on stopping by starbucks on a snowy evening

(with a biting hamster up my jersey)


whose café this is i think i know
his corporate headquarters is in seattle though
he will no see me stopping here
to watch his café fill up with proles

whose café this is
i haven't a clue
the place is full of teen yobs now
they will not mind me stopping here
as long as i don't catch their eye
or look at their girlfriends legs
or otherwise interfere
with their magnificent lives
of serious drugs and casual sex

my little hamster must think it queer
to stop without a hamster cage near
between the grocery store and the bookshop
                with the dudes where's my car counter assistants
the darkest evening of the year

he gives the spare tyre on my belly a nip
to remind me to leave the sexy russian waitress a tip
the only other sounds the shriek
i release  at the sight of my own blood

this waitress is lovely dark and deep
but I have promises to keep
and budgies to feed before i sleep
and budgies to feed before i sleep


*****
With apologies to Robert Frost. No really. I'm very sorry.

an autumn storm at kilcullen

the evening concerto has begun
sweeping through twilight from the fields
a masterwork of music at random
rain drums on windowsill and eaves
an off note lyric rhapsody in grey
as squalls gust lustily in sprays
a bullock bells forlorn out of sight
light sound shadow harmonise
at once a dreary monotone of night
at once a heady gloriole of praise
that says it all about this place
its torn me in my love and hate for it
village prison earthly paradise
small town insensate to my spirit
oh universe in me and i in it

graveside panegyric

I stroll through the graveyard in August sunshine.
It is located in the heart of the west of Ireland in idyllic countryside.
The firstlings of Autumn are in the air.
The delicate yet ever splendid regality of nature brings me to thoughts of the creator.
I am thinking of the son of the Hebrew God.
Him and his commandments.
Between the jigs and the reels I've broken them all.
Adultery... hundreds of times in my heart.
Lying... it never ends.
Thou Shalt Not Kill... again in the heart, all the time.
Cruelty to the foreigner... well I've certainly had reservations about the behaviour of some of the adherents of a certain peaceloving religion of Islam.
Hmmm.
And for each unfounded word I must answer on judgement day.
Why on earth then do I rejoice?
Why do I dare to be happy with the sins of a lifetime on my soul.
Why!
Because he's real.
The son of the Hebrew God is real.
The God that set the stars in the heavens and wrote the law on my heart.
He's the real deal.
The God who is the only reason I actually know when I've done something wrong.
He's real.
The joy of the truth of his reality trumps my guilt every time.
Though all of the sins of eternity were on my soul, I would still be thrilled to know that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Through no merit of my own I know this.
And so I rejoice.
The fronded chestnut tree rears over long grass.
Presently I am beside the grave of Bill Baines.
A young man.
Forty years old.
I'd envied him.
The first one in his family to go to university.
He got married only last year.
Then he inherited a few hundred grand as did his relatives after the sale of a farm that had been in the family for generations.
Bill was the only one in the family with any book learning.
He took advice from his bank manager on what to do with the money.
Regarding Bill as the expert, his family came to him for advice and he referred them all to the same bank manager.
The bank manager told them to put their money in bank shares on the stock exchange.
They lost everything.
So it seemed to them.
They didn't have time to realise that in reality they had lost nothing.
Really.
All they lost was some money that they didn't have a few weeks previously anyway.
But Bill was blaming himself.
And some of the family members almost seemed to half blame him too maybe without meaning to.
And then he was dead.
I stand at the grave.
Today I read that Richie Boucher Hayes who styles himself Chief Executive of an organisation known as the Bank Of Ireland, has awarded himself an annual salary of two and a half million dollars.
Bank Of Ireland lost two thousand five hundred million dollars last year.

the summer of murders

The Brits had a Summer of murder too at the dawn of their own abortion culture.
A long hot August in the early 1960's when a country where murder was rare became overnight a country where murder is commonplace.
English people of a certain age still remember it.
It was their end of innocence.
Three police officers were killed in a single Summer.
Useless, useless, lousy, unnecessary diabolical murders.
Shortly afterwards the British government legalised abortion.
The mayhem hasn't stopped since.
This Britain that was wont to conquer others, hath made a shameful conquest of herself.
And now Ireland follows suit.
The Brits are an ancient, heroic and noble people.
We held out forty years longer than they did against satan's enticements.
Not bad.
But I'm not celebrating.
All the celebrations today are in hell.

the devil rides out

The long hot Summer of murders rolls on in Ireland.
We've had a killing spree of unprecedented savagery that just seems to never end.
Drug dealing rackateers in alliance with corrupt cops are tightening their grips on towns and villages across Ireland.
Corrupt Judges continue to give pattycake sentences to the murderers who own the Judges. (NB: Forward copies of this article to Judge Hunt and Judge Martin Nolan.)
We are seeing the same societal dynamic taking shape before our eyes as has led to the collapse of Italy into a blood drenched narco mafia failed State.
And the murders.
Each one more vile, more useless, more depraved than the last.
Deaths in police custody.
Deaths at the hands of drug dealers and people traffickers and IRA men and Al Qaeda.
Deaths at the hands of street thugs.
A father killing his sons.
Two elderly men tortured and murdered in their home right next to the regional constituency office of Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny.
Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny getting in on the murder act by legalising abortion.
So it goes on.
This won't stop until we stop it.

