Militant Fairy

Dondell lived near the pond in the wood in Littlehippleton.
Dondell was a Fairy but not just any Fairy….
She was a militant tomboy Fairy. No flouncy pink dress for her.
She wore green t-shirts and jeans with black boots.
The other Fairies thought she was silly and liked to wear their big colourful floaty dresses, their pointy toe shoes and pretty curly locks.
Dondell was lonely, the other Fairies played together.
They made lacy cloaks from spiders webs to give to Pixies working in the town.
They collected acorns and made goblets to give to trader Elves in exchange for shells.
They helped the Dwarves look for jewels.
They danced and sang.
They chased and laughed.
They had such fun together.
When Dondell came near they were quiet and turned away.
Dondell would break spiders webs and throw acorn cups in to the pond.
She was not happy and would go for long speedy flights up to the highest trees and look out beyond Littlehippleton.
She would say to herself, I will leave here and find someone to be my friend, one day.
She would plummet, her wings close to her back, faster and faster and then at the last second spread them out and glide to the ground, none of the other Fairies could do that.
One day she heard shouting from the other Fairies, “Dondell help us, please, HELP!”
She flew down to see what the commotion was.
One Fairy, Lavender was caught by her dress in a huge web.
The spider was coming closer to her.
The other Fairies were trying to break the web but it was cutting their palms and it hurt but would not break.
Dondell turned and flew away up to the highest tree.
The Fairies thought she had gone away.
Then they heard a whirring noise coming down the tree and the spider was knocked from the web, the web was broken and Lavender was safe.
Dondell didn’t glide and thudded to the floor of the wood.
She lay without moving.
The other Fairies huddled around her and carried her to the Healer of the Wood.
She gave Dondell some ointment for her head and a little vial of yucky medicine for her body.
The other Fairies were given salve for their hands.
When Dondell was better all the WoodFolk came together to celebrate the Bravest Fairy in the Entire World, Dondell.
All the Fairies made her a special pair of trousers from leaves and a special top that was green with shimmery bits to say thank you for saving Lavender.
Dondell was happy, she had friends and she was loved.
Dondell still dreamed of leaving the wood but that is for another time.

What if Zylmor wasn't my home planet

a follow up to "A Swim"
I was born into a family that didn’t want me, this can be said to a lot of babies but not all are constantly told this. Not only by the parents, married, I was their third, but also by the siblings; a girl and boy aged three and four years respectively when I was born, grandparents; two on one side and a Grandpa on the other – he actually provided proof I was genetically connected to this aloof intellectual people, we both have webbed feet. Various distant aunts and uncles took it upon themselves to tell me how unwanted I was and expected me to be grateful for their candid tale. Not only did they consider me an unfortunate accident but denied any family (the word that means alike) . Admittedly being blond and ball-like in a family of tall, dark, skinny, freaky people it would be difficult to say I took after them, the only one they have ever said I was alike, the dead grandmother who one of them thought was the inspiration for The Snow Queen. She was also well known for putting it about with American Air Officers during World War Two. This was retold to me by my father who on reaching puberty French kissed his sister and cut all her hair off so she’d go to the nuns and ran away.
Not a great start to life and even without the filling in the sandwich you can see why this particular eleven year old thought it best to be dead

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What if I was not from Zylmor....

I was born into a family that didn’t want me, this can be said to a lot of babies but not all are constantly told this. Not only by the parents, married, I was their third, but also by the siblings; a girl and boy aged three and four years respectively when I was born, grandparents; two on one side and a Grandpa on the other – he actually provided proof I was genetically connected to this aloof intellectual people, we both have webbed feet. Various distant aunts and uncles took it upon themselves to tell me how unwanted I was and expected me to be grateful for their candid tale. Not only did they consider me an unfortunate accident but denied any family (the word that means alike) . Admittedly being blond and ball-like in a family of tall, dark, skinny, freaky people it would be difficult to say I took after them, the only one they have ever said I was alike, the dead grandmother who one of them thought was the inspiration for The Snow Queen. She was also well known for putting it about with American Air Officers during World War Two. This was retold to me by my father who on reaching puberty French kissed his sister and cut all her hair off so she’d go to the nuns and ran away.
Not a great start to life and even without the filling in the sandwich you can see why this particular eleven year old thought it best to be dead

