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cbyrne

Biography

email: cwjbyrne at aol (dot) com

managed to delete old profile. doh! had 5k views...

I've been interested in hip hop / rap & poetry since i was young, having won a small prize in a local poetry competition whilst at secondary school. Thanks to my English teacher Mrs Carol Rogers (her married name at the time). She kept me on my toes in my English studies (the resting on my laurel started early) and suggested a persona that covers a multitude of sins (among other things) & might come in handy in later life ...

Poetry published here and there inc. Journal of Nietzsche Studies.

Still learning about poetry and song. Influenced by Nietzsche, myth, religion, astrology, Yeats, Graves, Betjeman, Coward, Rilke, Joseph Campbell, too many rappers such as Ice T, KRS 1, Chuck D, Run DMC etc.

Reviews of the author of these poems:

“… a spoiled little mama's boy from Southern England.”
- Jim Anderson, achristmaspast.blogspot.com .

sounds inc poems put to music: https://soundcloud.com/postconcussionsyndrome/sets/mixtape

work: http://www.linkedin.com/in/emarketinguk

Samples

Summertime (and the leaving is easy) aka PTSDVSNPD

The air is grey with barbecue fuel, choking the drivers on the roads
Kerosene chicken drummer surprise
Cruel summer Bacardi breezes
People running from the North

The overworked air conditioning on the shopping centre sounds like an air raid siren
No-one heeds the warning
CCTV cameras turn the other way
And don't cross the road

92 degrees fahrenheit at the death of an errant night in town
Ice cold blooded demon rising from the melting tarmac, walking on boiling fire water
Drinking the lightning and the beck's fear; hot under the shirt and burning slow.
Soon lit tempers flare as time flutters by

You shall surely see shell shock waves from a fist on these streets
Skipping blind drunk on cool summer rain sucker punch from 'the scum of the earth'
Thundering in by the 'abominable desert heath'
We're all looking for an oasis tribute band

While Freyja and the valkyries sit on a nearby hill
Too sensible to venture into this town on this night
A byrnie wasn't drenched in blood
Just bells ringing in his ears

Soles maybe made with rubber from Songkhla connected to the earth
A handy RBC railing - some Judo knows how to stand
And much head banging in my younger years
Maybe prevent some stamp collecting in the bloody way

By the black gunpowder tree shot
People who should live in glass houses throwing fists so
Miffed, you bolt towards the darker edgelands
A hero isn't supposed to try and save a distressed dragon

Picking up the paper 4 years later
Under the clocktower
Former soldier dies in taxi rank brawl in Rugby
Did karma show itself again?

Place De L'Eglise

I will leave you worn down
Like a sculpture just finished off
Like a ruin standing in a sandstorm
Like a persistent and hacking cough

I will leave you shining
Like diamonds in a jeweller’s shop
Like a nice and healthy suntan
Like a new metal spinning top

I will leave you broken
Like a chick’s egg that's just hatched
Like a window smashed by a vandal
Like a chain that’s become unattached

I will leave you laughing
Like a person who chooses to laugh
Like a hyena that’s got the giggles
Like a baby enjoying a bath

I will leave you dancing
Like a new born lamb in Spring
Like a prisoner on his release
Like Ali in the boxing ring

I will leave you gasping
Like a pepper spray attack
Like a fish that’s out of water
Like a panic attack on crack

I will leave you in silence
Like the last mourner at a grave
Like the desert in the midday sun
Like a distant goodbye wave









Dream Coat of Arms

As I cycle up these rough hills in the shower of death
Seeing a devil, games of war and ravens
"Virtus Sola Nobilitas" was not for Chickens of Mars
Skalding cold black water
Heralding a time flowing back into the Blackwaters
Hunting for an important ancestor
This time along Dad's line
Armed only with an ego
A bag of rubbish
And a fly in the nose of Arthur Wellesley
The rain drops on the canvas outside
Sounding like the machine guns over the common
"Hoarsemen" dancing to their own "apolkaloops"
All too common as old Miss spelling out the
Curses of Rathlin and elsewhere
Or just bad luck of the Anglo-Irish
His trees hidden and his land
Ghosts of a Norn iron Gest
Eggy, bred under Norman yolks?
Soldiers, 'holy men', writers and politicians
Sir names, Northmen and nurses
Bearded ladies and faeries
All is full of love and war
Froyled again on Friday
Lil' Lord 'Bad' Macbreth
Just trying to live like a Rake of Mallow
Was the (Protestant) "man from the big house who had a relationship with a servant,
then was cast out of his family" anything more than a story?
No Sancho, no Rozinante
No nights of the bath or garter to speak of recently
No evidence for anarchaic ignoble heritage
Examined with a large post-concussed free lance forehead
Conducting genetic research
Gazing hungover into a switched off computer screen
Another possible clue staring me in the face
While an army helicopter roars above
Family, stories, myths and misreadings of the
Nothing that is known of her story before marriage
Gets a bit Irish misty c.1820
But a lot of history is learnt
Whiteboys and imperial standards
Armada with a Drake then the cold meat train home
Guesswork and onomastics
A peasant visitor sitting in my folly on open day in Sussex
Falling through a corrugated iron roof onto a shrine to my ancestors
Total reikall? Barking; and up the wrong branch of the family tree?
Or just a Shire Berk's peer into the past ages?




