Irish road signs explained!

The road sign below is a pleasant reminder that the best way to find your way around Ireland is to…..well…err….ignore the road signs! Reminded me of something me mum once said which was based on her experience of growing up in rural north Donegal. And when I say rural, I mean rural. When a stranger asks you how to get from here to there, the response always being the same, wherever you are, whoever you are:

“Well sir/madam…you go straight down that road and that will take you wherever you want to get to.” Now this may sound funny, unhelpful or even spiritual depending on where you are coming from, or in this case, going to. But I can assure you dear reader; the directions were uttered with 100 per cent sincerity!

Anyone who can guess correctly where this particular signpost is situated wins a FREE compass and a 12 month subscription to ‘Unhelpful Irish erections daily’. Closing date to be announced so watch this space folks.

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WTF?! Is this a WiFi wet spot???

Tart Area Rapid Transport (TART)

Saw an Irish tart,
Located at a Dublin DART station.
Shouted abuse,
And a curse of damnation.
Penance for cheap titillation.

If her arse stuck out anymore,
A daytime eclipse would surely obscure!
Even Molly Mallone would have blushed.
But alas, this ego had all but been crushed.

10th October 2000

DART train.
DART train

Sky Fire

Part I

Sheets of fire
Rolled red across the sky.
Shrouding a sparkled ceiling; blue.
Nautical landscape; inverted.
The winter moon is hers,
Not the Zodiac’s; terse.
Red ribbons of moistened light,
Streak across the cold horizon.
A bitter light, bold and brazen.

Part II

Stars to throw
Up into the sky,
Falling around me.
Making me dizzy,
And the night mist; sparkly.
Colour festival,
Exploding light, into the night.
My face beams a smile,
Brimming with delight.
Like party glitter,
Against a chill; bitter.
I spend and fritter.
Angel of the dark,
She ignites a dormant spark.

Part III

Stars in my hand,
As I glide on gold sand.
Those stars, like gel.
Keep me from hell.
Because you’re up there,
I know I’m here.
Wide horizons beckon,
They birth dreams
I have slept on.
Heaven sheds a tear
Into my mortal sphere.

Dublin, December 1998

Winter Bay

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This gallery contains 1 photo.

Shadows streak across rippled sand, Etching patterns on the land. Palm trees dance as silhouettes, Led by a mild winter breeze Carved by what the journeyman sees. In a storm, he lets out a howl And the bayside dogs Can … Continue reading

The Red Pen Bandit

Behold the red pen bandit!
For balls you really have to hand it.
To him, no pen is treasured,
To catch this thief one must be measured.

Note the bandit’s classic traits;
A pen behind each ear.
To each steal, he holds so dear,
Perhaps a teacher in yesteryear?

Populated with Bic memorabilia,
Including items that somehow seem familiar.
“Can I borrow your wee pen?”
he might chirpily inquire.
But something tells you,
That’s the voice of a liar!

At his abode, you’d no doubt discover,
Biros by the load, and of every colour.
So upon Millennium, when PC’s turn freaky,
Remember the bandit, charming but cheeky.

Your memory may be less than fond,
If not aggrieved, violated and wronged.
But when computers completely blow,
From the bandit’s pen, money will still flow.

Like a god-dammed squirrel, I have to hoard
By making frequent trips
to the stationary cupboard.
But by God, and the colour red,
We keep the bandit’s habit amply fed!!

23rd October 1998