10 Years After: The Prophets

10 Years After: The Prophets

Thousands of years ago,

in Old Testament times,

after conversing with a burning bush,

a leader of his people

led those people into a land

of Milk and Honey.

Not so very long ago

(in these Old Testament times),

a leader of his people

listened to a brazen Bush,

and led those people

into a land of Fear and Flames.

                                                 (c)Frank Rooney

My Mummy

My Mummy

A Poem for Mothers' Day

I  am  grateful  to  my  Mummy.

She  taught  me  how  to  play  gin  rummy;

She  taught  me  how  to  swear  and  fight:

Feint  with  the  left,  floor  with  the  right.

From  her  I  got  my  taste  for  whisky.

The  doctor  said  it  would  be  risky

To  breastfeed  me  and  to  tipple,

But  I’d  get  drunk  there  at  her  nipple.

I  won’t  hear  a  word  against  my  Maw  --

A  capital  crime  by  my  own  law.

I’ll  hold  your  throat  till  you  turn  blue,

Bite  off  your  ear  and  have  a  chew.

I’ll  pound  your  face,  turn  it  to  mince.

I’ll  have  you  know,  you’ll  more  than  wince.

But,  she  seems  to  miss  the  meaning

Of  what  it  is  that  she  is  screaming,

When  in  anger,  in  a  voice  deep  and  rich,

My  Mummy  calls  me  a  son of a bitch.

                                                                             (c)Frank Rooney

By the way, this is not a poem about my own, real mother, who is the kindest, least selfish person in the world.

Sonnet Youth

Sonnet Youth

Tempestuous  teenager,  hark  ye  this,

Through  your  hedge  of  hair  and  cage  of  piercings

And  attitude  all  vinegar  and  piss:

Time’s  harsh  lessons  smart  like  many  bee stings.

Oh,  so  the  world  fails  to  understand  you,

And  everyone,  all  of  them,  make  you  sick?

In  your  room  strewn  with  soiled  underpants  you

Pop  your  spots  as  walls  tremble  to  music.

Your  puss-filled  bubble-wrap  face  will  grow  smooth,

But  cruel  age  will  etch  a  wretched  road  map

Of  the  way  to  wisdom’s  final  tollbooth,

And  your  new  tunes  are  tomorrow’s  lame  crap.

Don’t  take  offence  if  I  call  you  a  bore,

For  I  was  once  like  you  in  days  of  yore.

                                                                                          (c)Frank Rooney