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

The Tale of the Suitors – From The Oddity - poem by Peter O'Neill


Is not the tale of the suitors nothing less
Than a story about a bunch of useless
would be motherfuckers,
The kind and type of being that we have all met
And known. Those wastrels who have no
Sense of self respect, not for themselves nor
For their own kith and kin, and so who would,
By such baseless birth and zero character,
Poison the very idea of hospitality,
And who would, rather than sweeten an
Hour with labour to earn their means,
Camp out in the grounds of another man
To squander his hard-earned earnings,
Eating and drinking his wife and son from house and home?


In an utterly futile attempt to lord it over both of them
Through their speech and rude posturing,
Egging each other along, as is the case with
All morons, aping and outdoing one another.

Oops, there goes another useless motha-fuka!
Parading around in Dicey O’Reilly’s domain.
Did you see the state of that SUV parked out front?
More chrome and polished silver than in a pimp

And whore’s bargain designer wear.
Nothing of much worth glitters so in thee my son,
So kindly refrain from even addressing me, or my family.

For shame, you crime out aloud by merely breathing!
Though in truth what should I expect from you,
You who have no parental figures, nor government, to look to.

Peter O’Neill is the author of several books, most recently More Micks Than Dicks, a hybrid Beckettian novella in 3 genres currently out of print, and The Dublin Trilogy: Poems & Transversions 1992-2017, a singular engagement with a 19th century French Master; launched in Paris in November last year to commemorate the 150th anniversary of Baudelaire’s death. He recently presented je la dis comme elle vient- The Appearance of the Homeric Muse in Beckett’s Comment c’est/How It Is at the How It Is Symposium organised by Gare Saint Lazare Players Ireland at the Centre Culturel Irlandais in Paris. He teaches EFL and resides in Dublin. His writing (be it poetry, translation, critical reviews or academic presentation) has been published widely, being translated into French, Italian and German. O’Neill has also edited two anthologies of poetry; And Agamemnon Dead ( mgv2>publishing, 2015) and The Gladstone Readings ( Famous Seamus, 2017). He set up Donkey Shots, an avant-garde literary festival, in his hometown of Skerries, North County Dublin, and currently hosts The Gladstone Readings.



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Chastity Belt - poem by Luiza Furtado

I wear a chastity belt
I know I’m going to hell
I locked it up myself
And threw the key into that well.

I’ll save men from my shame
Whilst hiding my contagious passion
No one deserves to taste
Decaying flesh as ration.

The line below the waste
Is dangerous
Any men who enter these woods
Would have to be courageous.

The triangle door is protected
By small red leprechaun guards
Men come to then be ejected
From this land of blood and scabs.

The queen of rotten roars:
Nobody comes to the wetlands!
Her lips are lethal and gore
The venom spills from her glands.

Luiza, died Brazilian – born again Irish Poet. Writes dark poetry, confessional poetry and feminist poetry.


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The Crowning of the Prophet Una - poem by Kevin Higgins

A PR disaster coupled with an angry public and small local protests are distracting from the topic of water security.” – Una Mullally, Why We Should Pay for Water, Irish Times, May 12th, 2014.

Media appears unable to interpret political movements formed outside traditional party structures.” – Una Mullally, Why are Irish journalists again missing a movement?, Irish Times, Aprll 16th, 2018

Her weekly commandments we caw in unison
from our twin mountaintops: Twitbark and Facepalm.

She’s this millennium’s equivalent of an old-style Archbishop
and we’d happily wrestle for the privilege

of placing, with our trembly fingers
a diamond studded mitre

on her frail skull. It’s said
to renew her cred

each week she has a black woman
or a gypsy for dinner—as a guest

and not as part of the meal
as most of her journalistic colleagues

prefer. When her predictions come true
we run through the streets screaming

our big watery eyed yes!
Carve her words in glorifying marble

until our pale clappers bleed like Padre Pio’s.
When they turn out to be what rhymes with

farce, we dutifully delete them from our heads
and, where we can, the heads of others

making liberal use of the purifying hacksaw we get free
with Monday’s Times; keep our minds pristine

as a scrap of paper with print on it so small
only busybody cranks and half dead Bolsheviks

with issues feel the need to read it.
For every word the Prophet Una types is lickable

as the projectile vomit that must
burst forth from a mouth that lives

on cough bottles and artificial sweetener
which she allegedly eats with a shovel.

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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