There is something strange about our Poetry Editor, Mr Ira Maine esq.
He forwarded this week’s offering with this missive attached.
Should you reject this priceless trifle
If you don’t acknowledge that you’ve got ’em
I’ll boot you both right up the bottom!
I’ll raise my gun in the middle of the night
And shoot you both with balls of shite!
If I find this danger you’ve both ducked,
I’ll retire to me bed, and you can all get fucked.
(signed) CURT
Irishman Frank OConnor, in the twentieth century, was a hugely well regarded writer of both short stories, novels and poetry. He was a fluent Gaelic speaker and was also quite capable of rendering his work into his native language. Here for instance is an example of his poetic work which he has kindly translated back into English so we might all be allowed savour the delicacy and subtle refinement of his thoughts.
The poem is entitled; No Names.
There’s a girl in these parts-
A remarkable thing!
But the force of her farts
Is like stones from a sling.
END
Well, not quite ‘cos here’s yet another trifle but not of the great OConnor. Instead we have an anon epitaph from Essex in England which reads thus;
Here lies the man Richard
And Mary his wife
Whose surname was Prichard
They lived without strife.
And the reason was plain,
They abounded in riches
They had no care or pain
And his wife wore the britches!
END
And then, just to round it out we have;
THE HUSBAND’S EPITAPH
As I am now so you must be
Therefore prepare to follow me.
THE WIFE’S EPITAPH
To follow you I’m not content.
How do I know which way you went?
END
Good girl, I say! Well reasoned too!
You might wind up right in the pooh!
THIS REALLY IS THE END NOW.
[Let us know if ‘Priceless’ is the appropriate description of this piece. Ed.]