2022

“The Night Before the 4th”

Alexander Ignatius Connolly “Bubba”

Years ago, when I was a wee lad, my grandfather, Alexander Ignatius Connolly, used to sit me on his knee and teach me “ditties”.

In my family, a ditty is a crude variation of a commonly known song, with lots of word interchange and improvisation.

Around this time of year he was keen on getting me to sing “The Night Before the Fourth”.

He would clap his hands, and move his index finger up and down in time with the singing. I think he had grand dreams of being the famous Alexander of the Ragtime Band.

The best part for me, was watching him laugh like hell when he got myself or my sister to repeat off-colored lyrics. It was a great victory for him, and from my experience, there is nothing cuter or funnier than a kid dropping some profanity without knowing that they are being naughty.

So, for Alexander Ignatius Connolly, this one’s for you.

Please sing the BOLDED words to yourself, using the “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow” jingle.

The night before the fourth.

The night before the fourth.

The cat shit in the shavings.

The cat shit in the shavings.

The cat shit in the shavings, the night before the fourth.

This was usually followed up with a quick question/answer poem:

Listen! Listen!

The cat’s pissing.

Where? Where?

Under the chair.

Quick! Quick!

Get the gun.

All, hell, he’s all done.

2022 · Summertime Rhymes

“Sand Thrift”

“Seaweed Merkins” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2022

“Sand Thrift”

Sweaty seaweed merkin

Tubular carbuncular barnacle

Surf’s up

Swell roaring

Waved in, waved on

Horizon plied with UV radiation

Québécois down for holiday

Sipping seltzers while passing judgment

On body positive ‘Muricans

Every breaking wave supplying sobriety

Salt infused air blowing way by

The downward smell of tide approaches

Sand creeping into every crevice

Grinding out pearls

For shells to covet

Wetly moist wetsuits

Hiding disparities

Musty smell of musk mollusk

Creepy beach bum listening to “Goodbye Horses”

Slide the shore in parallax error

Breezy foam blowing upon dreams like birthday candles

Long cold beers quenching patch

Art among the sand denizens

A good day’s sun soon rolls on

2022 · Poems

“Wind Phone”

“Winding Wind” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2020

“Wind Phone”

I had heard tales of a wind phone

Somewhere in Japan

Talk to your dead loved

They said

I bought a plane ticket

I flew on the wind

I found the wind phone

It was somewhere in Japan

I waited in the queue

My turn finally came

I approached the booth with trepidation

It was white

That is to say the booth was dreadful white

And there was a small neatly organized table

Organized in precision in only the way a small Japanese table could be

Upon it was a phone

Black and dull

What was once shiny glossy

Passed through thousands upon thousands of hands

Hand to ear

Mouth to word

Word to air

Not ears…

Wind phone!

Talk to your dead loved

They said

Only, I chose differently

I didn’t talk to my Father

Dead these eight years

I didn’t talk to my Mother

Dead these twelve years

I didn’t even speak to the baby we lost between my first son and my first daughter

Perhaps, his name was Hieronymus

No, I spoke to no dead loved

But, I put my words into the wind phone

Hoping the wind would find the ears of my second son, Paul

He is minimally verbal

But, luckily for us, more verbal than most

I try to persuade the wind with my silver tongue

Persuade it to unlock the mystery of my second son

Who often releases words on the wind,

Hoping those words unlock some type of understanding between us

As I look out over a Japanese valley

The wind carries my words away

Not to be heard,

Nor understood

The wind phone holds me silent

As I wait for a connection

Whether my second son was there

Or ten thousand miles away,

Our words are carried over the wind

And, pass us by.

Blowing fierce into the stratosphere

Carrying our DNA back to the stars that we came from

Out to somewhere where our dead loved

Are rejoined in a Big Bang connection

As I hung up the phone

I looked backward at the queue,

And felt shame for my wind blasphemy

I had to try

Before I myself become dead loved

I hope they can forgive me—

I hope Paul can forgive me—

I then thought to myself…

That maybe sometimes not being able to talk to your dead loved

Is not as bad as not being able to talk to your alive loved

2022 · NaPoWriMo

“The Burren”

The Burren
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“The Burren” 

Returning to a barren

A land resigned to be

A coastal town

Somewhere down

Below the crashing sea

Abandoning the cairns

Picturesque pathways

A nice surprise

A full day’s drive

Roads lead unto ways

Jaunting out the country

Wind plays fair and true

A languid sigh

Beneath the sky

For all we cannot do

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2022 · NaPoWriMo

“O’hlcidhe”

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“O’hlcidhe”

What is a name?

Nominal, Descriptive, Adjectivial

Proverbial, Pliable, Provincial

Genetic, Prophetic, Patrilineal

Loyal, Worthy, Accusatory

Damning, Enchanting, Demanding

Prideful, Rightful, Spiteful

What is a name?

2022 · NaPoWriMo

“The Mourne Wall”

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“The Mourne Wall”

Pivot around a structure that stretches on

There seems no end in it

Hard to tell what is being kept out and kept in

Meant to guard against harm

But harm boils up when idly walking by

Sinister sadness picks away

Left with an expanse of nothingness

Room enough for all of the pain

All of it

Then a bit more

Walking along the wall

Again uncertain of which side is the right side to be on

Frost contended that good fences make good neighbors

Impassible, endless walls make great hermits

2022 · NaPoWriMo

Cú Chulainn

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“Cú Chulainn”

Society provides a template

The template requires attention to detail and strict adherence

The infrastructure upon which society stands is perpetuated by those building things using the template

The mob gets upset with the infrastructure and decides to change the template

The infrastructure fails to support the society that exists because the template that instructs the society how to perpetuate building has changed

People are mad, because the mob decided to change the template without thinking about the consequences of how society would be supported if the template was changed

The mob eats itself because there is no one to protect it from itself because society does not exist any longer

People range around in constant states of rage and mania

Berserkers

Society provides an imperfect template

Society provides a stage upon which the actions happen

For better or worse, we are society