Collectives
A durante of toucans
A piety of soutanes
A woggle of scouts
A caveat of emptors
A torment of mentors
A loudness of louts
An agenda of schemers
A cumulus of dreamers
A Hamlet of doubts.
Collectives (redux)
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Tag Archives: poetry
Todd and the Time Machine Part 2
Part 1 can be found here.
Todd and the Time Machine Part 2
Todd’s basement materialises
he sees the dark wood veneer panelling,
that tartan colonial sofa his uncle gave him,
the dark patch where his uncle rested his head
still glistening from the oil slick of his uncle’s hair,
in the corner, his wife is playing with an electrical cord.
“Don’t pull the cord, I’m not fully back yet!” Todd screams.
His wife’s voice comes back
a little garbled by the time lag
“I hope you’re going to clean up that damn dust this time”.
Todd returns to the present,
presents himself and sneezes into his sleeve
leaving a black smear on his plaid Mark’s Work Warehouse shirt.
Unknown ramifications
unforeseen outcomes,
that 21st century air
trapped in the time capsule
drops to a lower carbon dioxide concentration
as the capsule travels back in time
the surplus carbon dioxide
reverts to the original carbon
forming a black dust
which coats the inside of the capsule;
thing is, it’s a one way process
no one knows why
“You look like shit”, his wife says
“You look time-wasted, you look timed out,
what happened to your hair?”
Unknown ramifications
unforeseen outcomes
time travel messes with your hair
alters your DNA
deletes your vaccinations
the dangers of rushing a technology to market
too soon.
Todd’s wife grins
“I wasn’t really going to pull the cord”,
she hugs him, grinding slowly
“What did you bring back for me, this time?”
Taking part in open link over at earthweal, the poem was inspired by earthweal’s prompt “A Clockwork Green”.
Check out earthweal, a lot of good poetry and Brendan’s no-holds-barred editorials manage to be informative and entertaining at the same time.
Allergic (there is poetry in chemistry 2)
Allergic
there is poetry in chemistry:
dextromethorphan hydrobromide
pseudoephedrine hydrochloride
chloropheniramine
antihistamines
expectorants
decongestants
loratimide
netipot
rose hip
post nasal drip
post nasal depression
catarrh,
but no catharsis.
……another re-post, but ’tis the season.
Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry (redux)
Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry
write long poems on short days
short poems on long days
you don’t need a drummer
but you do need rhythm
avoid melodrama
your head cannot explode all the time,
there is uncharted territory
between ecstasy and despair
look after your images
they should splash like cold water
on the reader’s face
observe, always observe.
Caye Caulker (poem, take 4)
Caye Caulker
In the café below
the locals talk about the old times
about Eve and the apple
about Paradise lost
about how all the bottles
washed up on the shore
carry the same message.
pelicans plummet into the bluebottle sea
sting rays undulate
out on the coral reef
tiny organisms
fret about climate change
and that damn carbonic acid
I fink the pH is dropping, I really do
meanwhile, over in San Pedro
on the Redneck Riviera
hermetically sealed resorts
march north towards Mexico
and thin, blond soccer moms
mingle with sun-damaged matrons
dedicated to the preservation
of floral print muumuus.
in the café below, Bob Marley’s still jammin’.
This poem has had a few lives. Participating in open link over at earthweal. Head over and check out Brendan’s thought provoking and eloquent post .
Issue #17 Vapid Magazine
Issue #17 Vapid Magazine
In Issue #17, coming to a newsstand nowhere near you, we discuss..
The environment, it’s everywhere
Our environment correspondent, Jordan Shallowditch, is away on vacation so our celebrity watcher and gossip columnist, Simon Shallowpond is picking up the slack, he offers this twitter friendly poem:
Plastics? What Plastics?
no need to fret
no need to fuss
all is well
‘cos Kristen Bell’s
got a bamboo toothbrush.
Well done, Simon!
The Oscars
Our movie critic, Georgina Shallowglass, discusses the Oscars and asks the question:
Why would anyone divorce Adam Driver?
Plus, she describes that epiphanic, that life-altering moment when she realised that Jane Austen didn’t write Little Women (it was those American accents).
Politics
It’s been a busy year so far in politics and our political correspondent, Jonathan Shallowpit, asks the controversial question:
Did the founding fathers fuck it up?
..and if not, how come the semi-literate son of a billionaire, with bad hair and a genius for marketing dumb ideas could destroy the whole shebang , the whole house of cards by simply saying :” Nah, I’m not going to do that”.
Footnote
Jonathan, I’m afraid, will be leaving Vapid Magazine. A number of his co-workers have complained that he is making them think too much, resulting in headaches and a toxic working environment.
Vapid Magazine, home of all things vapid!
Participating in Open Link Night over at dverse , check them out!
2 Poems in Cyphers Magazine (“Ascension” and “Prairie”)
Cyphers magazine has published two of my poems – “Ascension” and “Prairie”– in their Winter 2019/2020 issue. I am really pleased as always to be published in Cyphers and in particular this time as my poems appear on the same pages as a poem by Fred Johnston, a poet I have long admired.
