Thursday, 30 December 2010


You've been nourished by hand and i've waited on you,
Polished cutlery candle
Heart table fruit
Covered in sugared biscuit

I'm home for the celebration of Santy and birth
Of Jaysus
And last year I was in the same confounded net
Caught swimming in the same water
But you're
Mother material

A golden haired ride
Baby skinned and
Well shaped

But what am I but a hungry barfly
An early ossified riser, bus taker, seeker of cures
And roasted nuts
A chancer. A man.
No less than others. No more than others.
A man with balls and cock that small in the chill
A man of housepets
A man of vin de table and the doghouse
A man defeated by the unresponsive,
The eager to tease

A man taunted and haunted
By past, present and future girlfriends
And wives and mothers with uncut nails
Wet gowls and closets
Fulls of shoes closets full of stories 'bout past
Lovers with polished cars and ties,
Millionaire da's, snow teeth .

And what am I? What?Wha?
Irish. Child of divorce. Single.
Shaped out. Booze hound. Childless.
Dogless, Not wordless.

Monday, 27 December 2010

À quoi penses-tu ?

Tail end trip ticket

My return to family maisons

I yawned through Monopoly

Passed out postprandial

Gave search for marks or updates

Hints and tips

Keep it going

Pen on paper

A pair of workboots

Stop the grub

What you're doing

Cop on

Get to the four coasts

Of France

What you think is a problem

Can be solved through indications

All over and in
Eager women
Job movements

Trips abroad

NYC with your salt beef

And hot dogs,

Los Angeles and your variety

Of babes and hollywood history

There's no need for cheats

You and determination

You and effort

You and support.

Will pay off.

I have a hand like a foot

4.50 for my premier pint
In the castle lounge
An accustomed palace
Visited almost each homecoming

Welcome home son

Chips, cold and uneaten scattered outside a Baggot Street building
A beggar fat, thinning hair, not much showing of her past femininity
But enlarged tits,
Giant grinning leprechaun's
Waving at us - the shoppers and drifters

Happy christmas
Help me

More hands out on Duke St, Kildare St, Merrion Row
Than I can recall being back on this land

How has Dublin changed? Only in matter, in the almost,
The quiet morning. How've I myself changed? In matter,
almost, in mourning.

Leaving here as a child of a split, a soured relationship
Has had me take neither this city or my residence as one
or the other. Does a young life belong to a soil?

Summer's slagging, a few bate's, hot cod at the chippers
Filling me bags with boo ks and fil ms
Whole working weeks waiting for me da to finish

These are Irish parts of my decay, the trinty gardens,
Bray's head, televisionless in wicklow

Going from nana to nana, riding girls,
A picture posed with that true first Guinness,
Wet August's, Glendalough, against the rocks
fuckin' wasps at a picnic

Pieces of heritage - the church grounds in Artane,
Granda jack's funeral, the walk down Grafton St on the eve
Of Christmas, seeing D in nativity plays,
Filling up with choke and tear
Trying to rip myself in two

I've kept my name and passport
Although my years of absence
Are greater then the years present
In my birthplace
It is my honor and need to call her home.

Ireland, my mother.
Ireland, my father.

Dublin, my home.

The surrounding cold sea
My garden.

Friday, 24 December 2010

Is the tassle worth the hassle?

...and what you're getting wrong mesdames
Is we're an age when chasing you around a table
Or across a park after midnight
Doesn't pay off

And to be frank isn't worth
The stinging sweat on our ballsacks

We work punishing hours and don't get nearly enough rest
To be hassling you on lunch break
On the walk to tube stations
While you shop for negligee

You should try pressing those digits
Letting your name flash
So we can answer and say
"I'm too busy" "Call me later"
Or, a favourite
Let it ring off

It is not that you're not pretty or sexy
You are, in actual fact both mesdames
You're both and more - hence why we've made a move
Not too bold and asked you for drinks
Or invited you
To a house party

But what's it for if you're not to reply
Not to acknowledge
Leave us unanswerable

Put that shoe on the other foot
You'd be put off too
Like seeing how kebab's are made
Or catching a clip of birth

