The Sun is Dry
The sun is dry
and
streaming through my
window
that soft
oh so warm adulation
wanting to drive on forever
without
destination
______________________________
In Respite
grabbed the bulk of a sweetshop
Barely able to fit in my back pocket
Brought this sweetshop
Back through our kitchen window
To the kids all smiley like
An eternity in respite
They hauled it all down
their eyes all stalks
Tongue hangin’ in spite
A good thirty seconds
A fuckin’ lifetime in
Respite
Lie on the sofabed
Listening to people
Fuckin’ their veins
Fingers wrapped around
My dick
Flaccid,
20 seconds in respite
Impartial motherfucker,
Kids go nuts,
Sit with cheap beer
In respite
10 fuckin’ years,
To the fuckin’ day
In respite
Respite
Respite
Showing posts with label Featured Writer: Alan Kelly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Featured Writer: Alan Kelly. Show all posts
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Featured Writer: Alan Kelly Day 2
The Bell I hear Now
There is a
Bell
That I
Hear now
Tolling
Far off
But i
Wonder
If it
Will mark
A
Transubstantiation
Or summon
My executioner
__________________________
First Love
I walked alone by the quays,
Leaning on a wall that overlooked the river
There was a boy
Swimming alone in the grey strip,
He looked at me (do I know you?)
Waved
A fist clenched by the cold water
He smiled,
the smile grabbed my shoulders
shaking me out of my reverie
He drowned
There is a
Bell
That I
Hear now
Tolling
Far off
But i
Wonder
If it
Will mark
A
Transubstantiation
Or summon
My executioner
__________________________
First Love
I walked alone by the quays,
Leaning on a wall that overlooked the river
There was a boy
Swimming alone in the grey strip,
He looked at me (do I know you?)
Waved
A fist clenched by the cold water
He smiled,
the smile grabbed my shoulders
shaking me out of my reverie
He drowned
Friday, January 16, 2009
Featured Writer: Alan Kelly
You have to Dig Deep to Bury your Daddy
Walking past reception was always such a task for Mary. The group of heifers from admin, who engaged in regular routines of pampering, pruning, pigging-out and petulance, would all be gathered around discussing their weekend and would invariably attempt to engage her. Mary looked at the floor and walked by quickly . She had never been the kind of woman easily tempted by novelty and catharsis.
With her neck still red from the noose’s kiss, Winnie Ferns, a gangly, flat-faced, dreamy nut of a woman, shouted Mary’s name.
“What is it, Winnie?” Mary asked in a quavering, fragile voice.
Winnie dangled a large envelope at Mary like a fisherman teasing a fish. “A note was left at reception for you.”
Mary gingerly pinched the edge of the offering with her thumb and index finger as if it might bite her. “Thank you.”
Later, Mary sat on a park bench and looked at the envelope. Enclosed within were two curious items. The first was a photo of two children, emaciated and lying face-down with their blond hair matted with dirt. The second was a press-cutting which was about the apparent murder of a teenage boy found in Phoenix Park.
Then Mary noticed a third item: something folded up in a piece of white parchment. She opened it and discovered a Union key with a ragged blue tag containing the letter C and the number 165. A message written on the parchment:
“Failure to adhere to this custom could result in serious consequences”
Mary furiously crammed the items into her bag. There had obviously been further developments in the death department. Mary saw that the rain had started.
Alan Kelly has contributed to 3:AM, Pretty Scary, Penny Blood, Film Ireland, Butcherqueers, Bookslut, GCN and The Laura Hird Showcase. His fiction has appeared in Dogmatika, Beat the Dust, Gold Dust, Sein Und Werden, Six Sentences, Parasitic, The Beat and Shoots and Vines. He works as a film and arts journalist and resides in Ireland.
Walking past reception was always such a task for Mary. The group of heifers from admin, who engaged in regular routines of pampering, pruning, pigging-out and petulance, would all be gathered around discussing their weekend and would invariably attempt to engage her. Mary looked at the floor and walked by quickly . She had never been the kind of woman easily tempted by novelty and catharsis.
With her neck still red from the noose’s kiss, Winnie Ferns, a gangly, flat-faced, dreamy nut of a woman, shouted Mary’s name.
“What is it, Winnie?” Mary asked in a quavering, fragile voice.
Winnie dangled a large envelope at Mary like a fisherman teasing a fish. “A note was left at reception for you.”
Mary gingerly pinched the edge of the offering with her thumb and index finger as if it might bite her. “Thank you.”
Later, Mary sat on a park bench and looked at the envelope. Enclosed within were two curious items. The first was a photo of two children, emaciated and lying face-down with their blond hair matted with dirt. The second was a press-cutting which was about the apparent murder of a teenage boy found in Phoenix Park.
Then Mary noticed a third item: something folded up in a piece of white parchment. She opened it and discovered a Union key with a ragged blue tag containing the letter C and the number 165. A message written on the parchment:
“Failure to adhere to this custom could result in serious consequences”
Mary furiously crammed the items into her bag. There had obviously been further developments in the death department. Mary saw that the rain had started.
Alan Kelly has contributed to 3:AM, Pretty Scary, Penny Blood, Film Ireland, Butcherqueers, Bookslut, GCN and The Laura Hird Showcase. His fiction has appeared in Dogmatika, Beat the Dust, Gold Dust, Sein Und Werden, Six Sentences, Parasitic, The Beat and Shoots and Vines. He works as a film and arts journalist and resides in Ireland.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
