Saturday, April 21, 2018


Excuse, this is like my notebook.
And by sticking it up - not that anyone is realistically going to read it - it just ups the ante on me to go and continue to work on it.
It's a perfect subject for a poem.
And it's twice now the wonderful John Cummins has said I should be poeming this story and he's right.
So here's the raw byproduct of a couple of hours work.
Gonna have to do some cutting.
Get all the gear to the correct strength.
Get the dates right.
And remember the murky detail of that civil war in England.
Where the miners were sacrificed for the chavs.
And the neo-liberal fascist fucks could not even get the trains to run on time.
And the IRA - the self appointed leaders, the bullying scum and the flip side to the Maggie coin - only had to get lucky once.
Thanks motherfuckers you really added to the experience.

 Down in the Picadilly Theatre At Midnight
(Getting beaten up by Hell's Angels at a John Cooper Clarke Concert)

I went to a John Cooper Clarke gig
In fact I went to John Cooper Clarke gigs
So many that I am writing this in a Salford accent
Not that you know cos I am writing
Not talking
Which is probably just as well
Cos my Salford accent is pretty crap.
I can do the speed though.
Was doing speed that night.
Smoking dope 
And laughing
Lots of laughing
For fuck's sake it was a John Cooper Clarke gig.
Though the laughter wasn't pristine
It wasn't pure Burmese border laughter.
Nah it was cut.
Feuding Afghani jihadis
Pakistani secret service
And CIA fucking over DEA 
You get my drift.
John Cooper Clarke was a young whipper snapper at the time.
Hanging out with Nico.
Shooting flies
With that Teutonic Chanteuse
Missing the Andies
Oh we all miss Andy
Ask John and Lou
Oh those halycon days
Shooting flies
With blood filled syringes.
Fuck you were sharp
John Cooper Clarke
But not razer
Cos you were cut
Animated by youth
but you were cut
You know it
I know it.
We know what it's like to be cut.
Cut the tall poppies.
Machete genocide
Hand to hand
Too chicken to get out of town
The fucking train is fucking late
You fucking wait
You fucking wait
First thing you learn is always
gonna be
Cold Turkey
Has the run.
Enter the fucking dragon
Exist Johnny Cooper Clarke.
One two three
Out of goof and into action
Just like that
Just like Tommy Cooper
And those clubs you played
Taking punk way north
Way up there
In mother in law land
Where civil war
Was slaughtering
Northern Soul
Then there was ride on
Down Brighton
With the mods 
And the rockers
Moped bennies
And the mods
All very dandy
All very British
All very rail
God Bless
Tick tock
Tick tock
Humpty Tory Dumpty
That Provo shock
Rattling the whole cabinet
Do you remember that John Cooper Clarke
Or were you hiding in heroin and light bulb jokes.
Whatever about the light bulb jokes
A man needed heroin.
(In which we used to smuggle our contraceptives. Or so you said. 
I'm showing my age 
John Cooper Clarke
But you went and hid
Needle thin
As you kneedled them
But the overtime
the overtime
making fist over barrel
cracking northern head on you
Run JCC run
Here those fucking coppers come.
"Seen the Belgrano?
Coming this way or that."
And now the fucking Sweeney are kicking down your flat.
There's no such thing as society
I am an anti Christ 
I am an anarchist.
You John 
You were pulling it off on pro-auto pilot
When I got the helicopters
The Saigon spins
Midnight at the circus
West end theatre too.
Who the fuck were we fooling?
I was going in
Going down
May day may day
Going in hard.
Crash landed in tiled bathroom cool.
Rotors slow slow slowed
Picking up the pieces.
We open the door.
It's a god damn Jam song.
I'm down in the theatre at midnight.
At a John Cooper Clarke gig.
Help me John help me
There's fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes.
You know the type
Get stabbed waiting for a kebab.
And the IRA are trying to take out the government
And the police are at war
with the poor fuckers up North.
And I'm being kicked to pieces.
By biker dudes
In their 40s
Mellowing with age.
What were these cunts like when they were 20.
And with impecable timing the Shah had fallen.
The fucking Brits and the fuckings yanks could not leave Mossdeq alone.
And there comes the payback
S M A C K.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017


It’s a fine brisk November morning when meets up with Ed Bowden at his office in Blessington Basin, the north side’s secret park. But we are not here to talk about Ed’s job as chief of parks today. No, we are talking about another curious string to Ed’s professional bow.

