THREE MORE

NA CARRAIGREACHA CEOLMHAR

Trid na sean-carraigreacha ceólmhar,

San seachtain fíor-stoirmeach sin,

Chualamid i namhrán na naingil

Go mbeadh ár Donnchadha díreach linn.

Na tonnta ag bualadh go beómhar,

In éineacht lena guthanna binn

béim milis a chur ar an cheangail

A choinnódh e chun tosaigh 'nár gcinn

Anois i ngach seomra sa chaisleán

Ritheann gáire an ghasúir mar abhann;

Gach duine in a chlannsa ag éisteacht

Le Donnchadha, Claidheamh Mór, MacGabhann.

's go mbeadh a ghloinne go deo lán

Ar a eachtraí timpeall an domhain

'se bhúachaill a dheinfimid réiteach

Do gach rud a feicfidh sé ann

Na tonnta ag bualadh go beómhar,

In éineacht lena guthanna binn

Chualamid i namhrán na naingil

Go mbeadh ár Donnchadha díreach linn.

(c) B. Hickey 1997

The Day She Died.

Sleek Mercedes Seine-side speeding,

         drunken driver shielding lovers new

from prying lenses, so unheeding

        of all her pleas to stay unviewed.

Twisting road to tunnel leading,

        papparazzi in pursuit.

Their quest for fame-frames superceding

        her right to do what lovers do.

Mangled metal.......bodies bleeding;

        two hours vain toil for rescue crews,

and now the media monster's feeding

        on this world's heart-breaking news.

And sat amidst this global grieving,

        something's slowly seeping through,

the Queen of Hearts' no longer breathing

        and in some strange way, I'll miss her too.

© B. Hickey 28/9/97 (Sunday Independent)

                     Fare From Hell.

High-strung out, once more,

he lurched through the door

        of his mind's-eyes soft cell.

Decorum ignored

he clutched his short sword

        and then spat in the well.

He'd come here before

and vowed to adore

        this blue passion's sweet smell.

His knees were then floored

but he could afford

        the high prayer fare from Hell

And the gods he's implored,

to have peace restored,

        have now aided faith's swell.

© B.Hickey 1989

Some more Alphabetically

    Brighten Blacks.

On these strange days,

since odds are stacked

against displays

of what attracts,

we’ll choose new ways

and not look back

at the venomous greys

of guilt attacks,

from pleasures made

outside sins’ sack.

Yet I must state

This true blue fact;

I will still replay

my favourite tracks

from the bonding days,

with sacred pacts,

that love would stay

to heal heart cracks

and caring rays

will brighten blacks.

© Brendan Hickey 2001

The Butterfly Beamed

Things are never what they seem,

      they never are,

                   the butterfly beamed

beneath a Pankhurst hat

        and ever still we sat,

      as hazelled star

         enveloped car,

en route

to a Yeatsian dream.

Could we sever a spidery stream

      and leave no scar

                  on the delicate seam

of warm and textured chat,

        while ever still we sat,

    through soft guitar,

          with doors ajar

to futures

     of hazy esteem.

© B. Hickey 1997

CAN A TREE BELIEVE?

I hope you'll believe

just what Christmas Eve

has done for me.

Y'see, my shoulder's free,

now, if that's your need,

ah, but you'll succeed

without more tears.

As clinging fears

became foreplay,

we blew away

the cobwebbed guilt,

that our pasts had built

And I could feel

old love wounds heal

beneath your touch.

We've lost too much

in battles past,

to believe at last

in some life-long thing

but a missing ring,

on a new-friend night,

has shown Fate might

have lent a hand

and let me stand

beside a tree                    

...........................indefinitely.

And you could feel

old love wounds heal

beneath my touch.

Let's still be friends

when your heart mends.

CONNEMARA  SUNDOWN.

A one-green horned ram

     with wild fleece splattered

            by some carefree splashes

            from Pollack's passing paint pot,

                                       hill-posed himself

                                    against the evening sky,

                                      and my upturned eyes

                             drank in Nature's wealth

            in slow-sip, sun-moon snapshots

                  while tangerine flashes

             were loosely scattered

from His out-turned palms.

