The Octopus and the Shark

The octopus sat on the sand, 

In the hidden depths of his salty land.

He looked about and blinked an eye, 

“Just one friend” he dreamt and began to cry.

With a jet of water from out his back, 

He headed off from hole to crack

And hid away from all the dangers, 

The clamping claws and perfect strangers.

When right in front he stopped in shock, 

As a great big shark began to mock,

“Hey buddy, there with your eight legs, 

Hiding in the rocky dregs,

Will you come out and play with me? 

I’m lonely here in this vast sea.

The fish all scatter when I arrive. 

They think I’ll eat them all alive”

The octopus was wild with glee, 

“It’s like the gods have just heard me!

I’m so lonely here hiding under weeds 

With no one to share my thoughts and needs”

“Well! It’s settled then I’ll be your mate 

But can I ask you please when last you ate?

It’s been so long for me it’s true 

But rest assured I won’t eat you.

But how about just one small leg? 

It’s just this once, I hate to beg!”

Our friend thought long and looked around, 

It was just a token to his friend he’d found.

So he agreed and off it came, 

Eight became seven but he felt no shame,

For he’d helped a friend, maybe saved his life 

And that’s what they’re for through pain and strife.

So they played and laughed and swam about, 

Like a glass of water after the longest drought.

But in the evenings the shark would say, 

“I’m still so hungry, just one more I pray?”

Soon there were six and then shortly four, 

The octopus hoped there’d be no more.

After just a week he was left with one 

His friend no longer seemed like fun.

The octopus sat on the sand, 

As the shark eyed up his one last hand.

In just one bight he gulped the rest, 

His arm and all the bits that he liked best.

Off the shark swam without a sting, 

To see what his next friend could bring.

My Castle

Somewhere out beyond the noise, beyond the car horns and the shoe shine boys,

There’s a place of calm and gentle thought, of quiet peace and stillness sought,

Where all that tussles within my brain is forgotten now with soft refrain.

The wattage from the sun above, is dimmed beneath a careful glove

That keeps me warm and shades the glare and hosts a world of love and care.

But this is a place no man can find as it happens just inside my mind

And here at least for just an hour, I like to sit and my aches devour.

On some fine day maybe you’ll join me there, and deep into my eyes you’d stare.

But what you’d see I’m sure would daunt as one mans thoughts are anothers haunt.

As we grow, we learn and time does heal like something dumped upon a potter’s wheel

To be moulded, shaped and at last defeated, the painfulness maybe deleted.

But it’s all still clay, just prettied up, formed to something from which we’ll sup,

With avant-garde or abstract beauty, our minds distraction is all its duty.

But problems linger in a different form as a ship stays upright amidst a growing storm.

So steer a path to somewhere bright, where the leaves grow fresh and the air is light.

But then moor that ship and step right back, unload its cargo and its bags unpack.

And join me here by the waters edge with a cooling drink and a lemon wedge,

Forget the noise and distract your struggle, away from the things in life we juggle.

Live life for a moment just like a child and sit with me while the world spins wild.

Fungie, The Dingle Dolphin Poem

The XXL American squeezed off the XL coach.

He wiped the crumbs from off his shirt at the green clad guides’s approach.

„Well too-ra-loo and janey-mac, what a grand soft summers day”

He smiled and winked at the gathered crowd as the rain crashed down across the bay.

“Welcome to Dingle and the Ring of Kerry, Gods own promised land.

Such honest people, kind and true and sure the craic here’s only grand,

So take an hour and stretch your legs, the boats at 12 o’clock

For Fungie’s waiting out at sea, way out beyond the dock.

He’s thrilled such folk as you nice guys, for over thirty years

And never fails to show his face so allay your jokes and fears. “

So, at 2 o’clock the boat left shore, as punctual as ever

And out they went with hopes set high and the skippers name was Trevor.

They sailed and watched and sailed some more but nothing did they see,

The groaning started getting louder, the waves as empty as could be.

So they turned for home and cut their loss, feeling slightly cheated,

When around the coast, a sight so strange, increduled as they were greeted

For on the shore 4 local men huddled round their giant machine,

The 10 foot dolphins nuts and bolts, had run out of gasoline.

