothing.
No dammit.
That's Macbeth.
But close enough.
As I recounted my high adventure over the phone, I began to hear snuffling sounds.
Here's larks, thinks I, Melanie must have a cold.
I continued talking.
The snuffling sounds grew louder.
Presently it became clear that despite her best efforts Miss Gibson was laughing.
A lilting girlish giggle asserted itself and would accept no refusals.
"I'm sorry," she said weakly as the giggles became guffaws.
For some moments coherent communication was impossible.
Eventually there was silence.
"Okay Melanie," I said with what grace I could muster. "You know the story and if you think it's worth following up you can call me."

Back at the chateau I found an email from Mallers.
"Heelers, will you just stop. Stop. It's me. It's me for crying out loud. All our traffic is routed through that site. For God's sake stop.

Ah gentle friends of the internet.
Whom the God's wish to destroy they first make mad.
My noble guests at The Heelers Diaries, from today we must come to an agreement.
If you meet me in the street, or at the theatre, or during some dramatic storming of the barricades, why let us greet each other pleasantly like old confreres, raise our top hats, and hurry on.
Let us never again mention the UN under any circumstances.
Not even in jest.

PS: I wonder will Kofi accept my apology...

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

for all you un spooks out there

free verse

kofi annan is in slavery
to a habit obscene and unsavoury
with maniacal howls
he deflowers young owls
which he keeps in an underground aviary

Monday, January 29, 2007

the goon show

Got a data report on my blog today.
"Here's larks," thinks I, settling down in the plush armchair reserved for my use in the front room at the chateau. I was expecting a quiet read.
My eyes widened moments later when they fell upon the following.

Visit Detail: 28 January, 4.30pm.
Domain Name: Unknown.
Internet Service Provider: United Nations Logistics Base, Northern Italy.

Well, well, well, as we do say in the trade.
You should have seen me folks.
My handsome features creased into a perplexed frown. My pale blue eyes took on a steely quality.
So the old spooks at the UN really do figure they owe it to themselves to live a little.
Keeping a weather eye on The Heelers Diaries.
You've got to admire their taste.
Now get this.
Here is the news.
There's a genuine Islamic terror conspiracy seeking not to conquer the world but destroy it. The terrorists have blown up trains in London and Madrid. They've committed mass murder in the US. They are currently guided, sourced and supplied from United Nations member States including Iran, Syria and every two bit dictatorship in North Africa, the Middle East and Southern Asia.
And back at headquarters the elite of the UN intelligence gathering operation, are spending their Sunday afternoons monitoring Hoddlebun, Paddy Pup and the Mammy.
Words fail me.
They genuinely do.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

flag on the play

An email from Brian Malcolmson, an old acquaintance who has risen in the world to become a mid ranking staffer at the United Nations. It ran as follows.

What have you been saying? I tried to log onto your blog this morning from one of our computers and got back a message telling me: This site is considered unsafe by the UN. What on earth have you been up to?

I replied in short order.

Is this for real? I cannot think of any reason why the UN would be worried about my blog. True, I have written one or two mildly pro American articles but that's not a crime surely.
Maybe they're worried about the poetry.