Two or three days after you'll waltz past
And forget to mention anything 'bout the call
And we ask, in formality, "How are you?"
You chirp but don't dare reverse the question
Maybe scared we'll answer in truth
But girls, ladies, women, mesdames
We're a gentle bunch and not hunting

This is not a safari
We want to know
How compatible we are
And get memorable moments

Before the bus takes you
Under the covers
In New Forest

Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Sniffing At the Barmaid's Apron

A merry Christmas this December to a lot of folks I don't remember

Slipped in for a sly one and got another bought for me
Before I'd gulped the remaining
Stout familiar Stout of home
Same again

And two of those down the hatch
All preprandial all worth while

To your health!

Moved to a booth where we all knew
What we'd know after

And raised glass
Polished and branded
To our mother's and our mother's mouth's

The time was sliced
Staff of life buttered and rife
Almost all night I'd seen hints
From S
As she wiped dry

From rested view
They exited out the entrance
Into covered streets

I passed into room
Without light where S's apron roused me
With a view of breast that time
And we took to bed


Monday, 20 December 2010

The Fitting

Misfits, no matter where miss clothes
Fittings, facial ticks, body hairs

Missfits, ginger mullets and handlebars
Drinking gin and coke

Misfits, leather coats and runners,
smoking those thin women cigarettes

Missfit scarfs of beige, salad lunches
No girlfriends

Missfits eating junk and more, forgetting dental
Agreements, sending christmas cards
Their ma's dry cleaning

Missfits only piss in the cubicle
Fall asleep in cinema's
Play with toys

Misfits masturbating too much
With expensive phones
Fantasising 'bout cartoon cunts and breasts

In pubs on Saturday morning
Dirty nails, cheap and holey jumpers
White shoes

Misfits looking at the ground
Adding friends on Facebook
Avoiding bathtubs and shaving cream

Misfits hate fruit and veg
Sweat in bed
Borrow money from uncle's

Misfits fit in their own hole.

Sunday, 19 December 2010


Still concerned with blemishes
T and A, devachan, cockteasers

And letting myself go

Criminal damage, product placement,
Wages, almshouse's

And the age

30 and still childless
30 without a supporting wife
30 no driver's licence
Or savings
Or donated organs

30 and well aware
Of my failings
Carnal knowledge
Plane bombs
Product placement

30 and a liar of white and tall
30 on the wrong bus at 2.34 a.m
30 still shying from crack

Still pining

30 and sleeping
As the crowds shop on
Icy high streets

30 eating solo

30 and as foul mouthed
As before

30 and renting a cheap room
In Haringay

30 still scared of hoosegow
And warm milk

30 and still doing this

Thursday, 16 December 2010


For E.A - all the best brother.

So tomorrow you'll be
Back on home soil

Not here
Where you learnt
A language

Not here
Where your love
Had holes

Take this movement
As a foot forward

It'll lead to what you can't know
It'll lead to knowing what you
Have achieved in this romance
Dried city

Pay mind to each step

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

Keep Brooding B

Dedicated to Broodo- A good man with good luck. G.S

For sticking with bi polar
Hourly wages

For putting trust in an unstable
Yet reliable animal

With fangs
And a cunt shaped mouth

With a temper
For crushing boxes

The boss
Of overused self and
Aimed deprecation

Imcomprehensible orders

Not a leader
But one of you

Passing through clock hands
Waiting to hand in the key

And get back to what we do.

Monday, 13 December 2010

Not Where but How

What gives you away is:

Marlboro's, that moleskin
And coca cola's

Pen in pocket, no wallet

Turned off mobile
Walking rue's

Coffee and chocolate toffee's

Daily beer, lunch bread,
Preprandial wine
With women

Postprandial bedding

Repeat prescriptions
Repeat descriptions

Same as before
Before it was same

Sunday, 12 December 2010


Sit at the bar
Start with a vodka martini

Move onto a carafe of Muscadet
For my poisson potage
La bonne soupe!

Some chicken liver parfait and quince,
Endive, blue cheese and walnut salad,
Bread and butter.

