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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