Whitehouse Poetry Reading as Guest Poet.

Christy O'Donnell ,Whitehouse Poetry Reading Video as Guest Poet .

The Poster from my Poetry Open Mic Night as Guest Poet .

Christy O’Donnell

Nov.23rd @ 9pm.

Christy O’Donnell was born and raised in a family of thirteen in Limerick City’s Northside.”Growing up we were never encouraged to write at all, instead we were expected to go into the workplace as soon as we finished school. Christy likes to write rhyming poetry that has some humour in it but which is also true to life with an emphasis on the punch line. Writing is both for pleasure and the need to deal with human pain on a daily basis and has found that Kilkee is a good place to “chill“and to gather one’s thoughts for a poem or a short story. “The Irish do love a good story”. Christy is currently working on a humour filled book of Poetry which is set for release in 2012.

Please Check out more of my Poetry Reading Videos .

Check out my Poetry  Channel on You Tube

Christy O'Donnell ,Guest Poet at the Whitehouse Poetry Night.

http://youtu.be/u82NuUQBenI

good to bad

aaaahhh memories of a mispent childhood

A good deed gone bad.


There used to be a little hiding place near our front door,

It was used by all courting couples when times were poor,

When boys would walk their girlfriend’s home from the dance,

They’d hide in there both getting hot and taking the odd chance,

I heard many a row from parents when girls were found there,

Blamed for throwing themselves to wild abandon with no fear,

All the young kids knew where to go for goodnight kiss,

We would pass em out not knowing something was amiss.

A few times a year the odd girl went missing from our street,

She’s gone to help her auntie, who has been on a retreat,

This was all we ever heard as we were too young to realize,

The fact that they got pregnant right before passing eyes,

Always it seemed it had to be the boy who was to blame,

No matter what was said the boy was put to shame,

The girl was always taken advantage of poor thing,

And her parents would usually make him buy a wedding ring,

Never heard of a child being born out of wed lock,

Nor did I hear of rampant men running amok,

But there was the rare loose woman, who was talked about,

No one spoke her name they held tight lips on their mouth,

But this corner near our front door was a good place for nookie,

Even I knew that and I was as yet still a rookie,

So I sat and watched as the couples made out,

And if I saw one of the sisters I’d let go with a shout,

Then they started to pay me not to dampen their ardour,

To keep quiet so they could try to push things farther,

But there is always one who refuses to cough up,

And sent me packing calling me a cos and a pup,

So one night as she went in for her hug with her man,

I went up on the wall with a watering can,

I waited there for her and her man to arrive,

And when they were kissing I drowned both of em alive,

As he climbed the wall to give me merry hell,

Down the other side of the damn thing I fell,

My scream was heard in the house, by the father,

He came running to see why his daughter was in lather,

I drowned them I said from the far side of the wall,

Her virginity is intact it was me who had the fall.

Come out here he said I’m going to kill you stone dead,

Tonight was the night he was to ask her to get wed.

13/12/2011

new stuff from this weeks reading ha hope ya like it

Santa me arse,

Well it’s that time of year again and I’m a little miffed,

At the amount of so called friends that are expecting a gift,

They seem to be excited that it is the season of good will,

Where we all have to be nice to each other well I’ve had my fill,

I’ve worked hard all year and tried to make some cash,

And now my so called pals all want to give my savings a bash,

They call each day to say hello and is there anything I need,

Even then it’s become a chore as now them I have to feed,

She is in the kitchen saying he cooks a lovely Christmas dinner,

Yet on our annual trip to mass she says confess to being a sinner,

And all the bad things you have done throughout this year,

Will be forgotten and see your conscience clear,

Well I’ve had it with this so called x-mas good will to all men,

And sending cards to people I’ve not seen in years maybe 10,

Then spending all day long putting up the lights and a tree,

As far as I can gather there is nothing in this season for me,

But it’s my fault 4 not removing batteries from something,

And while it was in the attic all year I didn’t hear it sing,

Flowers must be bought from the local florist,

And wrapping paper enough to kill a small rainforest,

And who must sit there and do the wrapping of the presents,

Yes me, and I can tell you it isn’t very pleasant,

And who gets all the credit while living in the North Pole,

Some fat git dressed in a red suit sat there on his hole,

He even gets milk and stuff left out for him on the night,

But after six pints it’s me who has to drink the shite,

And stagger round the house putting things inside the socks,

While trying to get to bed and tripping over building blocks,

So to hell with Santa and his reindeer and his sleigh,

Say thank you dad cos I bought you all this crap you see today

And while you’re at it opening gifts with smiling faces looking,

The real Santa is in the kitchen tied to damn turkey and cooking.

There are times I’d like to nail that Santa to a wall,

But hey it’s Christmas so god bless you one and all.

09 Dec. 11

First insurance lesson,


I learned very early in life how to claim from insurance’s,

I didn’t know it then but it was to be one of life’s assurances,

Having come out from school at Hassett’s cross,

Each boy jostling for position trying to be the boss,

There had been a crash and a car had been turned on its roof,

There was guards standing watching it all aloof,

As we passed it on our way home from school it was smashed,

Left there on its roof all mangled and crashed,

Passengers all taken to hospital sirens all blazing,

And us young boys stood there gawping it was amazing,

There weren’t many cars about back in that time,

Posh people owned them we had horses it suited us fine,

A few men had gathered and were discussing the event,

The talk was of insurance and the driver’s intent,

And how the car could be fixed and what it might cost,

Either way the driver in court would be lost,

He’d be better off one said if it was all burned to hell,

That way the insurance company could never blame or tell,

Who was to blame for this almighty disaster?

While the occupants were likely to end up in plaster,

In any case everyone felt sorry for this man,

And someone should do something to help if they can,

So late that evening as the guards went away,

With a box of matches to the car we did stray,

And lit the smashed car and blew it up in smoke,

We laughed as we ran to us it was no joke,

But scorched we got all in strange places,

A few of us had burn marks on our faces,

In the station we denied all thoughts of burning this car,

Saying there was a guard watching it sure he wasn’t too far,

It must have been waiting to spark and take light,

We got scorched and it gave us a huge fright,

It was lucky that guard was well out of its way,

Or we might all be going to his funeral this day,

And rather then charge 5 of us with burning this car,

They questioned the guard, who should have been near not far,

The owner came to knock on our door’s late one night,

His insurance paid out, I’m still not sure if we were wrong or right.

10 Dec. 11

bloody government

not sure if i like these but i wrote em anyway see what you think?


Water boy.


