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	Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, 26 czerwca 2012

Whose World Is It Anyway - Part II

Men, we are Gods tortured souls
Women, the source of the scouge of our desire
We do not care if on our death
Were tossed into hells fire

For those who’ve braved a womans wrath
Know the Devil is a Doddle
And to the scorching flames he
Will quite happily toddle1

The bins are out, but at the wrong time
And we haven’t done the dishes
But those that do are scorned as fools
Or wimps, but for us to do it she wishes....’

We’ve to be men and be macho:
Show our feminine side and cry -
But do that in front of family or friends
And the lady wishes she would die!

Answer her bum DOES look big in that
Shell through a tantrum and huff
Lie and tell her shes lovely...
It still is not enough...

Catch you "reading" Page 3
She’ll swear and call the girl a slut
Then you hear her tell her friends
She wishes she was there showing her butt!

You cant cook like an Italian
Or like a Parisian kiss
But dare you do the dinner
She’ll want to give it a miss

You try to be romanitc
She tell you your a fool
She tells you you look stupid
When you try to look cool.

She dont like your beer belly
Or how you gobble your grub
She dont like your boozing mates
Yet wants you to bring her boozin to the pub.

She dont like you getting rowdy
And gives out when admiring short skirts you start
Then in front of the publican
And your mates she wallpos the girl while screaming "Tart!"

Yes. women thay are a puzzle
You ask why they exist
But if they were to disappear tomorrow
They (or the jiggy jiggy, cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, smiling, comforting, mammying, would be missed!

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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, 26 lutego 2012

My Venus, For Your Love, I Cast a Spell

I shall to my hand a candle fetch
Candle small of plainness, of pure white
I as a lover, a fool, a wretch
Shall place it, and with match will light
And bring forth an Aisling of you
Coming to me as I desire
I shall watch it, as candles do
Burn by wick to base with the fire
Having nothing of yours as mine
I shall your image, and mine too
Remembering desires thine
Horses image so loved by you
I shall watch the candle burn to base
Accept the love I get with grace

::: Aisling - gaelic for vision, imagining

::: Poem based on a folk spell for a man
to bring a woman he desires to him, get
a white candle, an object of image of them
both, and an obejct or image of something
the one desired liked. Candle was to be
burned, watched by the desirer, who brings
to mind an image of the desiree coming to him,
watching the candle burn to base. All the remains
and the images, to be kept together, the love, if
any to be accepted with grace.

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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, 26 lutego 2012

I As Solomon, Seek My Shulem Maiden

Where art thou gone, maiden fair
That I as mine desired to be
But I was as the army last time we met
And fair as the moon, you looked at me

Before leaving, and I you departing saw
Went down the garden of life, where planted in my heart
To see what had bloomed, were they as I thought they'd be
While those chariots of Amminadib brought us apart

I stayed when I was, who had not traveled
Though I have since stood on a Shulem Isle
So near and yet so far from thee
As I remember a blossoming smile

Oh, sing an elegy for Cupid shot down
By a passing anger, and an armies frown!

::: Based on song of Solomon, Chapter 6.
::: As the army, wicket humoured, angry, in destructive mood
::: Chariots of Amminadib are legendry fast chariots.
::: Shulem, Solomon's desired was from Shulem, hence her land.
::: Shulem Isle, an island off of her land, ie Sardinia.

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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, 15 lutego 2012

Of Her I Dreamed

Of her I dreamed, upon awaking
I found myself again alone
I was no king, for love forsaking
My kingdom and my throne.
She was no Wallace Simpson
No, she was both pure and good
The loss is mine, she now is gone
Like the waters of the Flood
By her I was swept away
And found I could not swim
And so in emotions unexpressed I drowned
And I find myself today
Thinking back on fleeting whim
When in idleness of mind myself I found.

(If Google mangles the translation into Polish and Italian below... sorry!!!)

"O Niej Marzyłem"

O niej marzyłem, po przebudzeniu
Znalazłem się znowu sam
I nie był królem, za porzucenie miłości
Moje królestwo i mój tron.
Nie była Wallace Simpson
Nie, była zarówno czysta i dobra
Strata jest moje, teraz już nie ma
Jak wody potopu
Przez nią zostałem porwany
I znaleźć nie mogłem pływać
I tak w emocjach unexpressed I utonął
I znalazłem się dzisiaj
Wracając na przelotny kaprys
Kiedy w lenistwie ducha sam znalazłem.

(And Italian, for she was from there...)

"Di Lei Ho Sognato"

Di lei ho sognato, al risveglio
Mi ritrovai di nuovo sola
Non ero il re, per abbandono d'amore
Il mio regno e il mio trono.
Non era Simpson Wallace
No, era tanto buono e puro
La perdita è mia, lei è ormai andato
Come le acque del Diluvio
Con lei sono stato spazzato via
E scoperto che non sapeva nuotare
E così di emozioni inespresse I annegato
E mi trovo oggi
Ripensando a capriccio passeggero
Quando in ozio di me dispiace che ho trovato.

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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, 5 listopada 2011

Poems from a Visit to Sassari

Roman Forged Nails

(On seeing origional nails forged by the Romans in Porto Torres. Probably akin to the ones that crucified Christ.)

Was it nails, like these driven
Through Christs limbs, on the cross
Before he dies, as if in vain
For man still sins, to spite the loss
Of life, for all our sins offered
For my soul, and yours to save
Was it nails like these that imapaled the Man
Who rose after three days from the Grave?

Dead Romans Names Upon Stones

(After seeing transcripts of names carved into sacrphages excavated at Porto Romano in Porto Torres town)

Of all the dead among the ruins
The poor, they are remembered not
Only names of the rich are carved in stone
The poor, unrecorded, left to rot

But, for all their riches, these Romans too
Like the rich today, they have to die
Just like the poor, as they were born
Did rot, will rot, like you and I

An Artists Plans Thwarted

(After driving rain in Sassari)

Its hard to sketch in driving rain
Words making pictures will have to do
Unless from photos taken - but what's the point
In making of an image a copy new?

The weather Gods, they had other plans
Stopped me, with pencil, ready to sketch
Another day, another place maybe
If I a pencil and paper can fetch

But it is rare that to draw
I am free with time to brood
Like now, life being ever so busy
When free, I'm never in the mood

Perhaps when we have no time to sketch
If not a picture, a breath we should draw
For life's too important in a haze to lose
As if it were a mere movie someone saw.

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10 - 30 - 100

Pozostałe wiersze: Whose World Is It Anyway - Part II, My Venus, For Your Love, I Cast a Spell, I As Solomon, Seek My Shulem Maiden, Of Her I Dreamed, Poems from a Visit to Sassari,