Biography

Self expression in ways that I am not sure that count as 'poetry'

I enjoy using accents, English and other languages.

Mystically inclined; a hybrid betwixt the sacred and the profane.


I have longed for some time to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard to write stuff. I have done some public readings of things I have written and they have generally gone down well.

I intend to use the site to create and post some more stuff when I get chance; I am also enjoying reading other people's work.

Cheers.



Iain

Samples

From my Elements series...


AIR



It started in Ayr. Puzzled looks, raunchy books; bitter words, smelly turds; jolly dances, wild prances; hard cock, nasty shock; silly fool; nae cool; brief smile, wanton wile; big laugh, Ma's Caff; whirlwind, tamarind; Bling, sing; Fang, hang; Fag Hag. It ended in Shire.

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EVIL WEEVILS


Evil weevils
feeding in my flour.
Evil weevils
breeding by the hour.
Evil weevils
plotting in the packet.
Evil weevils
rotting in my jacket.

Evil weevils
yelling out that word.
Evil weevils
telling that I’m scared.
Evil weevils
listing all my wrongs.
Evil weevils
laughing at my songs.

Evil weevils
crawling on my skin.
Evil weevils
mauling with the bin.
Evil weevils
grinning with delight.
Evil weevils
never out of sight.



Iain Uilleam MacEanruig
8pm, Tuesday 16th February 2010.


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All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Last blog entry

Awash with Friday-eve-of-week's-annual-leave-ness.

Posted on Friday 26th February 2010 7:04 am

"It's hard to be a man when there's a gun in your hand" - You've got a point, dear Tears For Fears in your marvellous song of the 80's.

Dear reader, this does not mean I am about to run amok like Herr Whatshisname in the somewhat chilling film by Rainer Fassbinder or behave like a troubled teenager creating havoc and despair and a bloody massacre in  some midwestern school brandishing arms - that's not meant to be amusing incidentally; 'tis grim.

Perhaps I'd do well to quote something from David Soul's "Don't Give Up On Us, Baby" instead.  However, when our blond-haired and blue-eyed 70's action hero cop wasn't singing gentle ditties, he was busy down the boozer and then being more than a nasty piece of work to his beloved - no wonder she gave up on him.

Ah well, time to perform my ablutions, marvel at the wonder and the madness of this planet, whizzing around the glowing yellow orb and fire off to work.

See you

Previous: TGIF

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