Get away from our water ya lousy ould git,

Cos yer pipes are leaking and you don’t want to get wet,

Just cos it’s cheaper to pump ours from the Shannon river,

Is it too cold in Dublin and fixing hands might shiver,

It’s water from limerick that can fix all that you seek,

Fix you’re on damn pipes go and find the leaks,

If you need water from limerick to help with you’re plight,

Take what’s left after we clean up from the shite,

We are sick of hearing how this country just fell,

Stay up in Dublin and get wet as well,

I don’t understand just why you can’t try,

If it’s water you need take a look towards the sky,

But no you’ll take our water your pipes to feed,

While they still leak you want us to pay you for the deed,

Now I know ye think we are all mad in the west,

But this is a very foolhardy quest,

If ye have yare ways then rather then fix the odd pipe,

It is much preferred to put up with all of the hype,

This is a country that has more rain any one I know,

Yet ye want water and can’t find someplace else to go,

And the governing body of Ireland reside in this place,

Is there any one of them still a part of the human race?

But let’s face it there used to be 32 counties in this land,

Six are slowly coming back which is grand,

And the other 25 don’t matter whatsoever at all,

Just as long as their good old Dublin doesn’t fall,

And fall it will I hope, amid all of the hype,

Straight into the Irish sea through a leaky old pipe,

And who will they blame when Dublin is gone and lost,

The 25 counties that don’t matter will have to pay the cost,

Either way they always find something for us to pay,

I’d hand over my lot if that mob in Dublin would just go away,

I think the pipes in Dublin are just like our lot in the Dail,

Leaking money to the banks like a sieve helping us fall,

In all the years the governments and their pipes were leaking,

In Dublin it appears there is no water keeping,

Keep on if you want to fight we’ll oblige in a jiffy,

But if you’re desperate for water take it out of the Liffy,

24 Nov. 11

Budget 2012


So they’ve come out with it at long last,

A budget to beat all that has gone before and passed,

The people we entrusted our country to save,

Have driven us further back then the African slaves,

While they’re all shouting about who’s to blame for what,

Every home in the country has less food in their pot,

It’s still the same old story of how the rich behave,

While the less well off have nothing to save,

The usual suspects are who we have to thank,

The same old cronies who now own the banks,

They are driving the average person off the road,

No job in delivery now they can’t afford to carry any load,

If you’re an invalid and just happen to be young,

Postpone your illness till you’re older or dead and gone,

I am sad to say this country is not worth living in at all,

Unless you have a room up in Dublin in the Dail,

They say it has to be done they don’t have a choice,

Did they not hear any one in Ireland give voice?

Thousands Enda wants to give one of the lads a nice raise,

Who will he blame when the country is ablaze?

All their promises made to have them elected,

Are now null and void until the money is collected,

Like a jester in the court of King Henry the eight,

Tax everything but close all the gates,

And if anyone knocks and wants to come work in the Dail,

If they’re not friend or family they have no hope at all,

Hang on it’s the first day after the budget was called,

That thing about invalidity has just been stalled,

Oh yes now the whole country can sigh in relief,

A morsel of sense from our guardian chief,

Clever old sod is this Enda Kenny,

It’s paused until he can find a new way to grab the pennies,

With not a single job worth having in the country this day,

Might be a good idea to emigrate and all go away,

Head out across the globe in search of new lives,

Let the missus stay home and claim deserted wives,

And do what most do when in foreign lands,

With her book and what we send home she’ll be grand,

For democracy and freedom in 1916 there was a fight,

In 2013 there looks like being another, to put things right.

7 December 2011

whitehouse bar reading

for anyone who would like to hear me reading this poetry i suggest you visit this link for a laugh and good fun

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Du82NuUQBenI%26feature%3Dshare&h=-AQFm0a5oAQE_0fLi7tAAN62sYyjcKjuZ-OjP75O5d6HsHw

golden child

Golden child


The mother’s ear was all important in our house,

And with 15 of us there wasn’t room for a mouse,

In shifts one after the other I was number eight,

Yet we were always fed and dare you be late,

The girls and one brother numbered just seven,

He was number six and she said he came from heaven,

Nothing or no one could touch her golden boy,

By the time I came along it wasn’t worth a try,

For all things he had he held his mothers ear,

What he said was law he lived without fear,

So I took it upon myself to undo this wrong,

I didn’t care if I was the weakling and him holding strong,

First born son after six tries the father would say,

And he too held him in favour I was left to stray,

Yet he had a devious way with all that he had,

But as I worked on my plan to usurp him I was only too glad,

Behind the parents back we called him golden balls,

Whenever he wanted something he just calls,

For years I tried as a child to hold the mothers ear,

But he was firmly planted within this much was clear,

If he did something wrong and he was sure to be found out,

He just blamed the rest of us and we would get the clout,

All was going well for him until puberty came around,

His interest in the female sex saw him losing ground,

All my efforts to take him down a peg were seemingly in vain,

His interest in the fairer sex were the ones to blame,

No woman or girl would ever smile upon his face,

Never mind that she may be dressed in silk and lace,

Her golden balls would not sit at any table for a feast,

He was to go to college and serve his god a priest,

And if this was not to be and her plan fall flat and fail,

It was off to the Christian brothers there for him to hail,

With him holding the mothers ear closely and in trust,

She might have looked harder at the girl with a huge bust,

For all her time and wishes flew straight out the door,

One look from him to the busty girl had him wanting more,

All her hopes and wishes had turned into a bed of fears,

Although he had her ear it ended all in tears,

He married said busty girl and heeded none of her calls

In all the time he had her ear his wife now had his balls.

14 Nov. 11

new stuff

working on new stuff will post it when i have read it to an audience ha ha keep on watching this space and thanks

poems from wednesday night last

The first hire purchase


Saying times were tough when I grew up is an understatement,

There were no unruly kids or society for noise abatement,

Food was hard to keep in a house with no fridge,

No double glazing left a row of ice on the window ledge,

We were lucky there were 15 of us all huddled in 1 room,

For entertainment we had stories with impending gloom,

The fire was lit only after six o clock,

Until the rosary was over you wouldn’t hear anyone knock,

Then one day the mother said she had enough,

Trying to keep things fresh was getting just far too tough,

She wanted one of these new fangled things called a refrigerator,

When the father tried to argue he was called a family traitor,

I don’t care she said Mrs. o Neil has one with less money then us,

I want a fridge and you better cause no fuss,

At that time you had to have your husband’s permission,

To acquire anything on hire purchase it was his decision,

The ESB would give her one over the term of three years,

The father gave in but you could see he had fears,

So she ordered her appliance in the shop in town,

And with 3 years of payments the father just frowned,

I’m tied up with this fridge and the worry is sad,

I won’t be happy until its paid I’ll just won’t be glad,

And as each month went by and she gave him the fridge bill,

Eventually he just paid it he gave in to her will,

There even came a time when he said nothing at all,

About the fridge that stood proudly by the kitchen wall,

Sometimes when he was on his way home in a rush,

The older ones would gather the younger ones and say hush,

Your father is coming and he is drunk from the pub,

And your mother wants him to go to bed after his grub,

There was new stuff over the course of those 3 years,

I don’t know where it came from but it would end in tears,

But our fridge was bought and working since 1969,

Keeping all food fresh and it was working away just fine,

The mother would praise him for his allowing her to get,

This new invention that was like a family pet,

It never dawned on him to ask if the payments were done,

As the mother kept it looking like it arrived on day one,

The father would sit and marvel at this fridge saying it’s great,

He was still paying for it and by now it was 1978.

