Cockroaches Are Precocious, Poetry by C.P. Hickey

Cockroaches Are Precocious, Poetry by C.P. Hickey

Reblogging my recent entry to the WILDsound Festival Review


WILDsound Writing and Film Festival Review

Genre: Funny

“Cockroaches Are Precocious”

By C.P. Hickey

I find cockroaches to be precocious.

Especially, those from Nacogdoches.

Scurry hurry, here and there.

On their backs, legs in the air.

Marvel at their quick precision,

Never in the same position.

Lights go on and full disperse,

Champion of the universe.

Evolution’s most refined,

With creepy crawlies of their kind.

There’s no sense to choose denial,

They are masters of survival.

You never know where they’ll be,

Behind the fridge, amidst laundry.

They have a sneaky super power,

I once found one in the shower.

As just as fast I’ll change my shtick

Here’s a thought to sit down with:

To the most unsuspecting palate,

Roaches make a great three-bean salad.

So don’t adhere to superstition,

High protein supports nutrition.

Listen to this noble truth,

We’ve all eaten a bug or two.

So next time when you make a face,


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Sayeth Much, Ain’t He?


Seamus Heaney

My author/poet love of the day goes out to Seamus Heaney, Irish poet, playwright, translator, Nobel Laureate in Literature.

A fixture in my heart and mind in recent years, Seamus Heaney offers a full experience of living in the exceptional world of ordinary words and circumstances. He dresses his poems quite nicely, and makes them accessible in a way that belies their sheer power to spark familiarity without the consciousness of realizing the discovery as it unfolds. Seek his words out and let them buzz around your brain. Although, many may have pints in their fists on this day of days, I propose that you can get equally intoxicated drinking from this man’s artful lines.


“When all the others were away at Mass”

by Seamus Heaney

When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives–
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.

41 and not half done / 41 a number prime

Last one until 42 is released…



Yesterday, I celebrated my 41st Birthday. A heartfelt thank you to all the family, friends, strangers, and even enemies that wished me a happy birthday. There was an enormous response, and I felt the love. It is nice to hear from so many people. Especially, people so directly responsible for engaging me throughout my life and contributing to many dearly held memories.

As I mentioned in previous blogging years (this is my third blogging year) that I don’t feel particularly different, or older with each passing year. My sensibility still feels similar to, say, March 15, 2014, and even March 15, 1995. So where does the feeling or change of age come in?  I’m in no rush to find out in truth, albeit I have oh so many acquaintances and companions on this journey, that fall all over themselves to suggest that persons of my age, our age, are “getting old”.

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This is 40?????

The Turn…


40 ozTwo days in the books since I turned 40. Sitting here trying to come up with some really clever things to say, but I’m plum out. I’m sort of bemused by and betwixt many trains of thought. As I approach the next chapter of my life, I wonder why I feel so disconnected from so many things. I had been looking for more. As if by the stroke of midnight on the 16th, that I would transcend my consciousness in some way and have some answers to a great many things. Nothing happened. I just woke up, had a piss, and then tumbled back to bed.

In the morning, I woke up to the joy of a lovely woman with my second child kicking in her belly, and the sounds of a chattering toddler on the monitor. What is really needed beyond that? When I really think about it, not…

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A new spin on life, Ribbing Prime at 39, or 363 days until the 40 Year Old Version

I look at my thoughts from the recent past…


jack Forever 39 yrs old. Jack Benny

How did I feel when I woke up this past Saturday morning? Well, in honesty, not much different than the day before. Saturday marked another year of life for me on this wonderfully spinny orb.

Turns out that I spun into life on March 16, 1974. Well actually, I’m certain that it was well before that. I just can’t remember it very well. It was dark, and warm, and all sorts of gurgles and burps were happening. I probably didn’t want to come out, but we all have to come out, don’t we?

Perhaps it is better to say I emerged, kicking and screaming on March 16, 1974. A grand affair I’m sure for all involved.

A first for my parents. A first for me.

39 years have come and gone since.

Mortality. Superb mortality. Just hanging around for a little while. A tease…

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