Bad Hat Day

Bad Hat Day

Today my hat’s the wrong way around so I think I’ll stay at home

Today the clouds outside are grey, and down the streets I cannot roam.

I’ve no idea why the hat just can’t sit the right way round

But it’s a circle at its edge and sometimes the right way can’t be found.

I can turn it till it’s the other way, and the back is now the front

Sometimes it never works and all I can do is hunt

For the courage that I need to open up my door

And face the big bad world outside and stop pacing on the floor.

It’s funny how something that just sits upon my head

Can ruin everything and just fill the world with dread.

But the blackness that I feel and the fear inside my heart

Is often trivialised by some folk who think they're smart.

But everybody knows, that a circles got one side

So to fix my hat disaster after my tears are dried,

I must be brave and smile and fool the world that I can show no fear,

And even though my heart is broke, my minds thoughts will never hear

The light of day, so just shut up and all this soon will pass...........

Is not the truth and will not help for a heart is made of glass.

So maybe I can leave it and not face the world today.

Maybe that’s the best idea, so here alone I think I’ll stay.

The Fly in the River Arguement - An Atheists Poem

In a tortured land we don’t hear them cry,
Somalia’s people live with a strange little fly. 

The fighting stopped, the sandstorms gone away
Eight year old Almar has run out to play.
He’s chasing a ball much like all kids on earth
With his friends that he’s known since the time of his birth.
A tiny small prick he soon feels on his neck,
But he’s covered in scars so he thinks – what the heck.
Little does he know a worm that lives in a bug
Will now go into his eye, he’ll be blind-can’t afford the drug. 

Such a complicated symbiosis between man, bug and worm
Evolved long ago, „evolved”, there I said it, yes that’s the term. 

Do you really want to tell me from on your pedestal?
That this course of action was not accidental?
Jesus or Vishnu , Allah or Christ
Are fucking sick in the head to pull off this heist.

We should stick to the facts, and stop a second to think
And see what we have, step away from the stink
Of thousands of years of hatred and war,
Chopping off bits and afraid to explore,
The beauty of Earth, the sun and the stars
The planets nearby like Venus and Mars
The beauty of a face not covered by veil
We can’t see their smile, stunning and frail. 

Do we need an almighty, watching above
To make us unite in his totalitarian love?
Does this make me do good, stop beating my wife?
Helping my neighbour and loving my life?
I don’t fucking think so, please credit me that
So I don’t go off killing your mother and cat.

Please teach in the schools how morality wins
But isn’t dictated by a fear of Gods sins
Be nice to your neighbour, don’t be a dickhead,
Should just be assumed and not have to be read
In two thousand year old books dug out from the sand,
Out of time, out of place, from a faraway land. 

When they call to the door to teach me their stuff
I don’t slam the door, nor do I laugh at their guff,
I’ll invite them for coffee, scones or some tea
And politely inform them that this stuffs not for me.
There’s people out there who use their belief
To get on with their life through hardship and grief.
And that’s good for them, whatever works, works
I guess nineteen eighty four did have its perks.
But faith is just that, a belief with no proof
It can be discredited as quick as any old spoof.

That’s not me being cruel or looking for fights
It’s about freedom of speech and all women’s rights.
And belief in all science, and medicines too
The companies are hypocrites but there’s truth in their brew.
A huge tiger’s cock or a black rhino’s horn
Won’t save us from things with which we were born. 

Cutting off things like a little girls clit
Will just get infected and hurt quite a bit.
So to go back to the start and recap real quick
If there is an almighty he is quite the dick.
Our world is not perfect we’ve made it that way,
Since religion and greed have entered the fray.

Just be happy with things that are all around
There’s no need to assume anything too profound.
Like that fairies and angels planted all of our trees
They didn’t I’m afraid but without them we’d freeze,
Cause over millions of years they’ve made timber and coal
And oxygen to breath, which gets us out of a hole. 