11.11.2011


No 1’s to blame


There were two people, for years living in my house,

Besides herself myself and the odd little mouse,

One is called simply I don’t know,

He hasn’t a brain in his head that could be on show,

The other one is called it wasn’t me,

I think they are brothers thank god there isn’t three,

They move about the house with free will,

Things were going well until I had my fill,

All seemed to go downhill when there was something amiss,

And I went to find them ands ask who? did this?

Who? I don’t know and it wasn’t me said you are right,

But if who thinks he’s moving in here there will be a fight,

Now I got myself into this and have all three,

I don’t know, who, and, it wasn’t me,

This little trio were now driving me mad,

In my little house I was sat there all sad,

I had to get myself a plan or a new name,

If I was going to help them move out just the same,

My plan was simple I was to take full charge,

And see no more of these three roaming at large,

So I stopped cooking and cleaning the place,

I could tell it was working by the look on their face,

I stopped buying food in the local shop,

And all three of them got in to a strop,

So as the four of us now sat round my kitchen table,

I asked them for rent to pay what they were able,

I don’t know said simply I just don’t know,

Well I said if you don’t know then I think it best if you go,

Who just said pay rent who, you mean me?

My answer the same if you don’t then who, you must flee,

It wasn’t me was moaning that it wasn’t his fault,

It may not be you I said but you must pay by default,

My new name is trouble and aim to cause it all day,

That is until all three of you go away,

The three of them left and all went in a huff,

Taking with them in bags all their own stuff,

Back came the missus and I greeted her smile,

I explained why the other three had all run a mile,

It wasn’t me, who, and I don’t know,

Just couldn’t handle trouble so they decided to go.

10.11.2011

new stuff

something for all to smile at ha

Death of a friend


Today I mourn the death of a long time friend,

Common sense has died he came to a very sad end,

Bureaucratic red tape to find his age have tried,

But no one knows for sure how old he was when he died,

He used to teach us we should come in out of the rain,

That life aint always fair if it was we’d be mundane,

That’s why it was the early bird, who always got his worm,

And if we were to blame we stood up we didn’t squirm,

He lived by simple rules never spend what you haven’t got,

It’s us adults who are in charge and children, who are not,

His health began to falter when we all started to regulate,

Passing idiotic rules would only help to seal his fate,

He lost more ground when parents fought teachers at their job,

Because some student or other just couldn’t hold their gob,

Yet parental consent was needed for the least little thing,

But if a student was pregnant there was no one you could ring,

He faltered when it became all business with the church,

Abusers got better treatment then their victims was too much,

He took a hiding when a thief had broken into his home,

When he beat him back he was sued and left there all on his own,

He finally gave up all hope when a lady to court had got,

Was given a large settlement for not knowing steam was hot,

He was preceded by both parent’s truth and trust,

Wife discretion daughter responsibility and a son reason must,

He is survived by his four stepbrothers all doing very well,

Their names are common but no sense yet as far as we can tell,

They are I know my rights, I want it now,

Someone else is to blame and I’m a victim somehow,

These four are now in court since the reading of the will,

Common sense is truly dead for they are fighting still,

The judge who presides the case called justice will prevail,

With solicitors called lies and deceit this too is doomed to fail,

With his family before him and all they may have tried,

This world is a darker place since common sense has died,

As I mourn my dear friend who it seems has come to pass,

A sad day for all humanity he is buried now at last.

04 Nov. 11

The hen killer


I knew a man, who kept chickens in his back yard,

Who moaned he had too many and was willing to discard,

I have too many he said and I want to get rid,

So I bought some off him for a few quid,

I built a shed where no animal would snoop,

And called it simply my chicken coop,

And the hens were put in it and lived cosy and warm,

Safe in the coop they would come to no harm,

Until early one morning I saw a hole in the fence,

One hen dead the culprit I would make pay hence,

I went about fixing the gaping big hole,

Frightened hens don’t lay eggs or so I was told,

The very next morning another chicken lay dead,

This culprit was now wrecking my poor head,

Now I must catch him in the act if I can,

And put an end to his hen killing of which I was no fan,

As I checked all around to find his way into my coop,

I saw where he entered to kill and to snoop,

Deep into the earth I drove a fine hefty stake,

With a snare attached to stop him in his wake,

On the third morning all the hens were roaming free,

They had ran from the coop through another hole you see,

But there by my stake driven deep in the ground,

A neighbour’s dog snared and dead I had found,

A costly lesson he had learned on that night,

If you’re not going to eat my hens then don’t bite,

So I buried the dog in the end of the yard,

With both of my hens he killed and left scarred,

The post office had a board where you could stick up an add,

For the whereabouts of this dog a reward was to be had,

So I dug him up from his earthly old grave,

The price of my two hens returned I might save,

From out of her purse the reward was five pound,

And I buried the hen killer again on her ground,

I felt like telling her he was a killer simple and plain,

But the look on her face made me refrain,

I left her standing there saying all would be fine,

You’re a grand soul she said and you only nine,

My reward in my pocket I went back to my coop,

I slept well that night knowing no killer would snoop.

03.11.2011

new poems

smiling through the ages with these two hope they go down well ha ha`

Waxing political.


Some of us could see it coming from the very first day,

Sinn Fein joining the race and their course would not stray,

Sean Gallaher waxing lyrical on his political stage,

Reading his lines pre written on every page,

Off to the side was Dana shouting I am not here for the church,

But god bless you all for caring this much,

While gay Mitchell stood in at his parties’ behest,

No way would he win this popularity contest,

By saying yes to the Lisbon treaty Mary Davis asked us to vote,

No wonder she failed that was left down the river to float,

And what of David Norris just running for cover,

Asking us all to believe he stood just up for his lover?

Yet few watched martin McGuiness put in as a token?

Softly he went his agenda quietly spoken,

Having been asked to explain all manner of things,

About the past and what his Sinn Fein party would bring,

Nothing he said I will represent all the land,

I will give each and everyone a good helping hand,

Still up his sleeve was a secret which wasn’t so nice,

And the front runner at the time was going to pay a high price,

Having been branded a bag man for the fianna fail party,

Poor Sean fell flat he had lost all his clarity,

Wisdom and experience sat by in the wings,

The people’s choice in the end Michael D Higgins,

I wonder will anyone really look at this race,

And see how it really was who fell flat on their face,

And who did a favour to whom and just why,

Making Sean lose and run home to cry,

This election was such a huge success,

The winners coming first and third best,

And to anyone who thinks it was about the country as a whole,

Some of these candidates had a very different goal,

Their aim for the prize was never sighted true or fair,

But all said and done the right man got in there,

A gentleman of many years with new beginnings,

From the west our very own Michael D Higgins,

Please god he will last the next seven years,

As his popularity leaves his fellow runners in tears,

Having run but not by the parties behest,

We are thankful that with Michael D we are blessed.

