Current Issue

email this link

Random Haiku Generator
Poem of the Day
Flash Fiction


Poetry by Shane O'Neill



Some Think It Cool

On the radio the DJ plays us elevator musak

That subsequently is announced as early electronica –

A homage to the founding fathers of dance music

An elbow nudging, eye winking, aren’t we cool

We who can spot and pay respect to the origin.

Neanderthal man stretched a piece of hide

And accidentally dropped his crude Neolithic tool

Bone on tautly drawn skin, music’s original sin.

But I don’t need to revisit the banging of a drum

To remind me where melodious harmony sprang from.

So off with the radio and on with the t.v.

Big Brother is beamed to us live tonight,

One can sit there for ten minutes or more

And stare at the rain falling on well watered plants.

I counted it, ten whole minutes I sat there.

Disparate threads of information

In spite of their respective merits

Lose face if they remain mutually exclusive –

So here goes, but before making any assertions,

Before levelling accusations in the way of today’s media

I need to check something first:

Those Flintstones, weren’t they insatiable worshippers of t.v?



Bird Watching


Wood pigeons, watching them for a season, on that tree that looks to the sea, an aircraft lauching pad should I say, relay take -offs and the swoosh of an incoming dive, matter in mouth for mouths that will matter, the country gentry prepare their nests with an elegance, that is understated, a latticework of silky sugar sticks. Every season, every year, every one of these last twenty eight, birds have laboured unnoticed, but it is only now in the reawakening you have awoken in me, the gift you have bestowed with your elegant finger, that hits rewind and let's me do all again, but this time properly…Well, now as this second childhood nears an end, it wants to mature and lead us to a place we both have not gone before, to arc and to plunge in the search for building blocks, for us to be two wood pigeons on a tree, looking towards the sea.




About the Author

29 year old writer of no fixed abode, presently gathering moss in Dublin.