…Jim Feeney
Cyphers is a Dublin based print only magazine which has been in existence since 1975. They publish poets from all over the world, both new and established and this issue features a number of translated poems.
Cyphers can be found at http://www.cyphers.ie
If you want to subscribe to Cyphers magazine, you can do so by writing to the following address:
Cyphers Magazine, 3 Selskar Terrace, Ranelagh, Dublin 6, Ireland.
Subscription rate is €21.00 for three issues including postage
In Britain £20.00 for three issues including postage
US $42.00 for three issues including postage
The Influencer (tanka)
The Influencer
sometimes we travel
a long, hard road, to arrive
at the obvious:
the unbearable flatness
of pancakes in the morning.
The Influencer (tanka)
The Influencer
sometimes we travel
a long, hard road, to arrive
at the obvious:
the unbearable flatness
of pancakes in the morning.
Solastalgia (tanka)
Solastalgia (an alternative etymology)
solas in Gaelic
means light, solastalgia,
a longing for light
hidden under a bushel
at the end of a tunnel.
The challenge over at earthweal is to “Write a new poem on the theme of Solastalgia” which is “a form of emotional or existential distress caused by environmental change.”
Fracking Song (2)
Fracking Song
You’re standing on the corner
Watching the trucks go rolling past
Pumping out their diesel fumes
Pumping out that carbon gas
It’s the middle of winter
And it’s twenty below
And that gas just sits there
With nowhere to go
Something’s wrong in the valley
Babies stillborn
Ten in one year
And they call that the norm
Something’s wrong in the valley
Something toxic in the ground
Something wrong in the valley
Since the frackers came to town.
That rock’s been down forever
With its hydrocarbon payload
When they blow it all apart
They can’t control where it goes
And that water that’s left standing
Evaporating in the sun
The residue will be with us
Long after they are gone
Something’s wrong in the valley
Babies stillborn
Ten in one year
And they call that the norm
Something’s wrong in the valley
Something toxic in the ground
Something wrong in the valley
Since the frackers came to town.
You can blame the politicians
The special interests groups
Blame the fracking company
They all don’t give a fuck
There’s only one thing they understand
One thing that they know
Keep riding that fossil fool train
As far as it will go.
There’s something wrong in the valley
Babies stillborn
Placentas like ribbons
And they call that the norm
Something’s wrong in the valley
Something toxic in the ground
Something wrong in the valley
Since the frackers came to town
Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal
Machu Picchu (poem)
Machu Picchu
I
Backpacks
bucket lists
smart phones
selfie sticks
altitude pills
attitude pills,
sun hats
sun block
Lonely Planet Guidebook,
don’t drink the water
don’t eat the salad
no ice please
this is our tribe
this is our tribe.
II
The Incas long ago
left for the valley
to grow their quinoa,
wheat and corn
but we keep coming
to look for something
that may have been left behind;
we are a benign invader
a tad earnest maybe
mild-mannered to a fault
but hand us a weak wifi signal
and we go ape-shit.
There are those among us
who have already abandoned
the physical world –
I see them
sitting in restaurants
heads bowed and thumbs
working beneath the table
connecting by radio waves
to a digital stream
of consciousness and banality.
I am he as you are he
and we are a river of electrons.
Photos by Marie Feeney
This poem was originally published in The Galway Review.
Taking part in Open Link Night over at dverse
Greta Thunberg at Davos (haiku)
Greta Thunberg at Davos
Pharisees, temples
the young lecturing the old
wilderness, a voice.
Taking part in open link weekend over at earthweal.
Down and Out in Idabel (redux)
Down and Out in Idabel
How Myron found himself in the parking lot
of the Holiday Inn in Idabel, Oklahoma
looking out at the road
on a Saturday morning in April
– after a breakfast of brittle bacon,
sausages slick with grease,
dry fluorescent scrambled eggs –
is not important.
The road pauses, a skittish dog roams.
Myron’s eyes are drawn to a dead armadillo
upside down on the hard shoulder
an empty beer can in its claws:
Old Milwaukee, prehistoric drunk,
someone’s joke.
A pick up truck passes
a pick up truck passes
a pick up truck passes
over the fence a cow chews grass
and makes a meal of it.
Dogwoods bloom.
The cow moos like a reluctant foghorn.
Myron’s mood turns
he thinks about the cow,
Manifest Destiny,
the plight of the bison
our lust for red meat
while greenhouse gas
shimmies upwards
ice caps melt
glaciers retreat
and looking down
the road to Shreveport
buoyed by the prospect
of seeing Idabel
in his rear-view mirror
he quietly resolves
to recover what he was
before sadness lodged
like a wet sack
in the back
of his head.
This poem originally appeared in issue 38 of The SHOp poetry magazine (print) which was a fine magazine, unfortunately they closed up shop a few years ago.
