Una performed MONTO and GOWL (after a brief explanation of what the word ‘gowl’ means in Ireland) at the Women’s / Trans’ Poetry Jam and open mic at the awesome Bluestockings on Allen Street recently. If you were there, thanks for listening! And check out their upcoming events on their website linked above.
I’m terry prone to swearing on the telly
Boxing clever about whatever insert pout of the farce we’re dribbling living in sin and paying penance for other peoples whims.
Chancing their arms now chewing on legs, the fat of the land is a romantic notion that the man once had. They danced on our dreams; we’re all tredding softly, now we’ve bust at the seams.
They replaced trees with their species, and built ash groves willow park oak broke downs. Up in the air and in far beyond fields.
Extinct buildings and ghost estate of this place.
O Reilly don’t get me started blimey our city is waiting on a trolley in a grimey corridor breathing its last breath, lets CPR the shit out of it. It’s in our hands to reignite our future. Do not let this history pass us by.
What will they say…? We cried tears over someone else’s spilled milk but didn’t bother our arses to mop it up.
We just sat there and soaked up what we were being tolled. Trolled by haunted souls that listen to liveline. Stations booming out tunes from lunatics who get tattoos of their beaten girlfriends on their necks
Cheek of them telling us this is what we need. Greed got us here now debt is our biggest fear. What will you leave behind a
Can we not see that we are not beneath them. We need a drive by shooting and pollute this city with our inspirations. Let the looting begin
United we stand divided we’re just a bottom line
Stop yield look left right of our way we need a plan of action a p o a. before all hope withers and passes and tomorrow was our last day to procrastinate. Debate is central banking on the wankers that are bleeding our resources dry.
Signing on for spare change, change is ours if we want it. If we don’t stand up we can’t be counted. We flounced flaunted our wares without any care for what was round the corner. It’s time to turn it around and face our fears front on come on
Universal social networking charging at them lets cause a pussy riot and stop all this flight from our land. I can’t stand it another goodbye. I’m staying put lets all do the same to get the fuck out of this rut.
“It is men, only men, from the first to the last that we have to do with. To please a man I did wrong at first, then I was flung about from man to man. Men police lay hands on us. By men we are examined, handled, doctored. In the hospital it is a man again who makes prayer and reads the bible for us. We are had up before magistrates who are men, and we never get out of the hands of men until we die.” - an extract from an interview with a prostitute by Josephine Butler as part of her campaign against the Contagious Diseases Acts.
Yeah yeah, that’s what she said.
Lady Wilde digested the newsletter, and folded it, placing a cup of tea on the stand, looking out the window.
Number 1 Merrion Square,
a shadow where her son’s statue would sit, lounging on a rock all Tulisa and dead stare.
A man of some importance. He got a statue. His father got a plaque.
His mother… well, she was just a groundbreaker. Why cut her any slack?
Her salon emptied out, Bram Stoker was thinking vampires would never catch on.
Isaac Butt was yet to write any Good Bits.
Speranza chilling, listening to Rihanna, thinking about her pronunciations of ‘Jameson’ and ‘paper’.
Markievitz: Dear land thou art not conquered yet.
Sitting in the Abbey with Maud Gonne, placing a cup of tea on the stand, looking out the window.
Shadows where the drug dealers would be.
All benzos and gear, valium and crack stored in Dublin City Council plant pots along the Liffey.
Markievitz now, just second in command (naturally) in Stephen’s Green, 1916, just opposite where TopShop will be.
She holds out in the Royal College of Surgeons for six days
until Pearse’s P45 comes her way.
Kilmainham Gaol where she’s number 70 of women in prison.
The rest put there for stealing bread, or taking British troups up to Monto Monto Monto, running from police on Foley Street turning the corner towards SuperValu, only distracted by ballet dancers rehearsing where The Lab will be.
Markievitz’s words in Kilmainham jaded by the mercy afforded to her sex.
Boarding the contraceptive train to choo choo choose their bodies.
and knocked me off my bike aged seven for whistling saying it was the music of the devil.
Dancing at the crossroads of Larkin and the Kylemore Café, near where Ann Summers will be.
Robinson was just a career woman, which presidents tend to be.
Ambitious. Driven. Went to Trinity. Always looking to the next gig.
Female attributes that don’t sit well with callers to Joe Duffy.
She was turned into a rug on Dame St opposite where Crackbird would be -
now this is the 90s so this is pre-waxing.
Rugs were allowed then, removal wasn’t so taxing.
Give us the smooth lubricated body of Page 3.
The rapey pummeling of pornography.
Like when Levy said Britney’s body became so familiar she started to almost think they used to go out.
A slave for you. For me?
My rare old rhymes
Bits about me in
The times just gone by
What went down
In my own history.
And mystifying me
I don’t want to be here when I’m forty
Like thieves sold my soul
I’m the one who
Gave it away
For forty pieces of love
I ponder on the people above
The ones that went before me
They’re all part of my story
The past and the dead
And quaking in my boots
Biting at a bit
And choking on the past
Dry heaving and weaving myself round
Streets that I’ve stood
Please fade away
I got to concentrate on
The present day
And the tomorrows
Maps for the future
Things I’ve done
At one with
Hats off to
Those that marched along with me
Respects for the ones that have gone
But I’m done
Leaning on pastures of past
The future is clear
And for my taking
A selfish act
To let go of a past
Set thine own self
Drop an E
Thrive in the
A destiny you create
The future is bright
The future is magenta
And I’m hell bent
I’d take up joggin
Except I run like Phoebe from friends
It’d be a good means to an end of
Drudging through the befuddlement
That is daily torment
Of hang nails
Sanity found in
Please let these feelings
Be made of pvc
So it doesn’t stick to me
When sad thoughts linger
Pointing the finger to everything else
Pin point yourself
Coldplay fix u
Don’t listen to the smiths
Morrissey’s morbidity is catching
Catch up with pals
Emotional eating dulls the pain
A second on the lips
A lifetime on the hips
The same is said for these sad thoughts
Think it once
It’ll be thought of a million times
Hot chips record
Beats the blues
Tuesday bloody Tuesdays
After days, weekends and years of revelling
To hell with it
Air guitar to Van Halen
Paling in comparison
Van the man
My dreams get mad
Moods are low
Must remember to get up and
Get out from this pillow fort
Built of fear
Dear hold me
Help me out the hole
And find the old me
Balance the books
Get out of the red
Do not dred
What is present
The I will get over this somehow
Me versus mine
Mind over matter
Be your best
We are blessed
Believe you are alive
Throw a party
Be part of a beautiful society
Pay no attention to people with piety
Don’t be your own worst frenemy
Big yourself up
Come up trumps
Those are achievable
Thoughts are deceiving
If you give up believing
Hope in yourself
Stealth and stability
Are the goals
The steps of the ladder
That may bring you closer
To your self
And a better state of mental health
Come Rhyme With Me sister Temper-Mental MissElayneous on TG4’s Ceol Ar An Imeall.