See everything happened accidentally on purpose
And things just died out that seemed kind of superfluous.
Evolution it’s called so go check it out
You’ll not burst into flames or get venereal gout.
Just be nice to your neighbour, don’t rape, steal or pollute,
Say hi to a stranger on your daily commute.
Give an old man spare change, and step over that ant.
Read some Charles Darwin and water your plant.
And if you insist on loving “Our Lord”
Keep it to yourself cause its making me bored.

Do me a favour though and practice what you preach. 

So let’s take off the burkha and allow freedom of speech.
And acknowledge the T-Rex buried deep under our feet
Saying he was put there is a shitty old cheat.
We can sing Hallelujah and all clap our hands
But first let us stop the expansion of sands
And drying up rivers and lakes filled with salt
Yes even with God we’re still all at fault.
Unfortunately I feel that if you’re of some belief
You won’t change your mind so I’ll save you the grief
Of another long rant about how you’re insane
Just look in your head and imagine your brain
It took an awfully long time to get that thing right
So please use it correctly and our future is bright.

Home, A poem about Ireland

On a little island swept out at sea, we call it home to you and me.

Lush from sea swept rain filled cloud, wrapped up tight in a misty shroud.

Windy beaches, deserted and bleak, mountains and valleys where no voices speak.

The land of Beckett, Yeats and Wilde, filled with humour and love beguiled.

Joyce and Singh and Jonathan Swift, spoke of Lemuel cast off adrift.

And like the short men in his book, us Irish see things with a different look.

Small men with a small town mind, the parish, Mass, and their daily grind

But never a man can forget where he’s from, lest they bear the wrath of gossips hum

And if you dance to a different beat, you’ll soon be told with harsh conceit.

These people though, with dreary souls, will pass through life with all their goals

Wrapped up in what their close peers say, their one concern is looking good Sunday.

So they can lean and spit against the wall and laugh about others sorry downfall.

But he didn’t fit in so who the fuck cares, “He’s gone now, we’ll get back to our prayers?”

But I make this sound like a rural mind, but the cities too have their very own kind.

Statues with their heads cut off, cursing at the smell of beef stroganoff.

“Dem fookin darkies took me job” and as he speaks into his pint he’ll sob

Cause God forbid he gets off his ass and look for a job or sign up for a class.

He’ll stay in his PJ’s from dusk till dawn and moan about his plight then yawn

Sure it’s all the government they made this mess but never the problem he’ll address.

Emigration is all we’ve ever known, the Irish Bar when the plane has flown

To Guinness, rashers and Tayto packs and the same old gossip with the same old hacks

So the next time you sit, staring at a foreign map, complaining that the tea there’s crap.

Think about what your new home can boast, perhaps a stroll along its sunny coast

And marvel at the healthy folk, jogging on sand and sharing a joke

The lack of hoodies, scowling drunk, the empty cans and McDonalds junk.

They use the bins, they use their heads, your rubbish shouldn’t be in the flower beds.

And maybe when you fly home next time, you’ll notice what’s mentioned in this rhyme

And help your neighbour and not spread scorn, Romantic Irelands not yours to mourn

‘Cause we didn’t help, we stood and watched, as scumbags wrecked and politicians botched

But maybe now we’ll see once more, we brought this all upon our shore.

And unlike O’Leary in his grave, we might grow up and our country save.

Me though……….I’m fucking out of this dump.

Jaws

Jaws

 

Dum-dum, dum-dum, goes the music’s beat

As I look up above at the pretty peoples feet.

It was in the year of nineteen seventy five

That I decided to eat everyone alive.

So I headed up the Massachusetts coast

To find a quiet spot for my summer roast.

She jumped right in and I began to size her,

She’d do just right as an appetiser.

So I bit her leg in the dead of night,

She screamed so loud even I got a fright

But I ate her leg, then I ate her head

And pretty soon she was very dead.

Now human beings don’t taste that great

But for me I guess it was just pure hate.

You see they go around and just think we’re dumb,

As I swim through their junk and dine on their scum

That now floats on the surface of each crashing wave.

I really just wish they’d learn to behave.

So anyway sorry, where was I at?

