“It’s the wrath of God!” cackled wiry old Mrs Deacy with a smack of her stiff walking stick on the linoleum. “Settle down please, Mrs Deacy,” said Frank McDonagh. “It’s the same spring tide as every year, just coincident with a severe low pressure weather system.” Mrs Deacy persisted. “It’s the Good Lord’s way of…
My hands shook. I couldn’t stop them. The magazine slipped from my fingers. I squatted and searched for it in the mud. Rain pinged off my helmet. Sporadic volleys of gunfire zinged through the greasy drops. We were supposed to be winging it through the bullets to take back the hill. It wasn’t going well.…
Do not forget me when the door clicks shut Let me linger and fidget as a breeze I would prefer to persist Like the smell of toast or coffee or Febreeze And my foregone exit resist The lake at its bloated winter zenith Broad boatless surface burying slowly in its creep The low jutting piers,…
Wrote this a few weeks ago and wanted to record a demo over the Christmas. On the last day of the year I managed to record a very basic version that I can work from. Chords: C#m A (5th) E and C#m B E Bit samey, may need a bridge and some variety Demo:http://donalkelly.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/seeTheLight.mp3 Lyrics…
After washing my hands with warm water I squirt disinfectant gel on them from the plastic dispenser that hangs on the wall, and stand looking in the mirror while I rub them dry. Looking older? Surely, but it’s so hard to notice, day by day changes, cell by dying cell. Show me a photograph of…
It’s a windy, dark, mid December morning, and I’m watching the rain pelt down along shop street. From the barely-there shelter of the cafe I annoy passers-by with my camera. But I like the atmosphere of the Sunday morning downpour, and there are few enough people to actually see them as they pass by. The…
When the branch of the beech tree broke Morris fell down in a heap next to the trunk. He lay there and stared at the sky. “Stupid branch!” he cursed upwards. The tree was unmoved, its leaves shivering in the early autumn afternoon. Morris struck its mottled trunk with a lunging kick. The rugged bark…
Come on over. Could be a good song in their somewhere. I like some of the lyrics and how they gel together. But maybe chords are too samey, the structure lacks progressions, and the opening verse is too vague? is it about motivation? trying to get out of inertia, reach for a meaningful life… the…
I’ve been listening to Bring It All Back Home. Had I a better voice, better guitar skills, the smallest echo of lyrical ability, or a pronity to happy accidents, this might be said to be influenced. http://donalkelly.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/SearchForACure.mp3 Chords are very simple… A D C Blues 12 bar with interlewdeling bits. Lyrics. Mouthfuls and mouthfuls or…
Some shots taken in and around Baurisheen.
Burgundy. Cabernet Sauvignon. Merlot. White, red, rosa, bubbly. Brian bought 500 grams of dry fusilli pasta in Dunness Stores before going to the Dole Office to sign on. He should have gone earlier; it was overflowing when he got to the doors. Now he was back outside looking at a display of wines through a…
Jamie works in one of those offices down on Abbey Street. It’s a call centre or something: the European office of some American tech company. Anyway he’s been there over a year now. Most of his gang are in Australia, though Tommy O’ Rourke is home next month. I’ve been living with him since he…
Richard Sadler stayed perfectly still as drops of sweat began to form on his forehead and trickle down his long nose and lean cheeks. It was already mid afternoon. Completely enveloped in a dense thicket, He was invisible from beyond a metre, darkly camouflaged clothes blending into the sprawl of summer overgrowth, stock of the…
An Arts Festival during ‘The heatwave of 2013’- a few unique weeks of rare sunshine. This is how the rest of the world knows summer. July 19th, 2013.
Joyce sat on the wall looking over the road at the lake. Small quick waves lapped against the stony shore. “Nothing ever happens here”. Ray stopped sharpening the stick and stuck it experimentally into the ground. “Not my fault.” “Never said it was.” “Yeah, well you have to cut the lawn today.” “You do it!”…
–Photos of Inchagoill and Lough Corrib— After the long winter and slow-rising spring the green explosion finally happened. The mayfly season on Lough Corrib rolled around again. Birds and fish feast on the short lived flies as they rise to the surface en masse. They are easy pickings, their defence lies in being so numerous…
Mute swans, Cygnus olor, are a common sight on Lough Corrib. Cygnets are rarer, but this couple have a healthy flock of five following bundles of grey. They chirp as they trail after their parents, darting after anything edible and squabbling. The hen is cautious, hanging back while the more confident cob approaches, signalling safe…
After two days of heavy rain the Owenriff river is flowing at full throttle. The waterfall that marks the northern boundary of Oughterard is a roaring torrent.
Showery, bright in between. Meeting people that you know randomly on the street. Walking an hour from a broken down car to a locked office. Wandering around doing errands.