To finish a glass of Oloroso
With my buttermilk pudding

An expresso
And a faithful cigarette.

Saturday, 11 December 2010

Naughty or Nice?

We've entered into Father Christmas's month:
Gingerbread men, women, dogs,
Snowmen and elves

And full grown adults
Of both sex put on red hats
With a white bobble
In tribute
In imitation of a Coca Cola
Marketing campaign

Oblivious and playground informed kids
Write and scrawl wish lists
In their toy strewn rooms

Mothers desperate for more jewels
Jewellery or overpriced handbags
Ask husbands who hope for some
Xmas pussy

The day looms over each human head
And not because of the real reason

The papers and advertisements countdown
Like we don't know
Like we're not aware of how much time
We have to wrap and fill those stockings
Hanging above the fireplace

Like we don't know about Rudolph's red fucking shiny nose
Or the elf slaves in Santa's North pole sweatshop

And do not forget to spare a shit
For Mrs Claus
She has to cook and give head
To the white bearded delivery man
The rest of the year

I'll bet my bottom $
She puts a cross through her calendar
For the night he leaves on his sleigh.

Merry Christmas.


Friday, 10 December 2010

Fame Extingusiher

This is another one written on the spot. This is what I want to write. G.S

Before journalists or bloggers
Groupies of horror
The just and almost devoted

You must smoke in shadows
All and each effort nothing
But silhouette.

And what gets the man here?
To a point where his name
Sparks interest.

Banal things e.g

The divine perfumed neck
A woman's hand in December
Blank checks

There's more:

Three course lunches
Campari and Soda
Travelling hangovers

When you open up some magazine overrun
With advertisments and models
That don't play a part in this-

The real limbo

Then make a decision
Executive bruv

To not buy into that phoney handsome
Well to do polite "Only with dinner"

'Cause being known pictured reported interviewed
Isn't about the money
The moolah
And loose change

It's about the work
The pieces that fit

So go on
Do what you gonna do

If you give a shit
Someone else will

With your fingers crossed
They might have two hands
And be interested

In what makes
The man.

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

30 Sad Years Ago

That fat dreg
The fan of Salinger

Got his record signed
Then hung around Dakota

To pump a bullet
Into the scouse God
The Liverpudlian King

Who made millions of fuckups
And screaming ladies

Put their ears closer
To the speakers

Chapman, you dumb yank cunt
Homicide's for bank robbers
Dealers and child abusers

When you slither into hell
From Attica, NY

Not one human
Will give a single shit.

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

Some Free Advice

Look into the crowd
Whether human animal
Or bored

Go easy on the drink boy
Don’t slouch

Don’t expect a tumultuous applause
Make ‘em laugh
Thank 'em
They are your audience
Use decent material
Not obscure fuckbits

Don’t spill wine
When you're three sheets

Keep the crack tales
To yourself

Is for them
Use your bedroom rehearsals
As the test


Bonne Chance.

Monday, 6 December 2010

Rosealba's Snatch

My drawn out bitter commute
Is all forgotten as soon as
We skip dinner and root
Under an Ikea duvet

You knickerless
Me without a suit shirt

My rabid mouth
At the sweet strap
Like a sewer rat

It almost frays
But impatient you
Rip, pull and hurl it away
Towards the dresser

You shed the last detail
In post dinner freedom

Sucking for salt whimpers
The sour echo simmers

It grows
And all the tadpole babies
Itching in my balls flow
To the Ovary Office in the sweet

Sometimes umami

Snatch of Rosealba's.

Saturday, 4 December 2010

Do Not Disturb

We suffer emotional avalanches
And the adominable snow man
Kicks the door in just after 4.30 a.m

To see dirty peaks
In Catalonia
Chewed up faces

Dancing in spit shoes
In a Hotel stuffed
With almost breathless

Ruffling sheets
Nodding pour tojours
et à jamais.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

First day of Christmas

You slippery bastard
As if I wouldn't notice


Disappoint only yourself
When you disappear

And reappear
At the sight of a partridge
Cooking in a tree

Eat eat eat
Stuff enough
Tough the rough