01.11.2011




Barred from gods house


I was a very good catholic mass attendee,

After all it was stories on a Sunday for free,

Or so I thought until the end of each tale,

When a basket appeared each week without fail,

And into this basket what money you had,

And your man at the alter was telling you he’s glad,

God will be pleased to know that we care,

And if you have any more cash will you put it in there,

So I figured it out that if you stood at the alter,

And you could tell stories and you didn’t falter,

A basket was sent round the pews in the church,

And if the story was good god knows how much,

Money was left in the pile up in front,

Where your man regaled us each week by the font,

So I practiced my reading and how I’d tell my tale,

And I went up in front my audience to regale,

And when it was told I stayed back waiting in church,

My story was good I wanted to see if it was worth much,

And what do you want your man said to me,

I want my share of the money in the basket like ye,

As there they sat the collectors counting the stash,

I wanted my share I only read for the cash,

I heard them all saying who gave more or gave less,

And your man put me in to this box to confess,

But I wouldn’t budge and he couldn’t explain,

This was church money and there it would remain,

Get out you pup before I put my boot up your arse,

For trying to make my sermon look like a farce,

Fine I replied and on my walk home I’ll tell all,

Who gave what and who didn’t pay anything at all,

And told them I did on my way home that very day,

I knocked on their doors telling them what your man had to say,

Who he was pleased with and who paid all they could,

And how I was paid nothing and wasn’t my story just as good,

Next week at mass there he was at the door,

Your barred he said you’re not welcome here any more,

So at nine I was barred and he wished me nothing well,

But he did tell my parents I’d be going straight to hell,

Who cares I said but going on your form,

At least I’d be welcome and for sure I’d be warm.

31.10.2011

new stuff

well if you cant have fun from time to time what else is there ha

A big head. Me?


So you might be thinking that this head is too big,

Well it is hard to miss if you want to throw a dig,

But this head is large for very good reason,

And I can tell you it is always in season,

Whether it’s writing a poem a short story or a book,

This is a head that is surely worth a good look,

There has been poetry written about its un-natural size,

If there was a competition for head’s it would get first prize,

But I have to say this head is worn with pride,

And all the things it holds deep inside,

Thoughts of war and peace and love,

With a body attached that’s learned to push not shove,

Within this big head there lies a working brain,

Thoughts which are faster then a runaway train,

It tells the face to laugh and smile,

In the presence of adversity all the while,

But stand this head beside you in times of woe,

It will not leave you it will not go,

Perhaps the forehead is a little too tall,

It’s where this head has put dear friends one and all,

And while on top may be just a tad bereft of hair,

Loved ones buried and past are buried there,

Held in place by long lost secrets and shocks,

A word of honour replaces the wavy locks,

On this head no barber could set a trend,

But beneath his machine knows here’s a friend,

This is a head holding secrets galore,

Once told it holds them to be spoken no more,

Between these ears that stick out from the sides,

Honesty and truth float freely and reside,

Whereupon this nose the glasses might rest,

A head such as this has passed so many gruelling tests,

And there are times this head may look a bit rough,

This is because it holds so much heavy stuff,

I’ll forgive you for thinking this head a bit large,

But it give’s good advice without any charge,

As freely and easily it tries to make you all smile,

For family and friend this head goes that extra mile,

If you still think that this head is a wee bit too big,

Try conversing you’ll be amazed at what you find if you dig.

16-Oct-11


Spent life.


To what end are we living this life,

Causing each other all kinds of bother and strife,

While around us every day somebody has died,

Leaving behind those who wish they never lied,

About mundane things just to be talking,

In less fortunate shoes we should try walking,

No matter how hard things might seem to be,

Remember there are some less well off then we,

Some have ailments which put them, in an early grave,

Some may have talents which for us could help save,

There are some, who just look sad every day,

These are the one’s, for whom we should pray,

In all that we meet as we go about our daily chores,

Let us forget the business of settling scores,

It’s not worth the hassle be it yours or mine,

Things have a way of easing with the passage of time,

And all you once thought was worth such a fight,

Is meaningless when the row is made light,

Each of us is part of the whole human race,

Though we all present a different face,

Looking different yet all of us the same,

Playing at life as though it is a game,

Like all things it is over without a 2nd chance,

A lifetime gone by in a fleeting glance,

And before you realize it your time has past,

And now you wish those rows didn’t last,

They appear like moments lost in a dream,

Too late you think no chance to redeem,

For all who live must come to an end,

Making any misunderstanding worthless to defend,

And while we go about all our life’s chores,

Let’s try keeping open all those doors,

And in our beds as all to sleep must lye,

To forgive and forget bad things should try,

And deliver to none such things as hurt or pain,

For life is short and there is nothing to gain,

As quietly as we go no need to shout,

Memories left behind are what life is really all about.

06.10.2011

new stuff

The vixens den.

It’s very hard to get over the death of a mother,

Each one of us had this type of parent like no other,

She always seemed to be there without ever being called,

Nothing we did would ever see her appalled,

Well I recall mine as always and forever being seen,

Like a manager of a football team 11 players and 2 sub’s 13,

I was born in the latter half my number was eight,

And for every meal that was cooked I was usually a bit late,

My manager was good and held back a warm platter of food

For her little team got fed it didn’t matter her mood,

In a flat with three bedrooms we all of us resided,

All the girls in one room, the boys in the other it was decided,

The boy’s room was really quite very small,

And three of us in there thank god none of us were tall,

Yet in the girls room there were all of them ten,

No boys allowed and when we tried we were ran,

I don’t recall ever into their room would I have crept,

I see the brother do it once and when he came out he just wept,

And when I asked him why he cried having escaped the room,

Anyone foolish enough to go in there is facing eternal doom,

There are ten of them he said and I tell you no lies,

If you venture in they will scratch out your eyes,

And should you push in little more then your head,

The first five will attack you and you might end up dead,

The other five will sit and watch as they’re older,

And god help you if you decide to be brave or bolder,

Pull him in they’ll shout from the safety of their hive,

The things they will do make you sorry you’re alive,

They have weird looking things with straps and hooks,

While over your body they beat you with books,

All we have compared to them is a lousy old comic,

And one bed between us now that’s a bit ironic,

But I ventured into that vixen’s den,

While they were out missing all of the ten,

That place was a mess the floor covered in clothes,

While I searched for goodies the door opened I froze,

My screams were heard and all ten returned,

They tied me up shouting to the stake you’ll be burned,

Thank heaven for an angel, who appeared like no other,

My savour my hero god bless my poor mother.

