Brens Shorts!

Reading. Writing. Rhythmatic.

13:53, 25/04/2017

Window glaze reflects its gaze, a

baby blue sky with the

cotton wool clouds and

redbrick buildings

all so still

now –

not like earlier with the

hail and the breeze

setting our faces to freeze

would lunch ever come and then

when it came, would it ever

go away again?

at least it is warm inside.

Donald Trump addresses his administration

“Tremendous! I’ve got a
real good feeling for this team:
understand, all these
men and women are the cream:
premium administration
selected executively by me:

An American making America great again, a
people person, personable to people,
perhaps the best people. Now – your
role is to complete the tasks I
executively set- to be the best –
not that you aren’t of the best – but
to be the best of the best people.
ivanka and the boy will report back to me:
clearly, we meet week after week, where
each one of you will be fired, until
someone – the best – is left. Me.

6th September 2016 (traffic)

TRAVEL TIME.            MINS

The sign begins:

The roads list 

and how soon

you probably 

won’t reach them. 

Delays, queues 

an overturned

something stretch-

ing out be-

tween every-

one and every

destination. 

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.

#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.

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