Saturday, 30 October 2010

Poetry and Profits

"With peepers two, I view the view
And relay my peeping back to you".
What a lovely stan-za that is. It was rote in 1678 by the Earl of Clougher, Red Ned Hannigan to his mistress, or bit on the side Maggie Strumpbucket.
While knot condoming adultry, I am struck by the love made mainifest in them too lines.
Alas, the illicict love affair ended in tragedy.
Red Ned was thrown off his horse while out hunting weasels and hit his head a dunt on a stone that split his skull and scattered his branes all over the Hi-way.
Poor Maggie was broken-hearted. She went into decline and took her own life in 1681 by drinking a potion of hemlock, dockens and frogs-spawn.
As a well kown strumpet of Hi-renown poor Maggie was buried in unconcertinaed ground.
Red Ned Hannigan was buried after Hi-mass in saint Judas graveyard. You can still sea his aged, mossy tombstone and just make out his last too line stan-za, written prophlyactily before his death.
"I wonder what will make me dead?
Will it be a splitting of my head?"
He may have bean a dirty auld brute, but when it came to poetry, Red Ned was a cracker.
Above the rutting of the dear, the cawing of the crows and the bleating of the heatherbleat I heard the sound of my sun Bon Jovi, the lite of my life and my raisen de'etra
There he stood at the haggard in all his glory. Two candles hanging from his nose assured me that his sign-us-us were firing on all cylinders.
His knees were grazed, wan sock hung over his hobnailed boot, his burgundy gansy was ripped and tore, his fork was wet, but the cub would grow out of that.
There he stood. Flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood. Guts of my guts.
The fruit of my ferrite lions.
My sun, my cub, my gift to civilization.
I clasped the lump of a cub to my panting bisum and said.
"Bon Jovi where has't thou bean?
Thou knowest that I worry when thou goes wandering in the wildernest".
Bon Jovi looked up at the sky, like a profit who could sea straight into heaven and said.
"I have bean-thinking. Always-thinking.
Wool my grate brane never give me rest? Am I cursed to go through life like John the Baptist?
A cub crying in the bog,
"Wool you'se stap you'll auld sinnin' "
In my head is all the knowledge in the world and yet I can not utterise it.
I am as a sounding brass and a honking horn. WHY ME?" screamed the cub. "WHY ME?"
Why have I bean chosen to lead the world and surrounding districts to the pearly gaits of heaven?"
"Oh Bon Jovi" I cried.
"What can I your humble savent do to help you fulfill your heavely mission?"
As if in a trance, Bon Jovi said.
"Put on your sandels and go to Clougher. There, outside auld Niko McSkitterstein's house you will find a donkey. Untie that donkey and bring him to ME!".
Full as a po with the holy spirit I did as the cub commanded.
Next day too police cars full of peelers came flying into my yard and arrested me for stealing a donkey!
Bon Jovi denied all knowledge of the affair and told the police I had often talking about nicking a donkey.
The wee ugly, humpy, coniving, gulpin had conned me into stealing the donkey.
I know Bon Jovi has the donkey secreated somewhere in the bog.
I have to appear in Clougher court next weak.
The people of Clougher were all for hanging me from an oak tree.
Donkey stealing is scene in Clougher as a henious crime.
If I am scent to the slammer I wool do my time, but on my release I will swing for the spawn of the devil who took up abode in my good, cat-lick womb.
Prey for me. Prey for Rosie Ryan who is accused of ass theft.

Sunday, 3 October 2010

Farewell Benito

Deer Gerry, a Paul of grief and sadness hangs over Clougher today. In a head on crash between a Raleigh bicycle and a dung-spreader, auld Benito McStriddlestumps came off worse and left this vale of tears in a deceased and dead state. Those who saw the accident say that auld Benito was ejuclated from his bicycle and hit the dung-speader a wild dunt with his head. When poor Benito's head made contact with the purveyor of shi--dung it turned the dung-spreader on. "Before you could say, "Aah-Bisto!" auld Benito was engulfed in a mountain of shi--dung. No volunteers being found to wade through the shi--dung to find the dead cadaver. The priest gave the last rights over the mound of bovine feces and the police put up, "GO SLOW" signs and everywan went home.Next morning small farmer big Willie McMegadump managed to put a rope around poor, wee Benito's neck and dragged him 100 yards behind his tractor to a babbling brook. Too hours later Benito was pristine and as klean as a knew pin. "Bring him home now" shrieked Benito's widow wee Marygold. "Lay him out on the bed, while I go and borrow too pennies to put over his wee, dead eyes". The priest blessed wee Benito and said. "Just as Benito arose from the shi--manure, so shall we arise on the last day". "PRAISE THE LORD" shrieked auld Nellie McTumbleweed. Then, filled with the holy spirit, she fell down like a bag of spuds and hit her head a wild dunt against the po under the bed.Just a flesh wound. Know stitches required. As auld Benito was carried from the church, saint Judas choir lustily sang. "YES! we shall gather by the river". My son Bon Jovi nudged me and said. "There must still be some shi--dung in auld Benitos nooks, crannies and crevices". Bon Jovi and I walked home, full of grate sadness and pensivitity. As I watched auld Benito being lowered into a water-logged whole in the ground. In an auld cheep plywood coffin painted to look like Ma-Hoginey I thought of my own morality. Wood I be judjed wheat or chaff? Sheep or Goat? I revolved to change my ways and bless myself everytime I saw a rainbow. As Bon Jovi and I rounded a corner, we came upon a man driving a cow. "LOOK!" roared Bon Jovi. "Its wee Ramone McScallion driving Miss Daisy" Wee Ramone loves Miss Daisy. I never saw a cow and a man so close without interference from the police. "A fine baste you've got there Ramone" said Bon Jovi. "She's a wee darling" said Ramone. "And she loves her daddy. You love your daddy don't you Miss Daisy. Aye, Miss Daisy loves her wee daddy" "She wool make quare good rump stake" said Bon Jovi. Wee Ramone turned eggshell white, covered Miss Daisy's ears with his hands and screamed. "Yeh wee, humpy, ugly gulpin. How dare you talk about rump stake in front of Miss Daisy. She knows every word you say. Miss Daisy wool live a long and happy life and be buried beside me in saint Judas graveyard. The gratest pleasure in my life is driving Miss Daisy".And with a flounce of his wellingtons wee Ramone continued to drive Miss Daisy down the road. As we walked on, the sun set in the West. Birds flew home for the nite and the odd locked out sheepdog barked in the distance. Bon Jovi did a little dance, broke wind and began to sing in a loud out of tune gulder. "OH POOR WEE BENITO IS DEAD AS CAN BE THE GRATE BIG DUNG-SPREADER HE DID NOT SEE THE REASON HE'S DEAD I PUT DOWN TO HIS SIGHT THAT'S ALSO THE REASON HE'S COVERED IN.......... SWEET VIOLETS, SWEETER THAT THE ROSES COVERED ALL OVER FROM HEAD TO TOE COVERED ALL OVER WITH-SWEET VIOLETS". I laughed 'till I peed myself and had to run for the whins!