16.10.2011

Chivalry


The age of chivalry towards women is fading real fast,

Sure what did they think it would forever last?

Lets be honest no man can figure out what a woman needs?

These days god help him if he does her good deeds,

Do you think I’m helpless she screams in his ear,

Driving chivalry from his brain in fear,

Some get highly indignant if you hold open a door,

And if looks could kill you’d be dead on the floor

Try offering them a seat to rest on a bus,

Sit down you fool and don’t make such a fuss,

Do I look like I need to be sat on your seat?

So you can feel good and stand shifting your feet?

It doesn’t matter if they are young or old,

Drop the act is what you will be told,

And while most men are just trying to be nice,

More often then not there is always a price,

Women of the world have just the same rights,

As men who end up in plenty of fights,

And argue and row to uphold their honour,

But all said and done chivalry is a goner,

These days they’re more likely to point out their ex,

And tell you his faults and how she dropped him by text,

But they use it when needed to get their own way,

This new breed of woman just has to play,

If a woman hits a man he must have done something bad,

If a man does the same he is nothing but a cad,

They can get away with murder calling it self defence,

A man gets 20 years in jail it doesn’t make sense,

Carrying bags for old ladies was the norm not a phase,

You will end up in jail if you try that these days,

Six months you’ll get locked up in the slammer,

And a male judge will impose it with a slap of his hammer,

The age of manners and chivalry is leaving us fast,

Most men are now scared they know it wont last,

And men will be blamed for causing it to come to this end,

What man would show chivalry if he thought it would offend,

Let’s not be hasty and try not to forget,

If chivalry dies women will be the cause of its death.

cuisle week

old IRA stories from a time long since past

Close call


Will you leave a light in your window just for me?

So if I make it home I’ll have something there to see,

For I leave you now and am bound by foot and hand,

My crime it would appear is I love this dear old land,

Perhaps a little candle when lit for me would tell,

That I am not alone in that dark and dismal cell,

There is no light and I can’t tell night from day,

All the questions they ask me and my answer always nay,

Who they ask delivered you all that contraband,

And told you, you were saving your beloved Ireland,

My reply is still the same I found them when I awoke,

No one stood beside them not a word was ever spoke,

For someone left them there in the garden by the shed,

As I arose that morning said person’s they had fled,

Perhaps the one who told you they were buried within my plot,

Are trying now to tell you I am someone, whom I’m not,

And point you like a bullet from one of those hidden guns,

So they can plot and plan perhaps they are the ones,

Yet no, you call on me a married man but unemployed,

And say to all who listen that its guns I have to hide,

A wife and several children left crying in the home,

And I should rot in this dark place lonely and alone,

And rot I will and my mouth closed forever shall I keep,

To be shot at dawn and down a hole forever buried deep,

Then look at all you have achieved for your blessed queen,

My children now recruits for the injustice they have seen,

And they will not forget as you took me bound foot and hand,

I just dug a hole on my little plot of land,

For fear the kids would find a rifle or a gun,

And think they were a toy and shoot someone for fun,

I hope there is a light left in the window just for me,

And as my soul departs this earth it will gladly see,

That a father will protect his wife his daughter and his son,

So their future might be brighter and they will carry on,

And I am not alone as I sit in this dark and dreary cell,

Nor will I sleep this night as I damn you all to hell,

No name will I write on this charge of hiding contraband,

You’ll never understand us for you are just black and tans,

As the door was opened and the dawn shone bright inside,

Freedom mine thank god they didn’t find all I had to hide.

10 Oct. 11


for mental health week

The devil depression.


Sitting alone at home on a cold rainy day,

Watching TV on the couch where I lay,

An old friend long since put to the back of my mind,

Did by strange chance come for me to find,

As I lay there watching some of the daytime soap’s,

He brought with him some friends called ropes,

Make one of these your very best friend,

And he will see you through to your very end,

If all your troubles you want to stand still,

Just look at this jar I have with pills,

A glass of water and down in one,

Your woes and troubles will all be gone,

Take one pill for each thing you worry,

And never again will you have to be sorry,

Walk with me along to the fast flowing river,

The further you sink the less you will shiver,

Walk to a tall building on any city street,

Climb to the top and then jump with both feet,

Keep on falling until you hit the ground,

Peace and quiet is what you have found,

This so called friend from the back of my mind,

By no strange chance did come and me did find,

We all know him well but we don’t confess,

He ‘is friends with all, who are depressed,

But no true friend would tell you lies,

Or help you end your mortal ties,

Or make you feel so ill at ease,

Depression his name he’s a mind disease,

Not easily seen in the physical sense,

A smile can often hide his competence,

Not all his friends will gain much reprieve,

And cast him from their mind to leave,

And when he goes but who can tell,

His absence leaves you feeling well,

A better life will then succeed,

Having paid, that devil, depression, no heed.

23 January 2011

new

poems read at the whitehouse last night

Our place


Somewhere out there there’s a place for us,

A place where no one makes any kind of fuss,

Somewhere we can be just who we think we are,

To find it we shouldn’t need to travel too far,

Taking a step back at times will show you you’re way,

You’re path in life the one from which you don’t stray,

It’s the path we all should take young or old,

One which we know well and were never told,

It’s not of a child a son daughter or mother,

Nor is it father uncle or one of the other’s,

It is none other then the act of just being kind,

To all you encounter whomever you find,

A simple act to any woman or man,

Showing them you care as much as you can,

Seeing a smile just light up their face,

With no hidden agenda doing it with grace,

Your first thought should always be fair,

To show all of mankind the way that you care,

And for humanity that you can rise above,

Any and all things showing your love,

For where would we be if nobody cared,

If we kept it all inside and none of us shared,

This world would not be a good place to live,

If most of us were dishonest and failed to give,

The truth and love that each of us deserve,

To share with all our nature to preserve,

While all about us looks like impending doom,

Humanity will rise above the gloom,

And present to any one who cared,

A love for their fellow man that’s shared,

And in sharing honesty truth and trust,

Throughout humanity should be a must,

All these things point you to the path you must find,

There is enough love in this life for all of mankind,

Somewhere out there for us there’s a place,

It’s written on each and every smiling face.

3 October 2011

and the 2nd
 
The holy nun


A long time ago there lived an old woman its true,

And no she didn’t live in somebody’s shoe,

She lived in the ground floor flat near our home,

And she was a widow, who lived on her own,

She wore her hair wrapped and tied up in a bun,

And as children we called her names for fun,

She had bars on her windows it looked like a cage,

And when we called her names she’d fly into a rage,

Chasing us with her long handled broom,

As kids we all ran away singing in tune,

Penny bun was a holy nun, come out and chase us all for fun,

And out she’d come swinging that broom in her hand,

And we’d all scatter hoping we would be grand,

Until one day when we sang for her to chase us and play,

We were told an ambulance had come to take her away,

I asked my mother what was wrong.

