Friday 15 December 2023

Céileachair your House is on Fire, your clothes are burning (draft/unfinished)

Céileachair your House is on Fire, 

your clothes are burning 

Longphorts, raids 

hear Granny talk about Clonfin Ambush, Longford 1921 

the arrival of the first Civic Guards, 

her father 19 men, 2 lorries, 

reinforcements 150 men

14 lorries later British Forces burned 

inside glass houses

taciturn tomatoes,

& still water the dead apple tree

checkpoints, patrols, house raids

Coca-Cola cans stacked in reverse 

& Granny, behind the glassdoor 

the weight of the body 

mainly on her fingers 

feet back to stand on tip-toes

one of the 'five techniques' 

dire aqualungs

compacted into agonies box

working not speaking

 sad bowing sunk of breath 

a bough of drink in disguise 

Planter & Gael 

‘word green response red’ 

Pink Angels delight 

in an aquamarine dessert bowl, 

after skirts & kidney 

where nought is wasted Ogham

no mulberry wrinkles inside me

so much for wasteland walked 

under dug out from the bridge 

over Darkes Lane the masonry falls again

the Grand Fern Pine & it’s empties glint 

aquamarine Céileachair banned under 

Orbital its ceiling concrete 

faded grey gnomes 

painted white the brambles as well

hammers, beautiful wires,

people & shoes sent pall

to our deranged blood kept

& sang out scanties sunk sows 

the milkstar flower rose 

dugout home is in lug low iring 

that bitumen black tumulus

under the Sun King is rotting culture 

that even restoration oils can’t cede 

Céileachair of natural need 

is gelignite or disgust 

& the opposite is reflected 

the whole history tabled Tonibler 

‘Madame, you are not allowed 

in this Safeway, the next Safeway 

is in on Honeypot Lane,’ &

laugh & stumble away, 

pissed at Baptism Confirmation,

the Eucharist asymmetric warfare

The Hay Wain in a broken gilded frame, 

snipped under England's nose surveyed, 

‘Lady, you're barred from Tesco.’ 

yet spider hatchery as spiderlings do, 

dispersing as far as the bookcase 

Dirty Mick PADDY O’ Green Bastard 

Why is your hair always grey?

& why do you wear bleach 

stained purple dresses?                     Guffaw 

Audi a4 Quattro Clutch Replacement 

is your new address closed gardens 

candytuft tiles in Yellow Lake Deep 

blown across Maroon fireplace 

a catchment area in a cul-de-sac 

of search & destroys

on damp dogtoothed carpet tiles 

replaced with Bairstoweves 

like ladybugs Mary Our Lady 

For Sale her seven joys 

& her seven sorrows

filled empty gin bottles

& your children are gone

What is a mother? ing mutters

ing back to move 

in silver hay, in Woolworths 

cold as branks invading your mouth 

Bargain bins creeping 

the warming pan 

elf-eared & unforgotten

or floats opaque when pushed remembering

against the wall, a tiny hole hissing henbane

saying over & over again 

innocence is true

Céileachair your House is on Fire, 

your clothes are burning 

your bones are somewhere else 

near a carpark near Elstree Studios, 

Clockwork Orange Durango 95’ 

coming down the lane outside 

Brickett Wood running from Munden House 

to School Lane, was the 

Police Landrover / ‘Trough Beating’ scene

would remind that 

‘you canst thou draw out leviathan 

with an hook? Or tongue with a cord 

thou lettest down?’ 

suffering of that particular intensity 

& cruelty into the orange light 

of a settling sun let down to drown & sink

 by the word 

in the Name of the Father, 

Gardaí told you to go to a nunnery rebuked

all the way down the banisters 

gastric contents intraluminal 

& how to stop lines bitter cud?

My Lady Mick Paddy O’ Bastard.