Category: Folksongs

The Queen of the Cockles

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black seashell beside beige stone
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The Queen of the Cockles

Fine scallops and oysters
For townlands and cloisters,
And cockles and mussels – alive, sirs, alive !
Come find one and pluck it
From out of my bucket –
It’s yours for a penny – or fourpence for five.

            Fresh from the beaches of fair Dublin Bay,
            Fresh from the sands where they thrive, oh !
            Fresh from the beaches, and fresh ev’ry day –
            Cockles and mussels alive, alive-oh !

There’s no need to scrimp it
With whelk or with limpet –
I’ll sell you no snails, sir – I’m clams through and through.
Don’t ask me for sprinkles
Of peries or winkles –
Why settle for one shell, when you can have two !

            Fresh from the wash of the fair Irish Sea,
            Plucked-out as soon they arrive, oh !
            Fresh from the sand to the boat to the quay –
            Cockles and mussels alive, alive-oh !

There’s some who dig beaches
For lugworms and leeches,
But they make a slimy and wrigglesome catch.
And scampi and crab, sir,
Will scamper and jab, sir –
But mine are like eggs that are waiting to hatch !

            Fresh from where seagulls love combing the sand,
            Fresh from where cormorants dive, oh !
            Fresh from Portmarnock and Dollymount Strand –
            Cockles and mussels alive, alive-oh !

So what do you say, sir,
To venus or razor ?
Just tease-out my beauties with jack-knife or steam.
They may hold a pearl, sir,
A feast for your girl, sir,
You’ll soon warm her cockles with cockles in cream !

            Fresh from the beaches of fair Dublin Bay,
            Fresh for your ladies and wives, oh !
            Fresh-in from Skerries and Claremont and Bray –
            Cockles and mussels alive, alive-oh !

This isn’t about Molly Malone, but one of her fellow-hawkers.  Though I do like to imagine Molly and Leo Bloom passing each other and stopping to share the craic.

Charge

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lightning in sky at night
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Charge

A lightning flash –
        one-thousand-and-one
Its photons dash
        one-thousand-and-two
Into my eyes
        one-thousand-and-three
Through rain-soaked skies.
        one-thousand-and-four
I wonder how far
        one-thousand-and-five
Those flashes are ?
        one-thousand-and-six
Been brewing all week,
        one-thousand-and-seven
This cleansing streak.
        one-thousand-and-eight
Hang on, have I missed it ?
        one-thousand-and-nine
Or is it too distant ?
        one-thousand-and-ten
I feel a bit cheated,
        one-thousand-eleven
The clap uncompleted –
        one-thousand-and-twelve
You can’t give us flashes
        one-thousand-and-thirteen
Without giving crashes…
        one-thousand-and-f……finally !

Sing a Song of Sixty

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Lyrebird
Lyrebirds by John Gould

Sing a Song of Sixty

Liar liar lyrebird, imitating ev’rything:
Ev’ry chord and ev’ry word – nothing roared and nothing slurred.
Never tire, lyrebird – add another to your role –
Ev’ry song you ever sang, you stole.

Liar liar lyrebird, add another to your role:
Ev’ry chord and ev’ry word – none ignored and none preferred.
Never tire, lyrebird, imitating ev’rything –
Ev’ry sound you ever heard, you sing.

Hymn of Mimicry

Mockingbirds mock,
And the mocking-hens flock –
But how do they know
It’s a mocking-cock’s show ?

Two for one – the second poem is from a former verse of the first which never really fitted, and then the first one was substantially altered and out if had to go.

Month of Fertility

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Prairial by Louis Lafitte, from the French Republican Calendar

Month of Fertility

From Penny Blacks to Let It Be,
The launch of the National Gallery,
The trial and death of Anne Boleyn,
And Celtic’s European win.
The English Commonwealth declared,
And Dracula has readers scared,
John Cabot and the Matthew sail,
Oscar Wilde and Reading Gaol.
The sudden Indian Mutiny,
The abolition of slavery,
Jenner finds the smallpox fix,
And the General Strike of ’26.
The Good Friday Accord endorsed,
Henry and Katherine get divorced,
Pagan rites and Labour Day:
All in the glorious month of May.

Behold the very height of spring,
When Simon de Montfort topples the king,
With Black Narcissus at the flicks,
And Big Ben’s clock begins its ticks.
Paint it Black is number one,
And City of Truro reaches the ton,
Joan of Arc gets burned alive,
And VE Day in ’45.
The restoration of Charlie Two,
Everest conquered, and what a view !
The first election where ev’ryone votes,
And rescue by the Dunkirk boats.
The Crown Jewels pinched while the Tower sleeps,
The final entry of Samuel Pepys,
The printing of Mrs Dalloway:
All in those thirty-one days of May.

I don’t think it would have been possible to even write this poem before Wikipedia !

ags: Po