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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media
The Scum Gentry New Poetry Magazine, dark poems and poetry online.

Among Savages - poem by Kevin Higgins

I’m secretly posh and I’m protestant
and no one believes the accent I got
off a man in Stoneybatter is real.

My dad earned the Krugerrands,
with which I paid for this house,
flogging rockets to
good-old-days South Africa.
My given name, Giles Amery the Eighth,
sounds great when you say it in Gaelic.

Each night I arrive at some party
to which I wasn’t invited,
carrying half a banjo
and sing songs made up of
things Brendan Behan
never actually said.

A small unsalted tear tumbles into
my half pint of alcohol-free Guinness,
every time I think of the boys from the estate
beyond the two big fields
behind the high, high wall we built
to keep them out;

how afraid I still am
they’ll one day
hold me down and make me talk
posh and protestant,
because even when it’s accompanied
with the bit of a beard I borrowed
from Ronnie Drew,

they know the accent I got
off that man in Stoneybatter
isn’t mine to speak.

Kevin Higgins’s Song of Songs 2:0 - New and Selected Poems will be published by Salmon Poetry in April. His poems have been quoted in The Daily Telegraph, The Times (UK), The Independent, and The Daily Mirror. The Stinging Fly magazine recently described Kevin as “likely the most read living poet in Ireland.”

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Erotic Blackout - Erasure Art, Blackout Poetry by Vanessa de Largie

Erotic Blackout: Flower - Erasure Art Blackout Poetry  - by Vanessa de Largie


Erotic Blackout: Suck Cock - Erasure Art Blackout Poetry  - by Vanessa de Largie

“Suck Cock”

Erotic Blackout: Top Hat - Erasure Art Blackout Poetry  - by Vanessa de Largie

“Top Hat”

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The Hat - poem by Daniel Galvin

She keeps coming back to me, this yoke—
Erin O’Brien put her in the Corrib
with a half-bottle of cider in ’99.

She said she didn’t drink cider
not to mind share it
and she wouldn’t take her jumper off either.

Maybe a fortnight after that
Jack Dalton was leaving The Goalpost
when he whipped her out of his pocket—
it’d came in through his letter box, would you believe.

I swapped her for a bottle of Teacher’s in Athlone
the time of the World Cup in ’02.
Some truck driver, late for work
said she’d go lovely with his dying brother’s jacket.

Went back to Ellen Coleman’s
for the ride Easter Sunday—
you know Ellen’s place
up Bridge Road where Cobra Kev use’t live
God rest his soul—

back to Ellen’s for the scrape
and she was up on the rack in the hall
cleaner than I’d ever seen her.
Ellen got her for Christmas
said she’d rather not say from who—
she was taking off her jumper at that stage, anyway.

I lost it again after that.
Took a bad hiding off the Kylie brothers
Kinsale, the Friday of the Sevens last year.
Kieran took the hat, the cunt
and Seanie took my shoes.
I reckoned that would be the end of it.

Well, I went out to a play last night with Aisling Walsh
(Aisling’d be mad for the plays)
and some mincer had it on him up on stage,
tipped to the side like a ponce.

Had to stop the whole show.
Lost Aisling but I got my cap
you can be sure of that, boyeen.

But I started thinking then.
I was thinking the whole way home.
And d’ya know what I did when I got back?
D’ya know what I did when I got back last night?
I went out to Salthill
caught ahold a stone
a big blue fucker, only in off the tide
put it into the cap
tied her up with a bit of twine
and fucked her straight into the sea.

We’ll see how fast she gets back to me this time.
We’ll see how long it takes her now.

Daniel Galvin is a 22 year old writer from Co. Cork who lives in Galway. He has had his writing published in Hidden Channel Zine and is currently working towards his first poetry collection. He studies Writing at NUI Galway where his focus is on poetry.

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