The lady was dead, I was certain of that.

So then I ate a young boy on the beach one fine day,

The people of Amity were all out to play.

The kids they all screamed as the blood flowed around

And they wept on the shore as his ear ran aground.

Then a scientist arrived to give some advice

To a struggling sheriff which I guess was nice.

He said, ”Carcharodon carcharias” is a great white shark,

It will eat anything in the light or the dark.

Which is nice I guess, to get some recognition

But nothing would distract me from my gluttonous mission.

So I ate and I munched and I chomped and I bit;

I terrorised the Island, it seems I was quite a hit.

‘Till news came one day of a threesome of crew

Heading out to sea, to see what they could do.

“Catch the beast” was roared as they departed

This was it, not for the faint-hearted.

Scheider, Dreyfuss and Robert Shaw,

Were the men in charge or who just drew the short straw?

The expert, the sheriff and the fisherman brave,

They had one job to do, their town was to save.

So the sailed away aboard the “The Orca”s decks.

Scheider worried behind his stately specs.

But I must admit I had to sit and gloat

When I heard him say, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat”.

It was decided then through mutual consent

Let battle commence and we’d hear no dissent.

As the men grew brave and the days passed by,

They took a few shots, they’d have not hurt a fly.

4 big yellow barrels were tied to a line,

To slow me right down I guess was the design.

It worked not one bit as I launched my attacks

And smashed up there boat like a beast with an axe.

I ate Robert Shaw and he tasted of whiskey

But the next think I did I guess was too risky

But I couldn’t stop eating and the boat was in bits

Scheider bobbed up and down scared out of his whits.

Charging like a bull I aimed myself south

When a bright metal airtank was launched in my mouth,

The next thing I saw as he aimed a gun high,

Were his terrified eyes, his end was nigh.

The last thing I remember as I heard the bells clang.

Was “DIE YOU SONOFABITCH” then …………………BANG.

The End

James Joyce and The Perfect June 16th

James Joyce and The Perfect June 16th

June 16^th in a south Dublin town

Is your only man, a jewel in the crown.

Sandycove beach for a nice early walk

A dip round the corner and some Forty Foot talk.

The buses pull up and the Yanks scratch their heads

Let’s all get some Ice cream….. is it Teddy’s or Teds?

We see all the people in splendid regalia

And friends all the way from Glasthule and Australia.

It’s a funny small town with a proud noisy boast

And it sits in the middle of a shining blue coast.

On June 16^th in this south Dublin town

Everyone smiles there’s no chance of being down.

As we stuff a big brunch and polish our boots

And head down to Fitzys in straw hats and suits.

There’s the usual crowd, they’re there all the year

Saying hi to each other, getting in rounds of beer.

Hey Tom get behind there, stop singing your song

The place is jam packed and the queues a mile long.

 A good kick in the arse are what your kids need,

As Ciara and Karl pay not a blind bit of heed.

Cavo shouts loud still dressed for his fish

And Betty turns heads, still got it - the dish.

The folks who just like to have some peace and a read

Must vacate for this day as the mad men are freed.

Cause some one hundred years and a few for good measure

Have landed us here with this wonderful treasure.

In a book no one’s read about a guy no one knows

All we really can say is that we all like the clothes!

Cause walking to eternity along Sandymount strand

Is all anybody knows and sure but isn’t it grand.

Cause the sun sometimes shines and the rain might have stopped

So we all stand outside and some pose we’ll adopt

For the Indo or Times or some online web journal

To capture the day and make it eternal.

Will tears out his hair and just waits for tomorrow

And it’ll come soon enough so cheer up all your sorrow

But I’m not joking mate the place does be in bits

But it’s a small price to pay for all of this glitz.

So Eamon’s closed early and Mikes got his keys

Tom O’Higgins never opened ‘cause there’s moments to seize.

So grab a cold drink and hold it up to the roof

And think of your friends, they're here and that’s the proof.

Of this fine great book just look what it’s done

One hundred years of laughter and all this good fun.

But make the most of it folks cause its closing time soon

And in the morning we’ll be singin’ to a quite different tune.

