Mick Lally dead

Terrible news today that the wonderful Mick Lally is dead at the young age of 64. I saw him a couple of month's ago at Draiocht here in Blanchardstown starring in God's Official and once again he demonstrated he could pretty much turn his hand to anything.
It always struck me as the true definition of irony that, after Bracken, Gabriel Byrne went on to become a top Hollywood film star while the much more talented Mick got Glenroe.

May he rest in peace.

The consequences of war

This could be an interesting competition.
The 2010 Consequence Prize in Poetry will be awarded for the best poem addressing the culture and consequences of war. Far be it from me to advise entrants but I wouldn't really see much of a point in submitting a pro-war poem.
Massachusetts based journal, not a large prize but the topic is thought-provoking, there's no sign of any line limit, you can enter online and, bless their cotton combat jackets, the competition is FREE...
Full details here

Catching the school bus

It being the last week of August, what other kind of poetry bus would we be catching? Bags I sit next to Notcher.
Yes, the inimitable schoolmarm herself, Karen, is at the wheel this week and has asked us for a poem on school. I used to live in a small village miles from anywhere and was barred from the school bus for three years for nicking the driver's fags (but only when that particular driver was driving)
Karen, its okay, I'm a reformed character...

I will arise and go now

I will arise and go now, and go to Classroom 3,
and forty winks have there, while seated down the back;
for Farreller will drone on like a bumbling honey bee
about potatoes and how they once turned black.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow.
Forty golden minutes till the lunchtime bell rings;
I hope that gobshyte Byrner doesn’t stab me in the toe
with one of those compassy things.

I will arise and go now, to Hist’ry I will stray,
to hear a lengthy soliloquy on famine lore;
while I lean back against the wall and drift away,
I hope he does not hear me snore.

Film stars in song lyrics

David Bowie's (Iggy Pop's) China Girl came on the radio today and the reference in it to Marlon Brando got me thinking of all the other songs that reference movie stars. In a short while, I came up with: -
Montgomery Clift -The Clash
John Wayne is Big Leggy - Hayzee Fantayzee
That don't impress me much - Shania Twain (Brad Pitt)
Candle in the Wind - Elton John (Marilyn Monroe)
"She looks like Eve Marie Saint in On the Waterfront" - Lloyd Cole and ther Commotions (don't know the name of the song)
Robert de Niro's waiting - Bananarama
Bette Davis eyes - Kim Carne
Key Largo - dunno who sung it (Bogie and Bacall)
That Matt Damon song

Free poetry contest shock horror

Twice a year the Tapestry of Bronze runs a poetry competition dedicated to a particular Greek or Roman deity. I have entered the past two and got nowhere. I believe that David Mohan won the last one (is there any competition that he enters, that he doesn't win?)
This Fall (as they say on the website) the task is to write a poem about Athena or Minerva, who apparently are one and the same. A schizophrenic deity, eh? Should be fun.
In the Spring, the competition was about Mercury or Hermes (another split personality) and whereas I didn't win, I now feel confident enough to answer a question on him on Mastermind and might even throw in a reference to him in some other poem, if I feel pretentious enough.
Anyhow, the details of this FREE competition to come second behind David are here

The reluctant painter

Forgive me father. It's ten years since I last did any painting.
She has me doing the bathroom, which I have to admit was pretty piggy. Not exactly sure why I'm the one doing it, when I've a 22 year old son unemployed at home doing nothing. Particularly as he can turn his hand to anything while I end up with paint over everything I shouldn't and especially me.
Haven't even started yet. The walls were a deep royal blue, so after painting the skirting boards and the ceiling, I've splashed a load of white over the blue to kill it. I know there's a poem in there somewhere. Tomorrow I put on the first coat unless I can think of some way of wriggling out of it.
The worst thing is, I suspect the bathroom is only the start of it. She's been studying paint charts and holding them up to the hall, stairs and landing...