formation flying at the galway airshow

Squadron Leader Beaky McFeathers leading a fly past of seagulls at the Claddagh in Galway.

operation your anus

Reichsmarschall  Alan Shatter was in his office.
The door burst open.
A lowly Feldwebel stood there panting.
"Reichsmarschall, Reichsmarschall, the people are revolting."
"So tell me something I don't know," grinned Alan Shatter.
"No, Reichsmarschall, I mean the people are up in arms about our legalisation of abortion. There's an unprecedented mood of unrest sweeping the country. We've never seen anything like it."
Alan Shatter nodded grimly and picked up the phone on his desk.
"Oberleutenant Skumensteiner," he barked, "issue another edition of the Murphy Report into child abuse cases involving the Catholic Church to the media."
He banged down the phone.
"That should distract the proles long enough for us to get the gas chambers, I mean abortion mills, rolling."

legalisation of murder out takes

Kilcullen prayer group.
Me giving a talk.
All drama and passion.
I'm hamming it up in the key of life.
The ghosts of Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, and Johnny Gielgud are nodding and smiling on the sidelines.
For the big finish, I put my arm around an African girl sitting beside me.
"Enda Kenny," I roar, "can you hear me?"
Pause for dramatic effect.
"You will hear me."
Another pause.
"WE... ARE... THE... IRISH."
Not bad eh?
Ah bold readers, I'm a legend in my own prayer time.
The meeting began to break up.
There were a few misty eyed approaches from various attendees.
"Oh James you're so wonderful."
"Oh James that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
"Oh James, take me, take me now."
You know the sort of thing.
The usual.
Some of these nuns can get a bit demonstrative.
Eventually the crowd had scattered and I was all but alone.
A gent with a chrome dome whom I'd never seen at a prayer meeting before, was the last to leave.
"James," he said, "I'm Harvey Bennet. Good to meet you. Yeah. Yeah. I quite liked what you were saying. I liked it until you brought in the politics."
I allowed a mellow smile to transfix my gentle pre-Raphaelite features.
"Ah Harve," I said without rancour, "you didn't really mind the politics. You just minded that I wasn't speaking your poltics. If I'd been in favour of abortion, you'd have been chanting: Yay James, bring on the politics, more poltics, love dem politics."
"No," he said. "No, that's not my point. You just shouldn't bring your politics to a prayer group."
His words sounded very much like they'd been taken from the Fine Gael Labour Party Sinn Fein Fianna Fail abortionist crib sheet.
I still smiled.
"Harve why are you here?"
"Well, I, er, I, er, I came to check things out."
"Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Eh, er, yes, yes I do."
"You see Harve, it's been my experience that people who believe in Jesus, I don't mean people who believe in Jesus as a nice motivator for community organisations, I mean people who believe in him as God Harve, it's been my experience Harve, that people who really believe in Jesus tend to get a bit hung up on the sanctity of life."
He digested this.
"I just think," he said, "that you're driving people away. We want to bring people into the church, don't we?"
"Ah the Church has always led the people Harve. The church led through the dark ages, the rise of the colonialists, the Muslim conquests, the communist era, and the Nazi era. And now it must lead the people through the era of atheistic abortionists Harve. It's not going to lead by telling the people what you say they want to hear. It's going to lead as it has always done, by proclaiming the gospel."
"But democracy James. Separation of church and State."
More Fine Gael talking points.
Velly interesting.
"There is no democracy without the Christian faith Harve. Our democracy and our freedoms are all founded on the Christianity. Have a look around the world and see can you find any countries with any semblance of democracy in parts of the world that have not been blessed for centuries with the long presence of believing Christians. I'll be very interested to hear the examples you can offer me. The Church has always led the people Harve. Not by asking them if they'd like to do away with the Ten Commandments. But by telling them what those Commandments are. Saint Patrick didn't say to the pagan Irish: Okay, since you're all into ritual sacrifice of your children, I suppose the modern listening church can accommodate you. Nor did Moses say to the Israelites: Oh right, you want to worship golden calves, okay, we'll include golden calf worship in the faith and we won't mention these ten Commandments which I've just brought down from Mount Sinai, because, er they are a bit political now that I think of it. I mean who is God to tell us what to do! Moses didn't say that Harve. That's Fine Gaelerism."
"We're a secular democracy James. You're driving people away. When you're finished the churches will be empty."
"Not as empty as the political parties or as readerless as the anti Catholic newspapers. Strange isn't it! And look at the churches which have tried to molly coddle the people by compromising the truth. The Protestant Churches of Ireland and Britain are empty. Only in America where the Protestants really believe in God and have taught us all how to stand up for the sanctity of life, only there are the Protestant Churches full. You're giving the people a golden calf Harve. And the people never asked for it. The Irish people didn't demand abortion. If we had, you could have let us vote on it. There was no vote because you knew we didn't want it. You're making the people into their own golden calf. You're telling them they can worship themselves instead of worshipping God."
"I haven't told  you my opinions about these things James. I'm not a politician."
"So you say."
"You're using the church to promote your own values James."
"Really Harve. Thou shalt not kill, is one of mine is it? And much too political eh. I suppose we'll have to drop any of the other Commandments that have a potential political application as well. Thou Shalt Not Steal is definitely a goner. It's too political, isn't it, since Fine Gael and the other Parties have been robbing all of us blind to cover up the burglarisation of Irish banks by their own managments. Honour Thy Father And Thy Mother, is a bit political since the present generation have started turfing their parents into old folks homes. So that one's gone. Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness. That's a bit political since all the politicians seem to reserve the right to lie through their teeth about everything. What was it Enda Kenny said about abortion? Oh yes. He promised NOT to legalise it. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbours Goods. That one's clearly past its sell be date since the liberal judges appointed by our political parties insist on handing out pattycake sentences to house breakers and their pals the cajackers, rapists, drug dealers, fraudsters, murderers and grievous bodily harmers. Why Harve. It's starting to look like we shall have no law whatsoever because all of the Christian Law is too just too darned political. Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery, well, that one's gone already isn't it, since you guys facilitated fornication culture with condoms, abortion pills, and permissive divorce legislation. Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery is even more political than the others because actually lots of politicians like committing adultery. Or trading in their wives when they reach forty for a newer model. Lovely lovely people. Remember That Thou Shalt Always Keep Holy The Sabbath Day. You did away with that one to facilitate a few godless supermarkets with Sunday trading. Oh you've been having a whale of a time Harve. But you're not Christians. And you shouldn't pretend to be. And your dechristianisation of politics and public life is turning Ireland into a charnel house ruled by Mafiosi thugs. And though you've dechristianised politics and public life, you will not dechristianise the Christian faith. What was the First Commandment again? I Am The Lord Thy God, Thou Shalt Not Have False Gods Before Me. Way too political. You are forcing Irish people to worship Fine Gael, Karl Marx, and fornication. No room for God. He's too political. How long do you think the God you don't believe in will put up with this! The Church, the ancient, beautiful and true Catholic Church, was the only thing which might have saved us."
Harvey Bennet took a deep breath.
"The Church made some mistakes too, didn't it James?" he said with deep significance.
"What do you mean Harve?"
He spread his hands wide.
"No, no, no, I'm not going into any of that. I'm not going to go there."
"The problem Harve is that so many people think a sly reference to sex abuse trumps any argument. They think this in an age when liberal atheistic abortionists in parliament, the media and the Judiciary, have massively concealed the wave of sex abuse engulfing our culture while using the tiny minority of cases that arise in the Church to justify their bigoted culture war against the Christian faith."
"Well James. You'll never see me again."
He was heading towards the door at ninety miles an hour.
I said: "God bless you Harve."
He gave a little backwards wave, dismissive of my blessing, and was gone.