A Swim

The day destiny had set aside for my death was a beautiful summer’s day. I think that was where destiny went wrong; with the sun set so high in a cloudless sky beaming effortlessly down on the golden sands so even the black rocks of Monk’s Bay shimmered with life. Three pre-pubescent girls, Elaine, Angela and me were caught in a riptide. Elaine couldn’t swim, I was a strong swimmer, Angela was somewhere in between and a survivor. The North Sea didn’t care about abilities except it’s own, thrashing wave upon wave down on top of us. We hauled Elaine’s frantic body up onto some rocks, our own bodies were smashed unsparingly against the black jagged shelf. Pushing ourselves out, away from the dangerous rocks we could hear Elaine’s screams above the noise of the surf. She was in an hysterical panic attack, crouching down then bobbing up in a frenzied manner. It struck me that it looked from the beach that she was thinking about diving in. Angela and I were being tossed about, our young limbs pushed into angles impossible now to recreate. I noticed a change in Angela, she suddenly had become quiet and wasn’t responding as usual, with all the strength I could muster and in time with the battling ocean I thrust her forward past the rip and she landed in an ungainly mass on the beach. She looked exhausted, weak-kneed, as she struggled to her feet stumbling to get help. In any other account this is where the strong swimmer, the saviour to the other then sweeps in and stands aghast at the concern of onlookers.
Tiredness was overwhelming me, the roar of the waves crashing down, being above water was too hard. I surrendered to the water, to my friend the ocean, if I drowned all the bad things I had to deal with would be wiped clear. I wouldn’t have to be the secret keeper for all the family including myself, I could just let it go. Destiny had the right idea, take out one pawn and the whole chess game that was my family would be over, all the king’s men would fall down. Under the water was the most perfect peace, a quiet unlike any other, the silence beckoned me down, further and further I tumbled. The feeling of a comfort, being cocooned like in a mother’s womb. I rolled in this contentment, remembering Tom from the Water Babies and just as I had moved onto my heroine Grace Darling huge hairy hands ripped me from this warm womb and brought me back into the loud reality of life. To the people gripping me, tending to the cuts and bruises, hugging life back into me, it was a triumph. I did not agree and spent numerous days at numerous beaches trying to recreate the conditions but destiny never came to my aid and I have lived to tell this tale.

A Mythical Tale

1996 1

my hair is like a gorgon’s
it’s alive with snakes
reality is shifting away from my normality
my head is shrinking the snakes are
hissing in my ears
whipping past my eyes,
thrusting their tongues,
till even seeing is beyond my control
give it to me
soon the snakes will lash my nose
it will bleed
flow blood flow
more to come and then
I too will wither and die
writhing as one with snakes on my head
to gasp my last breath
the snakes won.

reality returns
my husband
my sons
my ones and onlys
each one unique, each one loved
the duet, then triangle, now square.
Is it conceivable to become a witch’s pentagon,
and with a pentagon of the witchy poo variety
isn’t anything possible

Breakdown, nervously approaching
cast a spell little one
cast it well
cast it into the sea we call life and
see if the sea will see the sea’s spell
a spell is nothing , a dream, a hope
a prayer to St Jude all useless
no one
nothing can change the inevitability in my impoverished life
the normality I call mine is not normal
it’s not fair , I cry a tear, a stream a river
I cry a entire ocean
but normal stays
and my first born will lose his sight
and what of him – his life will diminish
as day leaves into night as the light in his eyes fades

2008 2
Many years later, eleven to be precious
with ten months and two days for good luck
sight gone personality reigns forth
he is a figure of admiration
of inspiration and heart feeling good
running through town long cane at hand
thrusting through crowds with a sweep of white
red and gold Mohican blazing his independence
dare to offer him help and have your hand bitten

And myself, depression gone, poverty banished
battling some old wagon wars still part of my scene
jealousies of ordinary disappear proud of what he is
the triangle we always had, became the square and then
finally a pentagon, a pentacle, could a girl child be born
never, fate intervened only one bitch will rule this roost
democracy hypocrisy, materocracy
it’s direction that’s needed
a stern hand
a hard voice
a domineering female is known

people watching

Flowers at Barryscourt

My Gran's car

My gran was a very modern woman, living in Manchester suburbs and with no need of private transportation, she owned an Anglia. It is pale blue and to me as a child a fiery grin at it's front. It looks more like a fashion accessory than a car. She would drive into town observing all the rules of road but she just didn't get it in the same way I feel I do. If she wanted to change lanes she did the mirror signal manouevre thing but she ignored whatever she saw and moved anyway.


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My gran wa

Designs

The Quirks in Life 1

Community radio in rural ireland is big business, here is the flashy new office of 104fm, Carrigtwohill Radio

A group of soldiers from the great war and a coke bottle?

Romans were ahead of the rest of the world in architecture roads and science and here's the proof, they not only had the internal combustion engine down pat but invented the hiace van!

You need a place to put a bottle because your hand are full and then some pesky photographer takes a photo and makes it look silly

Statues can hunt mice too

A revolutionary, a pop art icon, Che Guevara one of my people I would've liked to meet, and look he is reduced to be thrown on the floor higgledy piggledy

Food on display at Barryscourt

There were stalls of food at Barryscourt. Some were very popular, the indian and the gourmet sausage company had a good day. Stallholders with the bog-usual struggled - one stall holder selling quarter pounders halved his prices at two o'clock. Other non food stall were slashing prices too, sideshows like gladiators and bullriding were only a euro. A selection of the food I saw at the festival