my song of flatbush, st paddys, the living and the dead

ha luckys

smoked em, luckys for the longest time

that taste of spice and pepper

like the men back then

swore em off a long time ago

you ask me why I tell ya

they’re too easy to get to wanting

like potato chips and

satin drawers soft on the skin

til one day you wake up fat and raw


loved a few of the irish 

you might say they was my specialty

was they lucky?

maybe it was us that was lucky maybe

me in spite of the knocks

but I dished em out too

there was one st pats we ended up sitting on some poor kids hand in the back of the car

she was sittin too close to us anyways

drunker than alla us she was

said we broke her finger in the back of bobby joyces car

drivin from o’briens (a bucket of blood 

if they ever was) to gilmores to moriaritys and back, round and round

til bobby passed out at the light on the corner of newkirk

his car stinkin of puke and then bobbys wife starts screamin at

the top a her lungs pounding on him to wake up an drive

we snuck outta the back an ran off laughing crazy

never stopped till we shoulda stopped an hour before

they said I was a piece of work in my day

always sang did a jig st paddys every year

even now some still love my voice and 

the roundness a my ass and it's quiver under the hand

the way I kept up with the best and

didn’t stop till last call lights out

i tell ya irishmen are easy beauties, tall broad

that soft skin fair as the first

when air is cool and freshly passing

tan freckles on pale silk hard

smart eyes lookin so warm even now I just gotta smile

two three 

one I married 

would lift me over his head for the sheer animal joy of his strength our lust and the taste of sweat salty clams on the half shell iced reingold on rockaway beach under skies a fevered blue

us so hot me running hands up his chest over his arms through the soft sweet curl of his hair

crawling into one another hangin on for dear life

not here he’d say but it was me I wanted it 

he could charm the pants offa pope

sure charmed the pants offa me

lucky charms 

lucky as my luckies

it left a taste in me it did


I'm blog whoring today.  did a bit of editing.  almost there. but I think maybe it'll never be there. the going is what it's about anyway.  

Views: 158

Comment by Foolish Monkey on March 15, 2017 at 11:46am

I wrote this about six years ago.  it's been published.  how's that!  anyway, I was going over some of my poetry and this one needed editing.  all my stuff needs editing.  that's because nothing's ever done so I cleaned it up and it's all shiny new.  

Comment by JMac1949 Today on March 15, 2017 at 11:51am


Comment by marilyn sands on March 15, 2017 at 12:08pm

Congrats on the publishing.  How "Lucky" you are.  R&L

Comment by Foolish Monkey on March 15, 2017 at 12:10pm

yeah, that was nice.  but no pay.   

Comment by Rosigami on March 15, 2017 at 1:15pm

Oh, Monkey, this was a delight! 
It was so much fun to find a way through your words.

I knew an Irish fella or two myself. Handsome, with dark curly hair and the bluest eyes. (I loved a freckled redhead, too.) That was a loonnngggg time ago. You brought back some lovely memories, and made me miss the taste of the Camels I loved as well, back then. Who needed filters? I had hardly any, back then.

Glad to hear you're a published poet! Such a talented, creative person in so many ways.  

Comment by Foolish Monkey on March 15, 2017 at 1:30pm

aw thanks rosie.  I belonged to a poets workshop in ct and some of us were published in a poetry society annual.  it was ridiculously exciting.  except when it finally arrived here there were typos. we didn't see any galleys...this IS poetry.  there are no galleys to approve.  plus I wrote it on a deadline, so there were errors I made, and what's in the published book is very frustrating to read.  (it's actually an SC addendum because the book ran over page wise)  I dont' think I'd do poetry like that again...I liked belonging to a group - it was just that competitive thing that I didn't care for but will come out...can't be helped with creative people.  

it's good to be doing something creative - even if it's tidying up old stuff.  I'm still too sore to sit and paint.  

Comment by catch-22 on March 15, 2017 at 3:17pm

Luck and animal lust and wild youth, rough and tumble

spinning the globe for the shy among us

thank god


Comment by Drew-Silla on March 15, 2017 at 3:46pm

This is nice, though I usually prefer poetry with a more Stygian tone to it. The Irish though; Oh Danny Boy, the flies, the flies are crawling and all that, I suppose. Which, admittedly, is fairly dark when you think about it, and never mind the millions of ridiculously non-Irish green beer enthusiasts who get drunk and start caterwauling that tripe at some over-priced suburban fern bar called O'Malley's Ring of Kerry Gaelic Pub even though they wouldn't know what a bog was if one migrated up their ass and died.

Comment by Foolish Monkey on March 15, 2017 at 5:12pm

catch, yes!  it was a crazy fun grand goddamned time and I was lucky I lived it when it was. today, kids want to fuck, they fuck.  kids want to get high, they don't go to bars and hang out with old people and learn a righteous jig and learn about what the old country was like.  the fun has gone out of the being and the thinking.   thank you for stopping by.  it's very good to see you.  :)

Comment by Foolish Monkey on March 15, 2017 at 5:20pm

Drew-Silla, I remember danny boy and I think there were probably some drunk enough to be wailing about the flies, because for all the light and laughter the irish have a magnificent pit of darkness.  god I'm living in the heart of it again and it's everywhere - you can see it in the eyes.  green beer is for college boobs, but the caterwauling, when done correctly especially when it comes from someone who's lived a little is something else again and even sing along with but you have to have the heart for it.  


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