The people who have ideas

The people who have ideas
breathe, touch, imagine the best,
the same way eagles fly 
on air blown in streams that flow
over waterfalls, whirlpools, lakes – 
into backwaters,
into oceans.

The IDEAS I met
in the home The Quiet Man built
(alongside the Cross of Cong)
have all come
clad with strings and baggage,
stubble and eau de cologne
from Jo Malone.

A few carried by musical instruments,
some with a stoop,
the odd one with a straight back,
semiconductors
looking for company
Congregation,
and the like.

Ideas encased in characters:
Rewilding man
Heart with a fear of trusting others
Ireland’s first flow consultant
Multi-tasking woman
(who brushed her teeth
and spat into her handbag)

HUDDLING
against the safety of closed paradigms
and spent minds

MINING
for alchemy
and epiphany

TAKEAWAY:
If it’s icy cold,
pee in your pants –
it’ll soon dry out
and keep you warm.

A splash of IDEATION on the road …
near the Hungry Monk.

Heretics listed:
Bureaucracy works
War eliminates fear 
Doing the shagging thing
Stop travelling
Make something useless

The green soup for lunch
began life as an idea
in the mind of a vegetable
(Civil Rights for Vegetables)
before you eat words for ingredients.

THIS YEAR 
the best interruptions were ideas
that would not keep 
behind the Hedge
Desperados
Camerados.




I have no idea

I have no idea
(a poem for CongRegation)

I’ve never given birth to an idea that floated
the wine I’ve drunk, the women I’ve loved,

all permeable membranes that leaked
all blocked arteries 

like clods of hair in a drain.
I’ve had multiple births from embryos implanted

like seeds, into my imagination.
I’m big into cultivation, gestation, articulation

and eradication.
There’s an earthworm casting in my brain.

I’m here to sing a song that longs for Cong.
You can’t go wrong among the throng 

where you belong
with your ideas on yellow leads and purple cows.