confucius he say

In the land of the dowdily dressed fumps, the girl in the mini skirt is king.

legalisation of murder out takes

BACK CHANNEL COMMUNICATIONS

Sauntering on Main Street.
A gentleman farmer approaches.
"Eh Jayums."
"That's my name."
(Actually it really sort of is my name bold readers. In a Kildare accent anyway.)
The farmer had taken hoult of my arm.
Gently but firmly enough.
When he spoke his voice was low.
"Someone asked me to tell you to be careful what you're saying about the TD."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, eh, have you written something about him?"
The noble Heelers furrowed his brow in thought.
I had a hunch what he might have been referring to.
"Nothing much," I said. "The occasional oblique reference to him on my blog as an abortionist parliamentarian whose party has just legalised the murder of children in the Republic of Ireland."
"There you go. That's it. Get rid of that."
"Who asked you to contact me?"
"I'm not saying."
"Was it a Fine Gaeler?"
"Actually it was someone from Fianna Fail and they were looking out for you really. They were afraid you might get sued."
I fell around the place laughing.
The notion of Fianna Failers, most of them viscous abortionists themselves, running pass defence for a Fine Gaeler abortionist was too risible for words.
Those amoral kleptocratic schweinhunds will have been cheering me to the echo.
"Will you delete it and steer clear of anything like that in the future?" persisted the farmer.
"I'm not going to promise you anything," I answered distantly.

field of souls

the fronded chestnut tree
rears over long grass
shadows flit and whisper
of what is and what is past
and in the field of souls
my grandfather rests at last

i will be seeing him still
some time the city crowds upon  me
he'll raise an ash plant to a thistle
call his dog to heels
cry glory and whistle
whistle down the years

can you feel the softness
of the mist upon your face
or sense the shadows brooding
when the twilight whispers peace
then know that tangle mysteries
lie hidden in the trees