         An ancient fisherman,

        with visage weather-battered

                       when Atlantic lashes

                whipped in at gale-force knots,

                                 still composed himself

                                         for those passers-by,

                                           whose camera eyes

                                 displayed no stealth,

                         in stealing all he'd got

                 in those wild wisdom'd gashes.

        And somehow, all that mattered

    lay in that face......so calm !     

A FEW "B"S

 

BEAUTIFUL LADY 

SHE CAME THROUGH THE DOOR

WITH A POSSE A’CHASIN’

THAT SHE JUST IGNORED

‘COS HER TIME THEY WERE WASTIN’

AND ONCE I WAS SURE

THAT OUR EYES WERE EMBRACIN’

I CROSSED THAT DANCE FLOOR

UNTIL I WAS FACIN’

THIS BEAUTIFUL LADY

WHO MADE MY SOUL SMILE

BY HAVIN’ HER WAY THERE

WITH ME FOR A WHILE

AND I’M NOT AFRAID

THOUGH SHE’S DRIVIN ME WILD

I COULD LOVE HER

WE’D NOT MET BEFORE

BUT SHE SET MY HEART RACIN’.

THAT RED DRESS SHE WORE

CAUSED SUCH A SENSATION

SO RIGHT THEN I SWORE

I’D BREAK THROUGH THE ICE CASING

‘COS I WANTED MORE

YEAH, I FELT LIKE TASTIN’

THIS BEAUTIFUL LADY

WHO MADE MY SOUL SMILE

BY CHOOSIN’ TO PLAY HERE

WITH ME FOR A WHILE

AND I’M NOT AFRAID

IF SHE SLAYS ME WITH STYLE

‘COS I LOVE HER

THE LOVE’S BEEN SO PURE

AND ITS MAKING AMAZING

SHE CAME WITH THE CURE

FOR THIS IMPATIENT PATIENT

WITH SO MUCH IN STORE

I’LL NOT BE REPLACING

THE ONE I ADORE WITH

SOME PALE IMITATION

SHE’S A BEAUTIFUL LADY

WHO’S MADE MY SOUL SMILE

BY CHOOSIN’ TO STAY HERE

WITH ME FOR A WHILE

AND I’M PROUD TO SAY

WE NOW HAVE A CHILD

AND I’LL LOVE HER

 (C) 1991

Beyond The Sun-Soaked Steps.

I know the soothe-sweet sound

  of a stone-slapping stream

and the whisper of a leaf-blowing breeze.

It's music, I have found,

  that can soundtrack all my dreams

and I'm a listener, when my soul's put at ease.

So, I don't know how long

  I can bear this urban blare,

while dilemma  horns gore everything that's me.

I need a wild bird's song

to fill air, we both can share;

I could be reborn beneath some spreading tree.

(C) 1996

The Black Tulip.

I came upon a flower once in Amsterdam,

When my eyes, they were half-closed,

And this perfumed flower in the dear ol’ Dam

Was as sweet as any Irish rose.

A Surinamese black tulip,

With survival through her leaves,

Entwined herself around my belt,

While her beauty could deceive.

For once I'd kissed her two lips

All her words I just believed

And once those dark buds I had felt

From my money I'd been relieved.

Yes, I fell for a flower in Amsterdam,

I was well drunk, I suppose,

But I felt that this flower from Surinam

Could compete with any Irish rose.

Now, I was well pleased with her scent;

So fragrant that it could subdue,

So I just let my tired head soar

To places that it never knew.

Come the dawn, I was feeling well spent

But all my euros, they were too,

So I'd best beware the sweet black whore

If the banknotes are too few.

Yes, I came upon a flower in Amsterdam

In a bar that never closed

And I sensed the dark power from Surinam

As her fragrance filled my nose

Aah this perfumed flower in Amsterdam

Was sweeter than an Irish rose.

© 1985

 

Book Out Buzz.

