Sunday 14 June 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: clack
Danny Fahey's Writing: clack: The wolf-pack howl that some nights clack rolled investors clackclack over in their clack beds made them stare at walls clack…clack and...
clack
The wolf-pack howl that some nights clack
rolled investors clackclack over in their clackbeds
made them stare at walls clack…clack and contemplate
a change of location clack…clack…clackclack
that made clackadults weep clack…clack in frustration clack
as long held views clackclack withered on the clackvine
turned sour clackclack…clack no vintage clack
only clackvinegar for the spear’s clackclack sponge clack
has become the clackclackclack of clackkeys
the interweave of ogres and trolls clack…clack
with the wearyclack-eyed heroes of online clacksagas
all opinions clackclackclackclack count clack…clack
all stack up, clack wobble clack in every-changing fonts
clackclack created by the weary clackclack collective
of mind clack…clack…clack read by eyes lost in the tunnel
of blueclacklight, blueclackminds, the blues clackclack
undermined by synthetic notes clack…clack tolled
in bedrooms and kitchens clackclackclackclackclack
by fingers clack…clack without the sense of touch
only the sound of the clack…clack…clack…clackclack
the wristclackcrank of swerve clack…the holy delete
and clack innovative clackclack return clack
all opinions hold the fort clackclack ring wagons in circles
clackclack around truth clack fire words as arrows clackclack
to pierce the clackclackclack wise thought
the howl is now a collective clackclackclackclackhum
a static dance of clackblue clacklight across eyeballs
and soul clackclack a descent into heaven so false
the devil packed up his clackbags and clackclack left long ago
the fight clack is gone clack the fight clack is gone clack
the fight lingers on in the broken keyboards dinosaurian clackrelics
that collect with smashed clackclack screens and tangled clackclack
useless wires the clackclackclack whores of the new clackreality
plug me clack in to anybody clack plug me clack in to anyclackbody
clackclack plug…clackclackclack…me…clackclackclackclack…in
rolled investors clackclack over in their clackbeds
made them stare at walls clack…clack and contemplate
a change of location clack…clack…clackclack
that made clackadults weep clack…clack in frustration clack
as long held views clackclack withered on the clackvine
turned sour clackclack…clack no vintage clack
only clackvinegar for the spear’s clackclack sponge clack
has become the clackclackclack of clackkeys
the interweave of ogres and trolls clack…clack
with the wearyclack-eyed heroes of online clacksagas
all opinions clackclackclackclack count clack…clack
all stack up, clack wobble clack in every-changing fonts
clackclack created by the weary clackclack collective
of mind clack…clack…clack read by eyes lost in the tunnel
of blueclacklight, blueclackminds, the blues clackclack
undermined by synthetic notes clack…clack tolled
in bedrooms and kitchens clackclackclackclackclack
by fingers clack…clack without the sense of touch
only the sound of the clack…clack…clack…clackclack
the wristclackcrank of swerve clack…the holy delete
and clack innovative clackclack return clack
all opinions hold the fort clackclack ring wagons in circles
clackclack around truth clack fire words as arrows clackclack
to pierce the clackclackclack wise thought
the howl is now a collective clackclackclackclackhum
a static dance of clackblue clacklight across eyeballs
and soul clackclack a descent into heaven so false
the devil packed up his clackbags and clackclack left long ago
the fight clack is gone clack the fight clack is gone clack
the fight lingers on in the broken keyboards dinosaurian clackrelics
that collect with smashed clackclack screens and tangled clackclack
useless wires the clackclackclack whores of the new clackreality
plug me clack in to anybody clack plug me clack in to anyclackbody
clackclack plug…clackclackclack…me…clackclackclackclack…in
Thursday 11 June 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Childhood trains
Danny Fahey's Writing: Childhood trains: The rattle as shoulders hit then lost contact with mum beside me and the windowsill, thick glass countryside clattering passed obliquely...
Childhood trains
The rattle
as shoulders hit then lost contact with
mum beside me and the windowsill, thick glass
countryside clattering passed
obliquely disinterested in a boy’s green eyes
that lost thoughts in the movement towards and back home again
lots of trains, no car –
we were poor –
a small metal train for a birthday
not train set, remember what I said,
a train; large metal, the wheels did not turn;
it made no sound,
was painted as if it moved.
The train to the doctor’s
the x-ray, somewhere wrong within my chest,
a skulking thing hidden by ribs and a heart that sometimes gave a twitch
caused my hand to clench and squeeze the flesh
above the acute and frightful pain –
even now, given nothing was ever said, I consider
whatever it was is there still
inside, lurking –
standing there in a white singlet
the look that occupied mum’s face,
I had chosen the singlet with the slight tear
below the skinny left arm,
thread defeated hangs limp…
embarrassed twitch to mum’s lips –
I came to know that twitch, those lips…
the dread of what others may think.