Curious, quirky and colourful. Because Ed is the Dublin City Council vexillologist. “He’s the what?” I hear you say. Well join the club, I said it myself. But if you are stuck for the answer, we’ll give you a clue. A clue that comes from a recent Nobel Laureate who told us “The answer my friend is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind.”
Flags. It’s unlikely Dylan had flags in mind, so let’s grab Webster’s dictionary. ‘Vexillology’ is the study of flags. And Ed is the city’s vexillologist. In more common parlance, Ed is the DCC flag man. And there’s quite a range of duties involved. “It varies. But It would be unusual for a week to go by without me doing something involved with flags,” he says.“There’s the national flag, the EU flag and the Dublin City Council flag flying permanently on the roofs of the CIVIC OFFICES, the MANSION HOUSE and CITY HALL,” Ed says.
We put three or four cable ties on them now to try and stop the guys with too much booze and too little history
“We see more of the national flag now because up until a few years ago the national flag was not allowed to fly after dark,” Ed explains. That all changed about four years ago when the Taoiseach’s office amended the protocol, saying the flag can fly at night as long as it is floodlit. The national, the EU and the Dublin City Council flags still need to be changed regularly, as they get dirty and old. Then in addition to these flags there are some 140 distinctive big flag poles along both banks of the Liffey that need to be taken care of. Flying big 12 foot by 4 foot flags, these flagpoles are used to promote different events in the city – whether it’s FESTIVALS, culture or sporting matches.
As we spoke the Green, White and Orange was flying in support of the national team’s match the following night against Denmark. Being fair-minded chaps, Ed says “we also had both the Irish and Danish flags flying on the three bridges: Butt bridge, O’Connell bridge and Grattan bridge...CONTINUES 

Saturday, November 4, 2017


I just took
fish and chips
-the very best of 
Donegal Catch -
Fine fish
the filing cabinets
of the Atlantic Ocean
And Angela Merkel Aldi's
Oven chips
Oh yeah
Oh yeah
Oh yeah
Ah such greedy thrill
And I took em
straight outta
straight outta
straight outta
the oven
Protecting my hands
from the heat of it all
All the potential
the potential
culinary pain
Cu-culinary - as the poet said-
But not for me
Cos I was protected
by ...
not just one
but two
two teal towels
And not your ordinary
one tea towel
Not your common garden
two tea towels
But Mik Artistic's Ego Trip
Two Tea Towels
Purchased at the very end
of the Mik Artisitic's Ego Trip
@ The Grand Social
In Dublin town
And boy was it grand
And boy was it social
And boy was I happy
To have
Not just one
Mik Artistik's Ego Trip
Tea Towel
But two
Mik Artisitic's Ego Trip
Tea Towels
Protecting my hands
My delicate hands
The heat
The heat
The heat