Perhaps she said there might have been 1 too many a song,

She is an old lady and sometimes old people get sick,

Even if she plays and chases you all with her stick,

If you like I will take ye to see her this weekend,

Sunday she said our best wishes we’ll send,

And on Sunday she took about 8 of us along,

To see penny bun but without the old song,

That city home was a fairly dismal old place,

To us kids the people had a deathly look on their face,

Then up to her room and she lay still in her bed,

All of us thought this woman was dead,

And as we approached scared across the shiny floor,

She screamed loudly and we all ran straight for the door,

Penny bun this holy nun scared you all see how you run,

Both her and my mother just laughed at the sight,

Of all of us just stood there in rigid in fright,

And then told us her story of why she lives on our block,

Of how happy she’d be if we would call to her door and knock,

From then we’d run errands when she wasn’t quite well,

And sit for hours listening to the stories she’d tell,

When the angelus came on she would kneel down and pray,

Bless all these kids for calling lord and keep them safe each day,

Give me back some strength so I can tie my hair up in a bun,

So I can chase them round the block and we can have some fun.

23-Sep-11

hope you l;ike them

onthenail

read the poem "my first bull" at foleys on the nail last night seemed to go down well i was well pleased

my first bull

this went down well in the whitehouse bar last night

My first bull


I remember the first time I ever saw a full grown bull,

He was huge I thought every muscle in his body was full,

And bulging with strength as he ambled in the field,

Chewing grass quietly knowing he had nothing to yield,

He knew his purpose you could tell by his brow,

In the field with him his wife every blessed cow,

He had the run of the place and looked truly great,

And why not with 50 or 60 cows all his to mate,

Nothing bothered him as he went from one cow to the next,

His sole purpose in life seemed to be just to have sex,

Right there in the field by the knocklasheen army camp,

He had no opposition here he was the champ,

That is until one cold wet miserable winter’s day,

When the army decided tactics was the order for the day,

A whole week of practice was planned with the troops,

And the bull watched ignoring soldiers jump through hoops,

The third evening some old soldiers were on guard duty at night,

And decided to give the young guys a bit of a fright,

Telling them stories of ghosts and weird goings on in this place,

There was frightened looks on the young soldiers face,

Be wary they said as you walk along any ditch,

For the rustle you hear could be the sound of a witch,

But don’t forget to call out halt, who goes there,

Stand tall hold your rifle and try not to look scared,

While the old bull lay sleeping not a care in the world,

If only he knew where he was about to be hurled,

Then at first light just before the dawn,

When young soldiers were tired and began to yawn,

The older guys chased the old bull up the field along the ditch,

Moaning and groaning he ambled making sounds like a witch,

Caring not for ghost stories or thinking of anything right now,

He was tired having had his fill of every blessed cow,

Behind the ditch was a young soldier frightened and scared,

Shouting halt who goes there you will not be spared,

Say who you are or say who you are not,

With no answer the tired old bull he was shot,

The farmer was compensated for the death of the poor bull,

But every cow in that field had a belly that was full,

And within a year or less maybe a half,

All 50 or 60 of those cows had a calf,

As for the young soldier forever more referred to as bull,

And 25 years a soldier never again his trigger would he pull.

28 Sep. 11

the whitehouse

i was asked to be the guest reader in the whitehouse tonight but had to decline i would gladly have done it with a bit more notice then 12 hours as family and friends might like to be there also i could have arranged to have it videoed for my youtube channel hopefully i will be asked again soon with time to prepare at least they asked its better then being ignored eh best of luck in there tonight

michael d higgins

what a shame none of the regular poetry crowd got a heads up about mr higgins in the whitehouse bar on saturday perhaps we just are not worth showing off unless we are spending money on a wednesday night when no other bar in town has any knid of a crowd ? oh the life of a poet is a tought one i must say ha ha ha ha

poems read in the whitehouse bar this week

--fond memories of years gone by

Headless coachman


There is a stretch of road leading to knocklasheen,

That never a dry day was ever to be seen,

A dark and dismal path was this place,

Anyone walking there had a hurried pace,

Winter it seemed lived on this road,

No sunlight pierced to lighten your load,

A farmhouse planted with fruit and veggies,

Never grew in the dark of delmeges,

Yet children played with ropes for a swing,

Tied to a branch they would sway and sing,

Until evening when the light would stray,

To homes the kids would run away,

For when darkness fell on this patch of land,

An eerie air that all just wasn’t grand,

A horse drawn carriage rising from the mist,

A headless driver from hell to roam unblessed,

Having lost his head on the hangman’s tree,

He must find another to set his soul free,

Over hills and glens he must hurry his load,

In the hope of finding someone on knocklasheen road,

And you dare not walk this murky patch,

When darkness falls your neck he’ll stretch,

And take from you your living head,

And free his soul use yours instead,

Needles and thread in his pouch to stitch,

Your head for his cursed by a witch,

To you the job of driver of the coach,

Trapped without a head your freedom encroached,

From early evening until the dawn,

Don’t play in delmeges make sure you’re gone?

Lest the headless coachman catch you out,

And show you why he is unable to shout,

On the road to knocklasheen where it’s dismal and wet,

Be wary of the dark and never forget,

The trees grow thick and the bushes stand high,

And still to be heard is the headless coachman’s cry.

18 Sep. 11
A neighbour’s child


He called to visit me did James fairy Quinn,

He wanted to know how I was and where I’d been,

He also needed a light for his half of a cigarette,

With his bag full of cans he wasn’t drunk just yet,

He was calling me names from the side of the road,

Hoping to get a good response and me goad,

So as I lit his half a smoke in his shaky hand,

I asked him how his mother was and he said grand,

I just can’t seem to give up this demon drink he said,

And how you now punchy heard your old man is now dead,

He is I agreed but then he was buried so I hope so,

You’re a funny man and I’ll chat till you say go,

Your welcome to stay and I’ll make you some tea,

I will if you throw a sandwich in there for me,

So as he finished his beer and waited for his treat,

I gave him the sandwich with the dinner meat,

Sound you are he said you never leave any of us down,

Even when we’re twisted you give us a lift into town,

Most of the old neighbours don’t want to say much,

They look down their noses and frown and such,

But you know it wasn’t easy growing up where we did,

A lot of us took to this demon drink and hid,

And as for giving it up we try to this day still,

But you know how it is for I just don’t have the will,

We’re from the same place and did the same things in our life,

But this drinking cost me my family and a good wife,

I have no one to blame for where I am right now,

But if I was reared different I might be someone somehow,

Hold on there James I said with a smile on my face,

As long as I live here you are welcome to call on this place,

And I care not for who walks by and you see,

You’re an old neighbour and a lifelong friend to me,

I know this for sure and so do all of the lads who drink,

If we have any bother then it’s of you that we think,

So he shook my hand saying thanks for the food and tea,

I look and think at one time in my life this could have been me.