The train to school
only I went the wrong way
before school I had only caught the train from one platform
with mum –
my hands covering my ears
cowering as the diesel cut through the station,
its high-pitched squeal
terror in motion –
alighted from the other
its shows how my mind worked
or worked to let me down
logic never strong, reason not reasoned with, a foe,
my mind even back then was an explosion
rather than a progression
school was like a train wreck
as often as a place of learning.
as shoulders hit then lost contact with
mum beside me and the windowsill, thick glass
countryside clattering passed
obliquely disinterested in a boy’s green eyes
that lost thoughts in the movement towards and back home again
lots of trains, no car –
we were poor –
a small metal train for a birthday
not train set, remember what I said,
a train; large metal, the wheels did not turn;
it made no sound,
was painted as if it moved.
The train to the doctor’s
the x-ray, somewhere wrong within my chest,
a skulking thing hidden by ribs and a heart that sometimes gave a twitch
caused my hand to clench and squeeze the flesh
above the acute and frightful pain –
even now, given nothing was ever said, I consider
whatever it was is there still
inside, lurking –
standing there in a white singlet
the look that occupied mum’s face,
I had chosen the singlet with the slight tear
below the skinny left arm,
thread defeated hangs limp…
embarrassed twitch to mum’s lips –
I came to know that twitch, those lips…
the dread of what others may think.
The train to school
only I went the wrong way
before school I had only caught the train from one platform
with mum –
my hands covering my ears
cowering as the diesel cut through the station,
its high-pitched squeal
terror in motion –
alighted from the other
its shows how my mind worked
or worked to let me down
logic never strong, reason not reasoned with, a foe,
my mind even back then was an explosion
rather than a progression
school was like a train wreck
as often as a place of learning.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Revelation:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Revelation:: For many months now in preparation my wife and I have skirted around the hole in the floor hidden by carpet we were not in the least un...
Revelation:
For many months now
in preparation
my wife and I have skirted around
the hole in the floor
hidden by carpet
we were not in the least unsettled
by its appearance
or the issue of its spread.
The builder visited and as act one
weeks out before the repair would start
he cut the carpet away
exposed the hole, the dirt beneath.
Every time I enter, I fear I shall step and fall
where there was no disquiet before.
in preparation
my wife and I have skirted around
the hole in the floor
hidden by carpet
we were not in the least unsettled
by its appearance
or the issue of its spread.
The builder visited and as act one
weeks out before the repair would start
he cut the carpet away
exposed the hole, the dirt beneath.
Every time I enter, I fear I shall step and fall
where there was no disquiet before.
Danny Fahey's Writing: TRUMP(et)
Danny Fahey's Writing: TRUMP(et): The wise man who was wise only in his own eyes – though any kind of wisdom, it is said by some, is better than none – confounded the exp...
TRUMP(et)
The wise man
who was wise only in his own eyes –
though any kind of wisdom, it is said
by some, is better than none –
confounded the experts with the words
“for the virus, try injecting disinfectant,”
it is hard to count the cost
of wisdom uttered by fools
and heeded as Pentecostal by followers
of the buffoon, hard but not impossible, look
to the poor, the alienated, those forced to sleep
beneath the bridges as if they were ogres
rather than human, they’ll be the first collection
of bodies to set the tally on its way.
who was wise only in his own eyes –
though any kind of wisdom, it is said
by some, is better than none –
confounded the experts with the words
“for the virus, try injecting disinfectant,”
it is hard to count the cost
of wisdom uttered by fools
and heeded as Pentecostal by followers
of the buffoon, hard but not impossible, look
to the poor, the alienated, those forced to sleep
beneath the bridges as if they were ogres
rather than human, they’ll be the first collection
of bodies to set the tally on its way.
Tuesday 9 June 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Feelings 1,2&3:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Feelings 1,2&3:: 1: Feelings are the cat-gut stretched by all the terrors, all the successes – taut, teachings whisper into nig...
Feelings 1,2&3:
1:
Feelings
are the cat-gut
stretched
by all the terrors, all the successes –
taut,
teachings whisper
into
nightmare and dream
form a
golden flower;
the
unfurled heart grips
each and
every petal –
when they
fall a gut is plucked to celebrate
the transit;
a song
internally heard,
a gasp.
Played at
night
before the
sunrise accompanies silent peace,
grants the
task to hold pieces together;
another
sojourn through the day.
2:
Tears hold
my wife’s
travelled face
the woven years
all that has
been said
and has not
smiles shared
regretted times
having not.
Tears hold
the smell
of my son’s scalp
my daughter’s
hand holding mine
their
acrobat twirls through time and landscape
into their
adult lives
the joy
and the
yearning to hold them again
as the
child each of them presented.