Now, you can bear

those piercing stares

on the rolling stairs

of the forty-nine A,

as your fingers play

over printed display,

that's your own book.

And you even took

a sideways look

at who's sat beside.

No attempt to hide,

with dishevelled pride,

the rude, mused health,

when "Beside Myself"

sells from the shelf.

(C) 1997

LAST OF THE "A"S

AND SONIA CAME FOURTH

A PYJAMA'D MEN NIGHT,
WHEN WE TALKED AND SIPPED TEA,
BY THE FLICKERING LIGHT
OF A TURNED-DOWN TV,

DISAPPOINTMENT PREVAILED
AT NON-MEDALLED 3K
BUT ALTHOUGH SONIA FAILED,
SHE'LL SOON FEEL GOLDEN RAYS.
.
THOSE THREE CHINESE IN FLIGHT
HAVE JUST BLASTED OUR EYES
AND THE HEART-BREAKING SIGHT
HAS DEFLATED OUR HIGHS
AS THE GIRL, WE'VE REGALED,
FOR HER GRAND PRIX DISPLAYS,
WE'VE NOW SADLY SEEN TRAIL
BEHIND THEIR EASTERN BLAZE.

BUT IT WOULDN'T BE RIGHT
TO EMBRACE MISERY
SINCE HER FUTURE'S SO BRIGHT
AND, ON THIS, WE AGREE
THAT ALTHOUGH SHE WAS NAILED
BY THEIR TEAM-TACTIC WAYS,
THE COBH GIRL, WE'VE ALL HAILED,
WILL SOON BASK IN WORLD PRAISE

(C) BRENDAN HICKEY DUBLIN 16/8/93

even more As

Annie, One Out There.

Intermittently, I'm missing

how a smile lights up your face,

and the memories of us kissing,

when our love stayed in one place.

I'm not with you on this mission

and air-miles have left their trace

but remember this admission

I'll feel safe in your embrace.

© B, Hickey 1993

Askew.

You know, sometimes,

                 that startled look

    that seems to dart

  across your lovely face,

when my words

  tumble out askew,

can leave a lasting trace

    on the softest part

of my receptive heart.

Then rambling rhymes

     start to fill anew

             the love-poem book,

       in the special place,

   that always knew

my feelings

                 for you.

© B.Hickey 1997

AUTUMN  BLUES.

AUTUMN FACES NOW, ON EVERY STREET,

AND DEAD LEAF TRACES ON THE PEOPLE I MEET

I WISH MY LOVER COULD BE HERE WITH ME,

TO HELP ME STOP FEELING SO LOW-OH-ONLY.

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES, MAN,

IT'S THE WIND  AND THE RAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

IT'S THOSE LIVES FULL OF PAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

'N NOTHING  MAKES ME SMILE.

WELL MY LADY LEFT ME 'BOUT THREE WEEKS AGO

AND CHRIST, YOU KNOW I MISS HER , I JUST  LOVE HER SO

AND IF SHE WERE BACK HERE HEY! THIS MUCH I KNOW

THERE'D BE HUGGING AND A-KISSING

AND OUR LOVE WE BOTH COULD SHOW

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES,,

IT'S THE WIND AND THE RAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

SINCE SHE BOARDED THAT TRAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

'N NOTHING  MAKES ME SMILE.

Y'SEE, THIS LETTER HERE SAYS A FRIEND HAS DIED

Y'KNOW HE OFTEN TALKED ABOUT SU-I-CIDE,

BIT I NEVER THOUGHT THAT HE COULD TAKE

HIS SOUL...FROM HIS BODY... FOR ITS OWN SAKE.

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES,

IT'S THE WIND AND THE RAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

HE STILL WALKS THROUGH MY BRAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

'N NOTHING  MAKES ME SMILE.

YEAH, MY LADY LEFT HERE, 'BOUT THREE WEEKS AGO

AND CHRIST, YOU KNOW I MISS HER, I JUST LOVE HER SO

BUT SOON SHE'LL BE BACK HERE

AND THIS MUCH I KNOW

WE'LL BE HUGGIN AND A-KISSIN AND...

