Brens Shorts!

Reading. Writing. Rhythmatic.

August 2nd 2016 (a sonnet for the birds)

Don’t let a sonnet loose – to run riot in your mind,
Sucking up experience – stuffing ideas in words –
No ideas but in words – no words but from ideas you’ll find,
Running riot around your mind – like fluttering birds –

Forcing forward movement – this is not about time,
Flying ideas – fluttering words – forward back around –
Circling again – clichés made of rhythm and rhyme
Made of space and text – made of words and sound –

What use this form of words – unless it opens doors
Of perception – of conception – of imagination –
Flutter here, flutter there, flutter towards
Understanding experiences outside your station

On a form that casts the world into words
That open wings and sing you towards –

 

July 28th 2016 (the cat sat in the bag at the back)

Bus crammed: jam-packed

Middle seat, back

Row between that

Man’s jacket, that

Woman’s bag:

I will not to move my ass

Except to let someone pass

To this side or that

(Those seats are the last)

So my legs can stretch in the aisle and relax.

– a busload of waiting, fidgeting, chat –

We move at last.

Stopped?

We have!

Two girls come fast

Embarrasmiling as they pass

Apologise their time keeping’s lax

I will have to move my ass

Or one sits this side, one sits that

Leaving me in the middle like a creepy old man

I will have to move my ass.

So the first asks the woman to move her bag –

Asks the woman to move her bag –

Asks to move her bag –

Confused, the woman says that’s

Not a bag, that’s a cat –

You can’t be scared of that!

Not scared! But could you move your cat –

Six sets of shoulders shaking laughter back –

The woman gets it at last

Puts  her cat at her feet like a bag: ah-

Tishoo! goes the girl. AH

TISHOO. We discovered a cat. AH

TISHOO. She discovered an AH

TISHOO. allergy, just like that.

July 17th 2016 (a report on the weather )

warm wind wraps air around a tree
collected compressed condensation
drops patter from leaves

on the precipice of precipitation
glistening belies heavy humidity
no promise is carried by anticipation

and it stays that way
for most of the day

evening keeps its own counsel

any:

moment:

now:

a cool breeze raises the hair from your skin
and as long as it takes it’s sudden
the rain comes the air thins

the lungs inhale exhale

July 13, 2016 (Irish history and politics on the DART)

I wonder

whether

these three women

talking on the DART

about Irish politics and media 

with their different 

accents and

appearances

and carriage

might be sisters

dispersed years ago

now sitting around a table

talking on the DART

about Irish politics and media.

29th June 2016 (dad song)

tore my jeans – from crotch to ass
while cutting the grass –

don’t ask, don’t ask

cut my lip – blackened my eye
doing d-i-y

don’t ask, don’t ask

embarrassed the kids – and my wife
with my quality time

don’t ask, don’t ask

fought the boss about a thing
didn’t win

don’t ask, don’t ask

on the bright side – got a hint
a little glint

admit your failures and avoid repeats
avoid repeats

and ask, and ask
how i’ll be better to make it better for them
and get knocked down and stand up again
and make mistakes and make it right again
and when people demand to know what makes me a man

don’t ask, don’t ask.

 

#Brexit the Limerick

There once was a campaign called #Brexit
Who didn’t like their country, so wrecked it
With short sighted vexation
Blamed Europe for globalisation
Instead of their forebears who directed it

16th April, 2016 (an argument with a six year old)

“You’re the worst dad in the world for me!”
“I can’t be worse than cinderella’s dad: He just stood back
While the stepmother acted
Like a total brat!”
“He stood up for cinderella
in the end!”
“You don’t think I’d stick up for you?”
“No! All YOU care about is if I tidy my room!”

(Then she puts on a voice – my voice)
“Sin-derr-ella,
since yer mudders dead,
I marreed a noo mudder
to make you cleen yer rume”

I storm down to the kitchen
Open a drawer, pull out some cloths:
She is behind me –
I knew she would be
(we are already starting)
“Here! Wear these glad rags
If you have it so bad!”

And so our anger collapses in laughs.

15th April, 2016 (working weak)

The city is waking from its week
I am going home to sleep
Dodging slings and arrows
Of what when where and how
Escaping on the wheels of a bus
We go round and round
Round and round
Flapping wings and feathers
Brought us through the weather
Made of nothing but feathers
And bones. Feathers and bones
Bringing us home.

14th April, 2016 (morning versus birds)

A blanket of frost under a baby blue sky
Pin down everything that’s alright –
Spring wintering the place open-wide –
Turning a corner to find

Crows adolescing over discarded bread
All hunched shoulders and puffed out chests
First: they perch alone – branches, walls, electrical or telephone wires overhead
Second: chaotic flock to murder over the bread: a structured unruly horde
Third: disperse in a thunder-flutter of wings and calls

Then repeat.

Maybe all day, maybe until they find a better meal.

16th April, 2016 (must try harder)

 

Eight weeks late, I radiate
with notes in notepads
and pens in pockets
leaking ink everywhere but
not on a page.

No page, no stage:
just ideas in things –
ideas of things –
words in thinks
leaking

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