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

“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

“Lámfada”

“Longhand Mist” ©️C.P. Hickey

“Lámfada”

It’s the longhand reach

That exceeds the grasp

Such things can only be calculated deliberately

Trying as one might

The might of effort

Required

Not matched

But, they sure do appreciate a good try.

Whatever the outcome might be.

2022 · NaPoWriMo

“Father Dagda”

“Turnkey” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2022

“Father Dagda”

Father Dagda

Who could blame ya?

As violence begets pain.

Pirate’s plunder

Torn asunder

Your family’s gravy train.

No way of showing,

All are growing.

Soon you’ll be alone.

Father Dagda

Must keep rowing,

Despite a tide so low.

2022 · Poems

“Mother Morrigan”

“Branch” ©️C.P, Hickey 2022

“Mother Morrigan”

Mother Morrigan

I suppose you’re on again

Trimming the fat

And cutting soup larger

Kitchen alchemy

Radish carvery

Sewing needle spool

Return to the larder

Washing clothes

Hanging hose

Displacing mares of the night

Battling gentle

Suppressed elemental

Granted for taken

Reverse, I’m mistaken

Even sleep is far from respite.