Taking part in earthweal open link weekend, head over there and read Brendan’s very eloquent and comprehensive post on climate change.
This is my third in a series of climate change related posts, it wasn’t planned that way, but I guess that’s the way the wind is blowing this week!
Water (off a duck’s back)
Water (off a duck’s back)
What’s that?…….no, no, it’s all rubbish,
climate change is a Deep State hoax.
By the way, forgot to mention
I have some ocean front for sale in Florida,
are you interested?
I hear you’re a good swimmer.
Ha, that’s just a joke,
God controls the climate
the rivers, lakes and seas.
Look what he did for Moses.
Our local preacher has a direct line,
just send a donation
before he gets arrested.
Joking again! Those rumours
are just not true.
Besides, our supreme leader, Donald, says
we are going to have a great climate
the best climate ever.
Do you know any Dutch people?
They’re good at handling all this water stuff.
Another thing, does anyone else
really miss the dinosaurs?
I had this rubber brontosaurus
when I was kid, I kind of liked it,
a velociraptor too…where was I?
Yes, this oceanfront property in Florida
it comes with a row boat.
The word of the week over at earthweal is water. Got the idea for this poem while reading Sarahsouthwest’s poem “Water Again”.
Also participating in open link night over at dverse.
Woke (a slimverse)
Woke
He’d not yet
gone to sleep,
he was that
far from woke.
Patina (Ring Those Bells)
Patina
the patina on the bell’s surface
was anathema to Brother Jacques
Sonnez les matines?
Ring your own damn bell!
Oganesson (for dVerse)
Sarah, over at dVerse , is asking us to brave the elements and visit the Periodic Table. This is a slightly revised version of a previous post.
Oganesson
the heaviest of elements
always obsessin’
about its atomic weight,
the size of its orbitals.
Four Expressions Using The Word “Hell” (poem)
Four Expressions Using The Word “Hell”
that’s one hell of an expression
it’s all going to hell in a hand basket
they were scattered all over hell’s half acre
hell hath no fury like a president impeached.
The Land Called Where You Are Not (poem)
The Land Called Where You Are Not
that place you will never go
it can be one hundred miles away
it can be a stone’s throw
but there is one thing that is sure
there is one thing that you know
in the land called Where You Are Not
you will always be a no show.
(I located my inner Seuss over Christmas)
Taking part in Open Link over at dVerse
When the Twittering Stops (a slimverse)
When the Twittering Stops
it’s all fun
and games ’til
the body
bags come home.
Top Posts 2019 #3:The Wrong Way Home (a ghazal)
I picked this one because it was an attempt at writing to a form that was somewhat successful.
The Wrong Way Home
happy hours and peeler bars
he’s taking the wrong way home
a friendly toke, a line of coke
he’s taking the wrong way home
the night is young, pass that bong
he’s taking the wrong way home
a McFlurry, an Indian curry
he’s taking the wrong way home
a pounding head, a stranger’s bed
he’s taking the wrong way home
early dawn, suitcase on the lawn
he’s found his way home.
Top Posts 2019 #2: The Beautiful Game (The Lads’ Poetry Project 2 )
I’m including this one mainly because the subject matter of the poem – sport and the level of discourse associated with it – is somewhat neglected in the world of poetry. When you read the poem you may conclude that that is actually a good thing.
The Beautiful Game
Me and the lads are warming up
for our Sunday morning kickabout,
the weather’s not so good:
a black cloud loiters over head
spitting occasionally;
there’s a chill in the air.
Not that we care.
We are here for that moment of magic:
those three short passes
that raise life above the ordinary.
It’s all going well.
We’re stretching, squatting
sprinting, jogging, popping
Esther and Abi*
when up steps Paul
all sanctimonious-like
and starts to rattle on
about how this is a family park
and we should watch our language
and surely we can play a game of football
without accusing each other of onanism.
The lads are confused, gobsmacked even.
My face adopts an expression
which would later be described as quizzical
Onanism, I inquire,
what is that wanker talking about?
*Esther and Abi (Ofarim): rhyming slang for ibuprofen, a popular anti-inflammatory. Esther and Abi Ofarim, an Israeli singing duo, had a hit with “Cinderella Rockefella” in 1968.
Top Posts 2019 #1: Todd and the Time Machine
This is one of my most viewed posts in 2019, I’ll be posting one each day up to New Year’s Day. I’m picking posts from earlier in the year to keep things fresh!
Todd and the Time Machine
I
Todd’s time machine
has three settings:
time was
time is
time will be.
II
Sometimes
the time travel sickness
hits him
like a five alarm flu.
III
Returning through the time hail,
through the accelerating centuries
he hears his wife yell
from the ever present
from the basement stairs:
I’m turning off that bloody time machine
your dinner’s getting cold!
That Smell from the Fridge (tanka)
That Smell from the Fridge
that smell from the fridge
yes, it was the Camembert
noisome, and then some
wet dog, feet sweat, camel’s breath
a toilet door opening.
Stopdraggingthepanda 