26-Aug-11

angry poem

after having a little spat i thought i would try a little angry poem ha ha heres my version

Angry poem


Who do I think that I am shooting off my big mouth?

Wanting to be heard in places that I have to shout,

What gives me the right to ask am I being heard?

When I should sit quietly here in class like a bloody nerd,

Why should anyone listen to what I have to say?

I am not entitled to an opinion on any given day,

Shut up you haven’t a clue how things work in this place,

I should be demure and take criticism with a red face,

Well who do you really think that you are?

Your voice doesn’t matter we’ll stop you ever going too far,

From the time I could walk people tried to sort me out,

And quite a few of them deserved to get a clout,

I am who I am because I lived through my fair share,

Of going it alone because there was no one else there,

Life has taught me well that if I want something done,

I’ll stand and do it I have never run,

No matter what’s before me you won’t see me take flight,

Win or lose I’ll stand my ground and I’ll take the fight,

Just because you may beat me once I will not refrain,

Look over your shoulder I’ll be there again and again,

I don’t give up easy and I’ll see things to some end,

One way or another on me you can depend,

Bring some help if you think that it might help,

I can take all things even if they make me yelp,

What gives me the right to even have a voice?

Take a good look I do things all by choice,

I will not sit quietly here in class and shut this mouth,

I am opinionated I open my lips and let it out,

I don’t sit in quiet places and secretly tarnish someone’s name,

If something’s worth saying in secret try me I’d do the same,

Think long and hard before you come to sort this face out,

My life has made me ready and I’m prone to the odd clout,

There is no secret as to who I really am today,

But before you try to shut me up hear what I have to say,

11 Sep. 11

terri murray

for a very nice and well liked poet god bless you terri

Terri Murray


What can one say about a fellow poet,

Who has lived life as only she would know it?

A story that should well be told,

About a woman who tried to be good as gold,

Of the love she had and the love she lost,

And going on she knows the cost,

Husband children a family reared,

A beating heart from a mother cared,

From Dublin’s fair city travelled and wise,

God only knows what she saw with her eyes,

But sat in a chair as she recalls what was,

Put down on paper to enthral all of us,

Poetry in books read from the heart,

Attentive listeners from the very start,

Never written and rushed in a hurry,

Steady as she goes is our Terri Murray,

Embraced by all who hear her story,

Never wanting to steal anyone’s glory,

Through many illnesses life’s hurt and pain,

Her writing for readers is truly our gain,

Reading in places as a prized guest,

Hearing her poetry put to the test,

She surpasses all who went before,

And clearly heard they want to hear more,

Writing of memories where there was little or no choice,

She rocks the house when she breaks into singing voice,

What can one say about a true fellow poet,

Well, she’s damn good and we all know it,

And glad we are that you’re here among us,

Alive and well without a bother or fuss,

Quietly sat there with your glass of wine,

You are among friends Terri you are always fine,

For the first lady of poetry in the Whitehouse today,

Held in the utmost regard there is no more to say,

We wish you only the best as you read something old and new,

Just beware of the fella with the love poem (john Carew)

09.09.2011

broken trust

this for the whitehouse poetry tonight see if they can guess who it is about,
its for one of the veterans attending 2nd in command so to speak???????


Broken trust


I thought you were someone who did me no wrong,

But over the past while I’ve heard a different song,

I’ve defended you while others put you down,

Stood in your corner when some called you a clown,

Was willing to stand and defend your good name,

I foolishly thought you would do the same,

But then I am a trusting soul honest yet fair,

But when my name was in doubt you were not there,

You grabbed it with both hands and ripped it apart,

And I left feeling a fool with an injured heart,

And while I was defending your name on the floor,

You plotted and planned to have me sent out the door,

And still we sat and talked like friends,

And listened to all about us making amends,

Had I known what was circling inside your head?

I would have been more cautious instead,

Where I thought friendship was like budding shoots,

Little did I know ours was from rotten roots?

It should have blossomed and expanded and grown,

Your seeds are bad from when they were first sown,

I see you know as one who sits firmly in the middle,

Like a bad accountant who is on the fiddle,

You take from all yet give nothing back,

With a smiling face you approach and secretly attack,

And yet you justify all saying you do what you must,

Don’t be foolish and think you hold anyone’s trust,

I will sit with you and my injured pride,

You’ll never know what my thoughts hide,

Where once I thought you a trusted friend,

You’ll never know it but that’s at an end,

I have learned my lesson from your bad advice,

Friend, your found wanting you are not very nice,

So come sit with me when you think that you must,

But know you this you have no trust,

I thought you were someone who would do me no wrong,

Now it’s my turn to string you along,

And show you that you can never mend,

The broken trust of a once good friend.

13-Sep-11

bike duty

there was an old lady who used to mind our old bikes in truach where we fished in the stream she is long gone now but i do recall her fondly i wrote this as a belated thank you
Bike duty truach !


In a well kept old cottage by the side of a hill,

She sits there alone and remembers her fill,

Her fullness of memory as her life passes by,

She thinks it’s too fast like a blink of her eye,

A marriage so loving and a husband that cared,

Oh she just longs for the times they both shared,

The happy ones when the kids all appeared,

And even the sad ones some of which she feared,

They’ve made a road now at the end of her lane,

And she watches still but it’s never the same,

Cars zoom by all day and all night,

Sometimes they crash and she wakes with a fright,

The children visit and ask her to come live with them,

And always she refuses saying it would be a mortal sin,

Sure isn’t your father just lying in wait down the road?

And when I call to visit him he lightens my load,

I can stroll to the corner and shop in the store,

I’m a simple woman and I could want for no more,

Don’t the young fellas come to fish in the stream past the dyke?

And each of them ask if I could mind their old bike,

It’s no bother to me as I rarely if ever go out,

And if they get lucky in the stream then for supper I get trout,

And who’d mind their stuff if I go live in the city,

Your father would be left alone and that’s a pity,

I sit by my door and its half open half closed,

And I recall all of you as you stood here and posed,

As each of you left to get on with your chosen life,

Your sisters with husbands and you with your wife,

And each of you ask if I will come live with ye,

But where would I sit and who then would I see,

I can tend to my life and see you one and all,

As I look out my door and memories I recall,

This cottage was built by your father here on this ground,

Until I am finished with life here I will be found,

In that well kept old cottage by the side of that hill,

She kept an eye on our bikes and fondly I remember her still.

