I promise

I promise

I will always act in what I consider to be your best interest

I will keep my promises to you

I will respect confidences you place in me

I will speak positively about you to others

I will strive not to embarrass you in public

I will alert you or seek your permission before publishing something about you

I’ll go on promising until the day after I die.

I promise I’ll be without promise from that day on.

You see I was once promising:

I had a promising future my mother said

About Paul O’Mahony @omaniblog

This is where I’ll put a short personal introduction  

ChangeAgents - The 2nd Year
My right hand
– which my daughter Grace might like to read in 20 years.

What should I say?

On Periscope  (bio):

I scope very often. Engage with humans. Playful, Poet, Storyteller, Friendly, Foodie, Gentle, Generous – Podcaster – Copywriter – http://www.paulhomahony.com  

On Twitter (bio)

Business storytelling consultant – Podcaster – Poet – Servant – On @Periscopeco – Foodie – naturally ambitious + love to share my contacts.

In Which I Learn Why There Are No Great Women Composers

This is a “Guest Post”. I simply found it & decided to share it here because I found the controversy educating me. (That doesn’t mean I agree with views expressed by the author.)

I didn’t seek permission to re-publish. Trust “song of the lark” owner won’t object.

_________________

Lots of people have hobbies like knitting, jogging, or stamp collecting. Because I am the nerdiest nerd to ever nerd, the closest thing I have to a hobby is learning about the history of women in music. It’s a topic that doesn’t get as much press as the old chestnuts like “classical music is dying” or “Stradivari’s secret […]

http://songofthelarkblog.com/2015/09/16/in-which-i-learn-why-there-are-no-great-women-composers/

Scott Torrance in Cork 

  

Originally,
we met thanks to people on Periscope – the live streaming App.  

Scott was sitting on Dublin grass in the Phoenix Park. Drawing the obelix from Egypt that celebrates the military victories of Wellington.

I kept my eye on him.  Every mark he made on paper – every single line. He was too good to ignore, too attractive.

Scott shuffled himself comfortable under the shade of a tree that might have been planted specially for him. 

I heard him offer his drawing to anyone who wanted it. Anyone tuned in live to his “scope”.

The polite thing would have been to wait. 

I said to myself in Cork:

 “Me me me – I want that drawing – it’ll never happen again, boy”

So I whispered – in my loudest internet voice 

“I’ll have it please. May I have it?”

The rest is history… 

(Buy the authorised biography of Scott from Scotland, when it’s published. 45% reduction on published price – only through this site) 

Who wrote this limerick? 

I found it in the Notes App on my iPhone – from 2013. Doubt I wrote it – I like it too much.

_________________
There once was the classic mother-in-law

Who considered she hadn’t a flaw

She knew all the answers

Crosswords and chancers

Until she found she had snot in her jaw

Wanting more 

 

I’ve always been found 

wanting more than a woodpecker carves 

into the last tree 

in the last forest,

wanting more 

than my mother’s ever offered,

– even more than father bestowed 

on one of his good days. 

I was born wanting more time for love. 

I’ve grown hungrier by the day, 

thirstier by night, 

always grasping for clean air. 

There’s never been a father more loved,

ever since letters of infinity 

were strung together 

on a necklace 

that shines with promise

and gradually shrinks 

until it chokes 

the living daylight out of me. 

I’ve always wanted to beg. 

Like most beggers,  

my voice has been feeble 

– barely enough courage 

to pay the price father demanded. 

I’ve always been found 

wanting to trust more.

I’m used to starving. 

Bless me Father, 

for I have sinned 

on a daily basis. 

let me do penance 

– only let me have time to pay. 

Poem by Paul O’Mahony: “Life-saving anthem: I stand against the crowd

I stand

against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

I am an individual

Odd

Different

Singular

Misfit

Awkward in my comfort

Edgy in my skin

Alive in my own little way

I live my say

I give the best shot I can

Every day.

I stand against the crowd

of wasters who fritter

their life away their way.

I waste my life my way

I fritter my days into

the oblivion I fashion

every step I say.

Because I am who am

Me

Condemned to be myself

I stand out from the crowd

comfortable in my discomforting way

that comes from every pore

every sore

every score of my expressions.

It’s my art

The heart of my song

The liver that cleans my spleen

seen in all my glory every time

I stand against the crowd

Each and every difference

Friction

Grating

Unconforming

Uncomplying

Understandable me.

See that fella

hovering on the edge

the one who isn’t fitting in

the one with the shifty eyes

the glint of his own

You can smell that he’s

An outsider

A weirdo

An awkward one

An individual

Heart

A body of imagining

Power

Wealth

Stealth

Scheming to survive

The crowd

The collective view

The “what we all think”

Thinkers.