Early for the Poetry Bus

I have missed the last three Poetry Buses, so feel obliged to be early for this one.
The bus this week is currently in Ontario - exotic, or what? - and is being driven by the early-rising Chiccoreal Book a ticket by unearthing or composing a poem about one of her three prompts. And do check out, come Monday, the mini-masterpieces that other passengers produce as tickets.
My effort this week is a tender love song about trying to find time to do those little things that mean so much.

Trying to find time for everything

I’m all in a tizzy,
My life is too busy,
There are too many things on my plate.
Repossessions need thwarting,
The front door needs sorting
And the drain out the back cannot wait.

The car has a puncture
(Although at this juncture,
I’m driving it, flat tyre or not)
The shed roof needs tacking,
My hard drive’s been slacking
And at work, I just don’t know what’s what.

But when I wake up each day,
With my face turned your way,
I’m reminded again of priorities.
Oh you look so serene,
Like a fairytale queen,
I really should tell the authorities.

With your eyes lightly closed,
Dimple-cheeked, button-nosed –
What a shame I’m so recently celibate!
But I should be more forthright,
You’ve been dead a fortnight
And quite frankly, you’re starting to smell a bit.

Nowhere near the edge

My sparkling run of failures continues with my absence from the long list of the Over the Edge New Writer of the Year competition.
I thought one of the three I sent in stood a good chance but obviously I am no judge. Maybe I shouldn't have gone for rhyme. Some people hate it.
Not many familiar names on the list, though some of them are short story writers of course. Michael Farry is in there again - congratulations Michael - and Evan Costigan.
Oh well, maybe next year.

Not throwing my money away on this one

Hi Peter Goulding

I hope you are well today. Time seems to have flown by quickly since I last emailed you about the Aesthetica Creative Works Competition and there is now just one month left to enter this year. I do hope that you will be interested in submitting some of your works for the year’s competition. I’ve listed below this year’s additional prizes below.

The Prizes for 2010 Include:
Winners will receive £500.
Publication in the Aesthetica Creative Works Annual
Complimentary copy of the Aesthetica Creative Works Annual
Press coverage on the Aesthetica Blog (check back on Monday to read an interview with last year’s Fiction Winner, Louise Beech)
Category winners will also receive a collection of books from our partner publishers Prestel Publishing and Bloodaxe.

For more information about this year’s Competition please visit our website at www.aestheticamagazine.com.
If you have any questions about the competition, please let me know, I will be glad to assist you with your entry.

Kindest regards

Entry is £10 - yup, ten pound sterling. Think Michael Farry got in last year and its a great addition to your CV, but probably for more polished poets than moi.

Still it was nice of them to hope I'm well today

Cafe writing

OPEN POETRY COMPETITION 2010
CLOSING DATE 30TH NOV 2010
PRIZES
1ST £1000 2nd £300
Five Commended Prizes of £50
Funniest Poem not winning another prize £150
Entry Fee
£4 per poem; or £10 for 3 poems and £2.00 per poem thereafter
ENTER ON-LINE www.cafewriters.org.uk
or by post with attached entry form

I've had no success with this competition so far but it has a nice feel to it. And you can enter online.
Might throw in a funny one too, if I can find one.

There oughta be some yodelling in this song

Back from Austria and I'd love to tell you about some exciting Austrian poets I discovered but you'll have to make do with a cardboard cutout instead (standing next to Mozart above) Nice scenery, crap weather. One spooky thing - when visiting Mauthausen Concentration Camp, every picture I took in the gas chambers and crematorium came out distorted. My wife said it served me right, and it probably did.
As for Vienna, well, it means nothing to me.

Short stories - I don't think so

A year or two ago, I thought I'd have a bash at short story writing, or "committing the act of fiction" as Peter Sirr puts it. I dashed off about four or five (probably not the way to do it, I know) and sent them off to some competitions. No joy. Took them back, revised them, cut them, cut them again. Sent them off again. Nah.
After some more paring, by which time I was heartily sick of them, I thought I'd give them one final run out, entering them for the Twisted Tails short story competition, judged by the wonderful Nuala ni Chonchuir
I see the results are now up on www.twisted-tails.com and though I've scanned the list 47 times, I'm not up there.
I think that probably sees the end of my foray into short story writing. My attention span is far too short.