3:
Feelings form
a table inside
etched with
blade and voice
all that is
lost
all that
has been found
and all the
silent spaces between.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Moonlight:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Moonlight:: An idea once – was change upon us fair payment to roles that served denial of the greed that claims, the feminine curve instead of the...
Moonlight:
An idea once – was
change upon us
fair payment to
roles that served
denial of the greed
that claims, the feminine curve
instead of the masculine line –
no one realized power begets a cunning
so intent on holding on…bloodless fingertips
hold the cliff’s edge
rather than let go and fall
into the belly of grace, that serpentine
twist
arms and hands folded across the stomach
where the world is both about to be born
again
and remain as it always has –
giver of life
the great change agent that takes this flesh
and turns it into gold.
change upon us
fair payment to
roles that served
denial of the greed
that claims, the feminine curve
instead of the masculine line –
no one realized power begets a cunning
so intent on holding on…bloodless fingertips
hold the cliff’s edge
rather than let go and fall
into the belly of grace, that serpentine
twist
arms and hands folded across the stomach
where the world is both about to be born
again
and remain as it always has –
giver of life
the great change agent that takes this flesh
and turns it into gold.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Change
Danny Fahey's Writing: Change: There is no snow, no wintry blast this year the sun seems beholden to no one is determined keep shining on day… after day… after day… ...
Change
There is no snow, no wintry blast
this year the sun
seems beholden to no one
is determined keep shining on day…
after day…
after day…
At first it was fun
no regard for clothing
soak up, like a reptile, sunlight
as if powered by solar only.
Lately though
a disquiet has entered
as the blue skies become a fact
as the plants in the garden droop
like commoners before the mighty king.
Where is the frost on the grass
rain that freezes fingertips
wind chilly, truthfully bending the head down
forcing the chest to brace, the legs to strive?
Where is the mud, the overflow, the rage?
Sunlight is best after a night
warmth a comfort when it has been cold.
this year the sun
seems beholden to no one
is determined keep shining on day…
after day…
after day…
At first it was fun
no regard for clothing
soak up, like a reptile, sunlight
as if powered by solar only.
Lately though
a disquiet has entered
as the blue skies become a fact
as the plants in the garden droop
like commoners before the mighty king.
Where is the frost on the grass
rain that freezes fingertips
wind chilly, truthfully bending the head down
forcing the chest to brace, the legs to strive?
Where is the mud, the overflow, the rage?
Sunlight is best after a night
warmth a comfort when it has been cold.
Monday 8 June 2020
Danny Fahey's Writing: Gossip:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Gossip:: The bees and I sometimes gossip as they tumble from flower to flow...
Gossip:
The bees and I sometimes gossip
as they tumble from flower to flower
and I pluck weeds like nasal hairs
from winter’s sleeping garden
the bees believe in sharing their views
like honey for the benefit of all.
The bees beseech me to tarry,
to disregard the sting in their tale –
ignore how a buzz can linger
turn itself into something new;
there are no butterflies in my garden
I only see the caterpillars beneath.
Danny Fahey's Writing: Americana:
Danny Fahey's Writing: Americana:: To sleep with an AK40 under the bed perchance to dream such slaughterish thoughts a million unknown faces lie gasping a final breath befo...
Americana:
To sleep with an AK40 under the bed
perchance to dream such slaughterish thoughts
a million unknown faces lie gasping a final breath
before I even wake.
A handgun, silver handled, beneath the pillow
fondled by relaxed hand, fired accidentally
sending the brain matter of a partner
into the wall on their side.
A knife down the striped pajama pants
caressed between thighs and languid sac
slicing through the choices of tomorrow
with the night’s spilled seed.
It is God-given, if you believe such things,
God-spoken in the minds of the faithful
moral outrage held in hand, butted to shoulder
finger to trigger as often as wont –
free to kill, to hold onto freedom, to claim the top
of whatever mountain, humans are, after all,
a solitary creature, no need for the rest,
a gun, a shelter and the belief – right over matter.
perchance to dream such slaughterish thoughts
a million unknown faces lie gasping a final breath
before I even wake.
A handgun, silver handled, beneath the pillow
fondled by relaxed hand, fired accidentally
sending the brain matter of a partner
into the wall on their side.
A knife down the striped pajama pants
caressed between thighs and languid sac
slicing through the choices of tomorrow
with the night’s spilled seed.
It is God-given, if you believe such things,
God-spoken in the minds of the faithful
moral outrage held in hand, butted to shoulder
finger to trigger as often as wont –
free to kill, to hold onto freedom, to claim the top
of whatever mountain, humans are, after all,
a solitary creature, no need for the rest,
a gun, a shelter and the belief – right over matter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)