I stand against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

Away from the crowd

Proud of my own way

Fiddling the melody

Composed of notes

I’ve assembled from the crowd

Playing the game I’ve invented

The rules I’ve annunciated

Predicated on the shoulders

of giants who have fallen

in battle

Against the crowd

Castigated on shoulders

Of heroes that have died

For the cause of being

Themselves.

I reject the way of the crowd

Every time my heart pumps

Blood from the flat of my soul

To the peak of my imagination.

Consternation

I will cause

Conflagration to

instigation of the self

Opinionated

Author of my fate

Creator of my faith

Born to be wild

Not filed away in a box

I defy

I stand against the crowd

That would

Categorise me

Classify me

Entomb me in place

where they could ignore me

where they could make me safe

from causing a splash

from making a difference

from changing

The course of history

The dreams of others

The Universe.

For such a cause

I stand against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

to welcome you

Fellow traveller

Fellow awkward person

Follower battler

For your way.

For your way is my way too

Your way is yours

My way is mine

Our way stands out from the crowd

We stand against the crowd.

We stand up for ourselves

We stand who stand.

Against the crowd

Unto death.
_________________________

Notes:

2014 was a year…

it was a year that asked to be

buried

or burned on a pyre 

constructed from the shyte

that held my year together.

Or was it …?

Surely there was more to it than that?

Surely there was a before and an after?

Before was wintertime.

Before was the joy of the city of big shoulders,

the invitation to excitement desired,

hope retained,

an event looked forward to.

There was a new year

full of hope

a future to celebrate with Revolution.

There was a period of time

when I prospered.

The joys of March.

Days when my lover’s offer 

came to Cork

were an unmitigated blessing

– before that offer was too much.

All those early days,

all those days before the French holiday,

before the paintbrush 

wiped away the smile from my face 

– I sat by a stream.

I imagined the whispering flow

of water over stone.

I imagined paint on canvas

and fell down in the field

during the drama of women

confronting the god.

Oh how terrible that field,

how awful

until 

months later.

Bless Netflix, bless Breaking Bad.

You were so wonderful.

Where would I have been without …
______________________

Composed on 31 December 2014

“To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the measureless light” – Walt Whitman “Song of the Banner at daybreak”

Tis time for daisy-chains and dandelions,

the thrush with gangly legs has gone to wind,

hostas, risen, pushed aside the shale,

and clover back to torment dreams of lawn.

There’s a cherry blossom behind my back,

the baby oak’s grown leaves on time

………………… in rowan and hawthorn writ

with showers for ink, lavender for paint.

The black dog tastes an apple core,

licks the fly and sucks for more.

The black dog’s in the grass,

…………… paws, panting fast.

She sleeps below the windline stretched,

out of senses, out of mind,

no rush to untangle the rest of the deep.

The black dog’s dead. The black dog’s dead.

The daisy chains are broken,

the dandelion’s divine.

There’s a place we know as light.

There’s a home we know is right.

_____________________

Unfinished:  you see the bits that I’m sleeping on. Waiting to approach this fresh.

The two poets who give me quotes these days are Walt Whitman (1819-92) & Mary Oliver (1935 -).

10 reasons to love @ClaireWad

1.  We all love travel

2.  We all love Paris & the idea of Paris

3. We love women who listen & attend

4.  We love to be educated

5.  We love to experience another person’s style

6.  We love stories of a day in the life

7.  We love someone being a bit riske

8.  We love people who are generous towards others

9.  We love daybreak & sunset

10. We love people who are reliable

______________________________________

Claire Waddington live streams from Paris on Periscope – every day. Her Twitter name is @clairewad. Right now she is visiting her dad in New Zealand

The background poets in the English Market

It would be easy to miss the poets

in the Farmgate Cafe

encased behind glass

as you sip espressoed coffee

on a Saturday afternoon

in the English Market.

Poems slip by without fuss,

prefer to let you pass

until you’re ready to listen

to your breathing heart

– the minute they sense you ache

for a set of fingernails

with which to grip on to fragile life

ticking like a fading metronome.

Poems are used to coffee drinkers

who turn their backs on them.

Poems become taken forgranted

even when handwritten and hung.

Poets never have the last laugh.

Ink fades gradually away.

I wonder whether the spirits stay

hidden among fushia encased in a water jug.
____________________

This was composed in the English Market Farmgate Cafe in Cork Ireland in May 2015

The Walt Whitman Show – on Periscope – on Katch.me

Click on this link please – it leads to “The Walt Whitman Show (14 September)

Warning: it’ll take a minute to load up.

http://katch.me/embed/v/5b71d1a1-7f30-34c5-804c-6e5956882bbe

_______________________

I submit for your consideration:

  • Walt Whitman (1819-92) is the greatest of the American poets.
  • On Periscope you can meet wonderful, interesting & connecting people.
  • Katch.me is the way to save “scopes”.
    (You can save video from Persicopes on You Tube & Vimeo – but not the interaction you have with people during scopes.)