21-Aug-11

little black thong

a few friends like this on so here you go guys ha ha

The Little Black Thong

This is a poem put down in words and not the words of a song

It’s all about a cute little bird that sports a little black thong,

There it was for all to see sitting on a public bar stool,

I know I wasn’t supposed to look but I couldn’t help but drool,

Wrapped around a body it was just doing its thing,

God help anyone who passed if the bloody phone should ring,

For the thong to lean right over and answer with hello,

You’d have to close your eyes which made it worse you know,

You couldn’t help but look as it hung out and done its job,

I just had to tell him looking to stop and close his gob,

To those who do not know when a little black thong you find,

Never close your eyes or it will surely wreck your mind,

All thoughts of concentration and work fly out the door,

A little black thong just hanging there that wasn’t there before,

Like Siamese twins they were or a chorus within a song,

As I thought to myself a little peek surely there is no wrong,

Then the conscience crept in and said you cheeky little chap,

Turn your head from the little black thong else you’ll get a slap,

I’m sorry that I looked you were out over the top of those pants,

A little peek was all I took sure I didn’t stand a chance,

Any man who looks will have a racing ticker,

Though there is the odd lady who forgot to wear her knickers,

Whether she be walking or hidden beneath a coat,

Who could tell if they were on or off high upon a float?

But the little black thong wins every time just doing its thing,

Never ever discard it on the floor like a piece of string,

In all the underwear I think it’s 1 in a million,

I have even heard it hides something called a Brazilian,

Take this as an offering to the god of the little thong,

Surely you were meant to be seen and in that there is no wrong,

This is for all you women, who show a little bit of crack,

If you don’t like it you can always send it back,

Hang on to the little black thong and give it pride of place,

The one time I glanced at it, it brought a smile onto my face.

24-Mar-11

absconded

read this in the whitehouse last night thought i might share it,
Absconded


On a visit to the hospital to see my lad who was ill,

The sight that greeted me made me stand back quite still,

There he was chained and cuffed to the bed,

And two prison wardens keeping an eye on his head,

And somewhere floating about but just out of sight,

Was a third just in case he decided to take flight,

Sentenced to jail for a crime by the judge,

With three burley chaps to make sure he wouldn’t budge,

But the following morning a loud knock on my door,

He was no where to be found he legged it across the floor,

If you see him will you tell him to hand himself in?

He hasn’t long to do and it’s a mortal sin,

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from this guard,

He escaped with three men minding him was it hard?

No he said that the lad didn’t use his might,

He just saw his chance and he took flight,

Across the building site with all of that rubble,

And now three wardens are in serious trouble,

In any case next morning my home was surrounded,

Search warrant in hand the gardai abounded,

Searching rooms sheds outhouses and the attic,

Their behaviour was calm yet somehow erratic,

Pleasant enough as they went about their job,

As I stood there in a towel with my opened gob,

I’ve had this before so I know all the drill,

Here’s me in a towel hoping to give a ban gardai a thrill,

When I started writing this he was still at large,

And likely to face an additional charge,

Regardless of the sentence for a crime he once made,

Perhaps to meet his woman he might even get laid,

Either way the lad was out and on the run,

Pretty sure before he goes back he’ll have fun,

Yet the question remains how he escaped from three grown men,

And they come beating my door down at half 9 or ten,

I can see why the authorities have themselves in a lather,

But he’s married with kids and you’re hassling me his father,

With a search warrant to boot which isn’t very nice?

Don’t you think it’s a bit late to ask me give him advice?

Well his run is over they have apprehended my male,

He was arrested on the Childers road today and put back in jail

03 Sep. 11

damn computer has me by the you know whats again,

Lost virginity


I lost my virginity and now I have regret,

And it hurt me in places I haven’t seen yet,

Something I now know I will never replace,

As for telling someone I don’t want to lose face,

But lost it remains yet not all can see,

The biggest loser of all was just me,

I was enticed and coerced to do certain things,

My thoughts were of joy and all that it brings,

No thought in my mind that this could be wrong,

As my ears heard whispers of a black leather thong,

Sure who in this age is a virgin today?

Get rid of it let it go and I thought well okay,

At this stage I was willing to pay any cost,

What was I waiting for my virginity lost?

Well it was nothing I had of which I held dear,

So willingly I agreed having now felt no fear,

Sitting back and relaxing and letting all sense go,

Nice I thought as I went with the flow,

So virginity as it were was anyone’s for the taking,

And a lover for me was all in the making,

All I had to do now was make my own choice,

And with all of my dreams I could then rejoice,

Then suddenly I watched in total disbelief,

The damn computer started giving me grief,

Then it said click here for reply,

So I clicked in anger don’t ask me why,

The screen seemed to flicker for a moment and then,

Apparently I am now online dating 9 or 10 men.

All of whom think it is fun to be gay,

I wish I had my computer virginity today.

6 September 2011

life

to live life one must observe and to observe one must live life to the full so while i live i will write poetry in a humourous trend and try to see the lighter side of things from all sides,and dont we all like jelly or jam at one time in our life so heres one for the fun of it
christy o donnell

Jelly or jam?


I took off for a walk on a fine summer’s day,

I just went for a walk I had nothing to say,

The sun it was hot as I ambled my way,

It was about to get hotter on this fine day,

As I looked at people all looking their best,

I somehow noticed they were mostly half dressed,

All smiling faces their world was grand,

Their entire dress ware would fit in one hand,

Thank god for sunglasses I must admit,

But what about a chin that no longer fits,

For the sights before my bulging eyes,

Are ladies with complete bare thighs?

Not much by way of a cover you see,

Just half an inch short of pornography,

I wondered at the wisdom of things,

When another group wearing no more then strings,

And guys chasing them in no more then shorts,

In all kinds of glee sure it takes all sorts,

Then it hit me its summer time,

We are entitled to go mad for a short time,

So I pressed on further trying to ignore,

This nakedness I had not noticed before,

As I strolled along getting a little more hot,

A flipping boob tube no more then a cloth,

For gods sake I thought she could have done more,

As I stumbled to pick my chin off the floor,

For what it covered left no illusion,

Just me now walking in total confusion,

A couple of guys she left in her wake,

Shouted they must be jelly cos jam don’t shake,

Christy O'Donnell ,"Here in the Whitehouse,"

"Here in the Whitehouse"A Poem I wrote about the Whitehouse Poetry Night's in Limerick City,Ireland.

Keep up to date with all my latest Videos from the Whitehouse Poetry Nights here on my You Tube Channel.See HERE

No Black Pudding in the Whitehouse by Christy O 'Donnell.



http://youtu.be/2kELoBPCKi8

The Whitehouse refers to the The Whitehouse Bar,Limerick .The Home of Poetry in Limerick for the past nine years since it was commenced there by Barney Sheehan,Whitehouse Poets M.C

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