OUR LOVE WILL SURELY GROW.

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES NOW

MIGHT BE GOING INSANE

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES

HATE THAT WIND, HATE THAT RAIN

GOT THEM AUTUMN BLUES,

BUT MY BABY'S GONNA MAKE ME SMILE

YEAH, MY BABY

SOON SHE'LL MAKE ME SMILE.                                                     

(C) Brendan Hickey 1973

MORE "A"s

Apple of  Weeping Eyes.

Down beside the dark, deep water

          just beyond old Kavanagh's seat,

walks a mother's wayward daughter,

          heels clickity-clacking towards her beat.

Her last trick had only bought her

          enough to keep just this night sweet

and the respite, she had fought for

          would soon end with whom she'd meet.

For the dragon, that had caught her,

          while she chased its foil-run heat,

had inexorably brought her

          to this dappled, leaf-shade street

and the twisted mind that stalked her,

          stole the traces of her feet

'til the act  for which he'd sought her

          left her dying at his feet.

Just a girl, like any other;

          the apple of wet, weeping eyes.

bejewelled child to some poor mother,

          now left  wailing to the skies.

Her bright dreams had all been smothered

          under opiated highs,

gifts, at first, from  wasted lovers,

          with addictions ill-disguised.

But the pain that must have shoved her

          down this pathway, she despised,

we must not leave undiscovered,

          while we preach and moralise.

Her sad death has brought a shudder

          to so many cosy lives,

now my fears are for the others,

          prey to  after midnight knives.

© BRENDAN HICKEY 1998

Arrival Lines.

The singer's operetta style,

unfortunately grated,

so new converts to Renvyle,

(who'd previously been sated

by what filled each worthwhile mile),

felt dis-anticipated,

and climbed in single file

 .......towards slumber, fresh air weighted

© B.Hickey 1993

Ashram-Induced  Aloneness.

sssssssssssssssssssssssss

Alone,  in  a  king-like  way,

through  quartered  desert  stay,

uttering  middle-eastern  mountain  moans,

because of  flaccid  failing  telephones.

Until  a  silent scream  broke

the  perfect parqueted  calm.

Lithe writhing with  each  stylish  eyelash  stroke

lashing wild  tattoos  on  displayed   palms.

This  underpractised  preaching,

from  a  yashmak'd  netherworld 

is  like  a  sky-lark  feather  hurled

at armour-plated teachings.

(c) B. Hickey 1988

 

"A"s (1)

Abandoned Avenger

*************************

An abandoned Avenger
a crashed car,
caressed by fingers,
green and wet,
we passed on a boithrin,
seafoam flecked underfoot.

A gaping pail,
with toothless mouth, rockfull,
lay white and all alone,
by lichen-speckled stones,
‘til rain-soft hands
delighted in their find.

A sea-twisted twig
and flowers, long unseen
now fill that swinging hole,
as laughing lovers stroll
through carefree cows
on their way
to a new-felt home


© B. HICKEY 1985


Almerian Street.

*******************************

When straight to hell

seemed not the worst

of scorching Spain,

Rioja would quell

that desert thirst,

as dayfail came

and all felt well,

as streets were burst

by costumed train

because when we fell,

we  weren't the first

to play that game.



© B. HICKEY 1985

Amorous Mis-Casting.
***********************



Now, you've bubbled

to the surface

of new life,

after self-casting

into the black, cleansing abyss.

That extreme,

passionate kiss

brought ever-lasting

this life guilt;

poisoning the roots

of the family tree,

on which you'd built

your imaginary

house of oneness.



Always troubled,

fidgety nervous;

this sweet flight,

life flash-pasting,

brings freedom,

you wrongly missed.

Too vodka'd to resist

amorous mis-casting

and liquids spilt

nourish bitter fruits

on the family tree,

on which you'd built

your imaginary

house of oneness.



© B. HICKEY 1996