Rough Options

Faced with a dilemma, late on Friday night,
You want to get your hole and you couldn't give a shite.
The hot chicks with the great big boobs are all now long departed
And the one you hedged your bets on has left you broken-hearted.
So the barman's called last orders and your picking up the crumbs
Or else you're going home alone getting hassled by the bums.

There's a fatty, a minger or that chick who's off her face
Pulling kisses at the wall and falling round the place.
But you know that in five minutes she'll be throwing up her tea
And you'll be holding back her hair as you're standing in her wee.

The fatty'll want to stop, you know, so she can get some chips
And in the morning you'll be scarred for life by the memory of her hips.
The chances are as well, of course, that as you sneak her out,
Your mate will laugh and point and stare at her cellulite and gout.
So forget about it, leave it out, it's not worth the fucking scorn,
You can always turn the lights down low, with a little bit of porn!

What about the bogger with the Leitrim jersey on?
She'll believe your bullshit once all her mates are gone.
But do you really want to know, the price of cattle at the mart
Can you listen to her mumble as she rips your dick apart
With her giant big farmer hands, all calloused from her work.
Driving Massey Fergusons to Mass aint my idea of a quirk.

Lets face it what you're looking for just isn't going to happen,
And finding hot chicks on the prowl's never gonna be a tap in
But to be fair it's not that bad, a hot dog will do just fine,
As you walk down to the night link to join the great big line.

And as you do you spot a girl, staring back at you
Its Ross McMahon from Junior School, that you never really knew.
So you say hello and give a smile and offer her a bite,
As she asks you for your number so you can meet another night.

Her lovely eyes tell you that she means just what she said,
That she fancied you when you were kids and you go completely red.

So the next time that you're hanging round outside the ladies jacks,
Waiting for your dream girl while avoiding all the knacks.
You never know whats waiting there, hiding in plane sight
Much better than an ugly bitch, who'd give Chucky's bride a fright.

Heroes in a Half Shell

Four wise old me, lived five hundred years ago.
Changed the way we think and reversed the status quo,
Perspective perfected, their minds were infected
With moving us on, as if heavenly directed.

Da Vinci was the greatest and seemed to do it all,
He thought outside the box, hanging masterpieces on the wall.
Even flight was on his mind as others scratched their heads
And nothing held him back except the worried Holy Feds.

Next came Donatello making statues with his hands,
Using such fine detail he would fuss about the sands
Marble, limestone, granite quartz,
He'd use them all and even warts
Were put upon his famous faces
And all sent around to different places.

Now Michelangelo lay on his back
and crippled lying on his paint soaked mac.
The Cysteine Chapel thanks him still
Decorated by his mighty quill.
The cardinals now to this day,
Meet up and chat while the smoke is grey.
The tourists stand in awe and stare
At god and Adam in holy prayer.
Some person thought it a travesty
And covered up gods modesty
With a little nighty coloured pink
Its weird to think that at the very brink
Of Mans creation from the ground
It was gods attire that was so fround.

And then another; Raphael,
Created David under a spell.
He's made of bronze and three feet tall
But perfect even if it is quite small.

'Cause people realised even back then
That amazingness was in these men.
And to this day we look in awe
To tell our neighbours that we saw
In Paris, Rome and Florence too
While they just visited the zoo.

But in that time we've really tried
To destroy their honour, they would have cried.
For now upon our telly sets
They completely changed our view of pets.
Every Christmas now the kids all scream
"We want that turtle on the TV screen".

There's four of them live with a giant rat
Eating pizzas till they all get fat
And they fight their villain with their nightly calls
"Kowabunga dude" at Krangs giant balls.
Cause their evil foe looks like a testicle
All wrinkled in his man shaped vesicle.

So there you go that's how it ends,
Its a sorry state I'm afraid my friends.
These men of greatness will live on in name
As Warner hangs their heads in shame.
The sewer turtles from a studio
Are the only names the children know
And the four great men from the Renaissance
I'm sure would stare in quiet nonchalance
And shed a tear that their works of arts
Are remembered best in cartoon parts.