Tuesday, October 24, 2017


Trump same as Hilary.
Devoid of decency, logic and principle.
Amidst a category of obscene mendacious drama - corrupt, nepotistic, sexist, bellicose and racist -
Trump has provided us with the email scandal, the Benghazi scandal, the Goldman Sachs scandal.
Just pick your favourite Clinton scandal!
And Trump has done it.
All in a few months
Everything this terrifying sociopathic piece of filth has thrown at Clinton over her long career, he has done in a few months.
Hey bravo
And despite all the Soros boogeyman tales, decency ain't got no Koch Bros, no Mercers, no Bannons. And above all no Russians to propagandise the toxic turds in the
cesspit that is the Trump swamp.
What's more, these are just some of the Trump turds the toxic shite house tries to pass as policy.
Say the Trump dupe scribes.
Their Don ain't no don.
Dictatorial yeah yeah yeah.
You're fired.
Fired up.
But it's all peace.
Peace and Putin and love baby.
Bar a little water-boarding
And -oops sorry towel head citizens - turning Raqqa into a parking lot.
Bombing chunks of Syria n Iraq back to the Stone Age sure.
But you wouldn't find the pragmatist Trumpster hanging with the terrorist theocrats in Israel and Saudi.
No drinking no neo-con cool aid.
No dreams of drive-ins armoured drive throughs,
Tehran Thunder Roads.
Abrams after Abrams
Stryker after stryker
Strangelove Doc
Trump grunts and fellow alpha Hefner Weinstein apes
Hey hey Trump is here!
Grab em by the pussy
So no more nerdy neo-con heroes
Junior Kissinger Jew boys
Sending dumb deplorables to certain death.
Far from old reliables,
Black lung cooking meth.
Mind the fucking mines.
No DC choirboys singing Benny's tunes
Not when Don waves the baton.
When Don wields the baton.
Don wields the baton
Black lives don't matter no more
And Nazis go a marching
Dem niggahs better stand.
No. No. No.
On your knees
Off your knees
Wish we were in Dixie
Cept for making
MAGA hats
Those Immigrants?
No no no
Cept those who mow mow mow
All the Trump greens.
The greens, the greens
Where have all the flowers gone?
No more war
No more war
No more war
Xcept for Iran.
Xcept for rocket man.
The whole world is watching
The whole world is watching
The whole world is weeping.

 Send #MAGA dupes through the Basra marshes
Human waves
Of the Bannon Brigades
Of the teahadi hordes,
All led on by Kushner n lil Miss Incest,
the mutant brothers maddened by the thrill of kill
And ah ah the scent the scent
of awaiting virgins,
All led on by the 'stars'
Look at the stars
Flynn Matthis n Kelly
All itching for paradise
And in the rear the POGS
Stone, Sanders and Scaramucci
And Netanyahu
Manning - you got it - the fort.


America you are fucked.


Learning to deal with


"Yo Blair"

You tell them.

But Brit shit is nothing compared to this...

this this this

Alternative reality

this out there insanity

this hypernormality

 out there, out there out there

walking on the moon

walking on the moon

we can make facts together

walking on the moon

Obama's birth cert

walking on the moon

Trump's  innocence

walking on the moon

The whole sorry fucking show

walking on the fake





Friday, August 25, 2017


Apres Roddy Doyle and his Two Pints. Two? Pussy! This is Six Cans And A Barrel Load of Benzos and it was inspired by a reading I did a week or so ago in the park by Patrick's Cathedral. Given the booze and the benzos, it's fluid, a counter gravity work in progress. Let's go bud. Yeah? Yeah! You ready? Fuck you Roddy!

Scene: St Patrick's Cathedral Park, lunchtime of a relatively fine Saturday.

SFX: Kevin performing

"That's not fucking poetry
That doesn't rhyme.
You know what I mean"

"Yeah. He's all pent up all right
But he doesn't know his arse
from his iambics."

"Yeah bud.
You can't compare this shite to a fuckin summer's day.
You know what I mean.
And the fuckin rain man.
Maybe we should go.
You know what I mean"

"Go where you fuckin pox bottle?
Crack open a can.
And drown out fuckin Shakespeare up there"

"You know Shakespeare you know what I mean bud..."


'Well what is the fucking answer like you know what I mean?"

"Answer to wha? What the fuck is the question. What the fuck are you on about?"

"To be or not to ... like you know what I mean."

"You for fuckin real?
That's the fuckin benzos talkin
You fuckin eejit.
You're fuckin worse than that fuckin prick up there.
Shakespeare me hole.
What's wrong with nursery rhymes for fuck's sake?
And who let these pricks in "

"I dunno. Fucking Humpty Dumpty"

"Humpty Fuckin that's the truth."

"The poetic truth."

"Couldn't have said a truer word Bud."

"Yeah, yeah yeah. Couple of zimmos yeah?"


'Here. To your good health bud."

"And fuck all these cunts"

'They're fucking King's Men the whole fucking lot of them."

"Fucking King's fucking men."