In the depth of a drink
Editing, considering,
I raise my eyes
Just for a moment
And watch
And I allow this distraction
And I allow it to grow,
Grow into the image
Of motion, movement,
Towards…?
The end of the line.
© The Hairy Teacher, 2019.
Friday fifth of July
Just over on Leitrim Street and Watercourse Road
Sun gleams through the freshness of the morning
Heating me from the inside.
Up at the Revenue’s Maedbh is nice
Her voice over the phone courteous, kind.
Next up and over through older and new
Along Lansdowne terrace then the top the Hill
To the school, my next stop, and where this summer will…
The laughter the smiles the general avoidance
Till mentioned and breezed over
Short-changed on overdue promises
Back through the city
Doing Pana at a stretch
Trusting and coiling till the Mall once again.
The bank building
A beauty, a glimpse of times past
The twenty on the floor
Unclaimed then named mine.
And last but not least
To the corner, Union Quay,
Not to Charlie’s but next door
Into the Grind and coffee
The comings and goings
The stories the chat
Another place I could drop into
If I ever really came back.
If I ever came back
On my own terms only
A nine to fiver would kill me
Of this now I am certain.
© The Hairy Teacher 2019, Corkban
Sometimes I write terribly he said
You never do I assure you
But of course I do as everybody does
No actually nobody does
Well what do you call this then? Will I read it for you?
Don’t bother I’ve read it, and while I don’t like it I believe others could.
You’re mad!
Says you with your generalizations
What!?
Well you claim to know everybody’s mind
Indeed I do not
Then why do you proclaim your writing shit
I said I write terribly but anyway, because I know it’s so.
You know you don’t like it is what you mean.
Yeah… And…
But who are you to judge?
Surely I’m the best judge
Hah! And why is that?
Because it’s me who’s written it.
True, but is it you who buys it, reads it, criticises it and comes back for more?
No, but…
No, and therefore… Shut up!
Morning’s minions drawn from their downy warmth
To be flailed by street amid the swarms
Dark night shifts to grey sky warning
That the gloom arrives though day is dawning.
And onwards into the belly of the beast
Never satiated by the thronging streets
Each day then cursed to repeat again
Man’s fate sealed subservient till the end
© TheHairyTeacher2017
Submit a piece of poetry, maximum 50 words, and win yourself a free class/a mark 5,
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Entries should be posted on Facebook (or sent to: martin@thehairyteacher.com if you are just looking for feedback but not interested in the competition)
I’m not a preacher
I’m the Hairy Teacher
In the morning light after dawn-glow purchase
The taste of chill as winter rises.
The dew residual dampens the ground
And sends sunshine sparkles a-dazzling round.
Footsteps plod and skip, all fall,
With weary minds and a child adventure.
The cursing klaxons, the red lights looming.
Urbania rising through the silence booming.
Lines of passengers all set to be
Like chaste and bridal tainted reverie.
The smiles, however, abstain- upended
As morning’s gloom quells caffeine pretensions.
Stray dogs and pigeons plot their day
In bays and coups, the best plans laid.
The beast in shuffle settles then
As noon day flow comes threatening.
The night before my birthday, my fortieth, and I hit Tina Turner’s…it used to be called Anya’s but that half-Greek fantasy set sail down towards the ninth district, somewhere around Mester utca, a long time ago. The soap I bought, a dried up reminder of a notion I once had.
The whole place is infested with memory and even my darkest hour, not worth mentioning, being part of the fabric of this place provokes a Dichotomy, an idea of improvement based upon a previous moral digression, thoroughly equated therefore by its having occurred within the confines of this place.
It was always an awkward place, often ruled by boredom, fatigue, drunkeness, and paranoia. It, however, served well as a last resort. It never closes, you see,”… and that has made all the difference…”
I sometimes long for this place in the blur that is pre- fatherhood memory, but in truth, a moment like this, actually living the memories, is the closest anybody can get to all things past. Sometimes it’s worth coming back for the trip – the reality of what was left behind, suitably soft, a drawing smudged to suit a tolerable indifference.
The corner in one of the upstairs booths, was my workbench of occasion, though never to the extent of B City and the Soproni place, now Cheerio – then nameless (at least to me), and yet Tina’s, ahem…Anya’s (like the stalwart calling Snickers Marathon), provided some of the material for my future. Here dreams were shattered, rebuilt, born yet before, and after. Time bent here… as these words may take me back, they may in time propel me forward, or at least be read again in a time not yet recorded. For now I just create them in the hope that someone, maybe even me, can read them in a future!
Whether this place turns out to be a joke remains to be seen but for the time being on a grey February morn*, just shy of my next class, it offers respite from all the timetabling and rushing. Whew!
It’s modern enough in feel but cosy enough to be homely. It’s not all sharp edges and minamilism.
Located just across from Erzsebet square with the pending Akvarium reopening promising an exciting and vibrant summer ahead, it could all come down to location location location.
A badly printed flyer brought me here: that and my inability to read. It said 50% off…but on second glance I realise it’s only for alcohol, and while that may be good tidings usually, there is another sting in the tail. All alcohol excluding beer and wine!!! As if there was any other types of alcohol!!! Whiskey, vodka, pálinka…they’re not alcohol. They’re death wishes in a bottle, unless you drink in moderation, but a place like this doesn’t promote a thing like that.
Now if they had 50% off their merely average coffee I’d be much happier. Grey mornings lean on grey moods perhaps. Bahhhh!
*A review late coming. Nevertheless on recently passing by the place remains the same, and empty. The newly opened Akvárium and surrounds have stolen any chance at thunder here methinks!!!
https://www.facebook.com/Hecc.Cafe
©TheHairyTeacher2014
The tshirt tells a story
And I listen most intently
The truth or fiction of it
Left for another time.
The night has left me awkward
The personal juices lost
And the bare fleshed memory
Comes at such a cost.
The morning light with morning sights
Has caught me unawares
I tremble beneath a trimbley
I shudder behind my shades.
I let the street cross under
And let the bridge ship by
I harness hope from nothingness
And count the lives in time.
Inside the church of everybody
I sell my soul to God
But come feeling hard done by
Needing that hairy dog.
I inflict interest from onlookers
As I shave my way to work.
Outside dishevelled emptiness
Inside resides much worse.
©TheHairyTeacher2014
This Thursday morning holds the mind entombed in the low hung clouds
Filtered through the grey blue visor into traffic noise and city chatter.
Around about the scent of them: perfumed, shampooed, and after-shaven
A smell of food as breakfast downed on buses, trams to anywhere.
Amidst the motion, a pin-point picture, inside the mind, shrine-like, protected.
A vision as an angel- twee , allowed to flourish beyond the misery.
A dirt encrusted man does roam among the people waiting on.
From up a perch, across cut grass, the writer-watcher makes his cast(e)
And in the mold of pen and paper erects a notion of this day.
©TheHairyTeacher2014