Orphic Mystery

"... poets lie too much ..." - Friedrich Nietzsche 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra'.

Little read blood spilling
Salty pipe cleaner soup
Like a myth
Can't get my story straight
Or my act together
Not even a reliable witness
In my own accounts
Says the taxman
That's too fine*
Spelled out somewhere
In the incomprehensible prose of his collected letters
Losing a gain
Dances and dunces
Holding a candle
Creating and burning at the same time
What seems like (to me), at least many
Millions of tiny diamonds every second
As I get on your wick
Trying to become a man
Playing out to flow away
Into the shade
Of the private woodlands of Dampwaste Place
Blows and glances
Chopped down again
Bringing death to life
And life to death
Losing my voice
The hoarse has bolted
Losing a loan
Dying to live
Turning again
To the careless girl in the water meadow
Tried to grab her arse and got knocked out
Cold
Hit my head on the forbidden fruit machine on my way down
To the underworld
A door you
A trap door on the world's stage
For my solo
Teleportation transportation
Stuck yet spinning
Going to work on a lost loft
Locked out
Locked in to your freak Wincey
Whether Poseideon fork arsed
Or jacking a bean
Stalk your harbour
Oil the door posts of heaven's garden gate with wolf or boar fat
Turn from white to crimson
Wondering along, breathing and
Growing in the dark
Lying out of reach for secure wards
Lost myself backwords
Onwards and upwards in the backwoods
Not for giving nor getting
Words are stillbroken (no typo)
Trying to make magical flutes from the head
And a shield for next time
As I float along the river with a song
Wind whistling with me through the treetops
Every story seems to be about me
Tallesin told it well
You sent me a text on Skype
To let me know your status will always be a way
In your photos you are small and far away
On the phone you are far away and almost nearby
In person you are life-size, near and far away
No-one to blame but myself so
Every sad song's about you
I'm singing songs too for you in ancient capitals
But you're sticking to the lyrics of The Script's new single
The truth remains
Whatever the facts of our matter may be

*My £200 fine from the taxman was later reduced to zero

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

 

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Comments

steve black

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Mon 3rd Nov 2014 11:37

Thanks C. Byrne.

Laura Taylor

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Mon 17th Feb 2014 09:40

Howdy :) Many thanks for your comment on Judging Justin :) Glad you enjoyed it!

Starfish

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Sun 19th Jan 2014 21:11

A badger chasing a cat - lucky you! The only ones I have seen have alas been at the side of the road.

Ian Whiteley

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Fri 17th Jan 2014 15:48

thanks for the kind comments regarding 'old school tie' Chris - glad you liked it :-)

M.C. Newberry

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Tue 7th Jan 2014 16:36

Thanks for the comments about "The Menin Gate
- 11/11/2013". The poem has been sent to the
Regimental Adjutant at Wellington Barracks
for consideration for use during 2014.
My father survived WW1 (Western and Italian
Fronts) as a young subaltern with the Duke
of Cornwall's Light Infantry (1st Btn.)
A maternal uncle was killed in action during
the battle for Delville Wood in 1916.
I doubt if there are many British families of
a certain generational ancestry who are not
connected with that terrible conflict.

Greg Freeman

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Sat 4th Jan 2014 12:52

Hi Chris, remarkable that you found my poem The Reluctant Volunteer, nearly four years after I first posted it! You're quite right, there is a lot more to the story. I've written other poems about it, and maybe there are still more to come. My father ended up working up on the "death railway" in Thailand as a POW. There's a new film, The Railway Man, just come out, that I hope will paint a more realistic picture of it than The Bridge on the River Kwai! Greg

Steve Higgins

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Sun 15th Dec 2013 21:07

Thanks for looking in on my efforts,
best wishes,
Steve

Starfish

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Wed 9th Oct 2013 10:06

Thank you for commenting on my poem. Thanks too for the link - 'twas a gem.
Starfish

Harry O'Neill

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Sun 4th Aug 2013 23:53


That poem was `Lily Going By`

M.C. Newberry

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Sun 4th Aug 2013 15:14

Thanks for taking the trouble to comment on "The Racism One-Step". It was written in response to the idea that racism is a one-way street with one lot always the victim and one lot always the guilty party. I must mention of the penultimate verse in your poem Place De L'Eglise. It was beautifully done and would, imho, have been ideally suited to close your poem.
And now...I will leave you in silence....

Philipos

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Fri 22nd Feb 2013 22:37

HIYA, 'Underground' this was based on a chance browse at Waterstones. If I remember next time I go in, I will make a note of the actual title & get back to you.

Thanks for commenting.

Daniel Smith

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Fri 22nd Feb 2013 18:25

I'll give it a go. Petersfield isn't too far from Farnham. Pop Up Poetry is the night in Guildford: https://www.facebook.com/PopUpPoets

Daniel Smith

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Fri 22nd Feb 2013 17:47

Hi Chris, thanks for the kind words.

I've not really thought about putting it to music, despite being in various bands over the years. It's a good idea though.

Do you perform much in Guildford?

Ann Foxglove

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Thu 3rd Jan 2013 16:47

Aw, sorry you deleted yourself! Better get cracking and put some more poems on here asap. Welcome back btw!

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