Fear of dying

Fear of dying

When I am dead, and in my grave, there is no more to say,

No more dread, no need to save, just leave me where I lay,

Before I leave this mortal life, and to my maker go,

I never thought to find someone, to hold and love me so,

Nor family, though far and wide, who call to say hello,

Still, here I am where I find myself, pondering life you know,

I was born to loving parents, though it may, at times not shown,

Siblings I have many, and within our house we’ve grown

Lessons learned for life, future seeds were sown

Friends who now surround me, not meant to be alone,

To date, I have spent my time, with a constant fear of dying,

No more or less than anyone, yet always I am trying,

Just to live and love, of this there’s no denying,

Tried to do my best, not to be found lying,

Looking back across the years, I often wonder why,

This fear of dying pushed me, so hard that I could fly,

It raised my dreams, helped me out, the harder I would try,

Showed me sitting in the wings, would only life deny,

I am no judge I chose to live, and to others fuel their dream,

I will not budge I love this life, or at least that’s what it seems,

I hold no grudge, yet stand my ground, answered all my deeds,

Have no regrets, like many before me this body bleeds,

Don’t wait until I die, to say you value me,

You love or just can’t stand me for the life I live so free,

When I’m dead and in my grave there’s nothing more to say

No more dread nothing left to say except I lived each and every day.

https://www.live95fm.ie/on-air/shows/limerick-today/limerick-today-podcasts/september-2017/limerick-today-poet-christy-o-donnell-releases-s/

try this one on guys had meningitis while doing this and didn't know it at the time survivor to the end lol






https://www.live95fm.ie/on-air/shows/limerick-today/limerick-today-podcasts/septe+mber-2017/limerick-today-poet-christy-o-donnell-releases-s/

ant hill war

Ant hill war

War has been declared in hartigan villas, on the ants,

They’re in the walls, underground, and hiding in pot plants,

Windows, have been taken out, a front door has been replaced,

Between the outer and the inner walls, they hide inside this space,

Powder has been laid, even ant traps, on the floor,

The money spent on insecticide, seems to draw them even more,

Shane from regeneration came, said he’d have a look,

Gave the job to Speedline pat, to enter on the books,

They’ve ripped the cobble stone, from all along the side,

Those pesky little ants, found it safe beneath to hide,

Raked and filled the place, with sand cement and stone,

But those blasted little ants, still call the place their home,

There’s a crack along the footpath, where the children used to play,

Those fucking ants have found it, their message was relayed,

They’ve made it their new exit, to forage and annoy,

I’ll have to make a bomb, there’s no more I can try,

Ah the stage is set, the concrete laid, the crack their exit, still,

I’ve made some calls, lip service and stalls, now I’ve had my fill,

My own two eyes, tell me no lies, I watch them come and go,

They’re having sex and tis me who’s vexed, roaming to and fro,

Not just the ants who use the path, and leave it in a state,

They take a leek try drugs have sex, as I think this is my fate,

I’ve even found them fast asleep, at the end of my poor wall,

And horses pound as the ants sleep, all through the night and all,

A fence ye say, will keep the ants at bay, and the young ones in the grass,

Well hope and pray, never comes the day, when someone, will breathe their last,

For I’ll not rest when put to the test, find them pissing up my wall,

I’ll tip my cap, and with baseball bat, put an end to one and all.

punchy's poems 1

https://www.live95fm.ie/on-air/shows/limerick-today/limerick-today-podcasts/september-2017/limerick-today-poet-christy-o-donnell-releases-s/

https://www.live95fm.ie/on-air/shows/limerick-today/limerick-today-podcasts/september-2017/limerick-today-poet-christy-o-donnell-releases-s/
this is defo worth a listen :)

giving blood

Giving bloods

Will you give us a pint, they are making a point,

We all should give blood, for reasons that are good,

Come on now what do you say,

So I asked for the form, which was only the norm,

And a pen to write on the paper,

So with pen held in hand, I would write as I stand,

In this a lifesaving gesture,

It may help save a life, of a poor husband or wife,

And I thought it wouldn’t be bad,

But the questions they asked, left me somewhat perplexed,

And for a finish feeling so sad,

Have you ever had sex, with a friend or your ex?

The would be deemed unprotected,

Or felt ill at ease, from venereal disease,

That went too long un-detected,

Or sex with a woman, who had sex with a man,

Said man using no condom with new man,

Or perhaps with a man who has had sex with some woman

Who has had sex with a man with a man?

The line it grew longer, my resolve somehow stronger,

I was determined to tic every box,

They wanted to know, if I came too or fro,

From the UK, and did I have clean socks,

In the eighties it said, as I soon might be dead,

Just answer yes if you please,

For it was no mean feat, if you ate their red meat,

You might have mad cow disease,

So I looked at this form, it didn’t seem the norm,

I asked the nurse who attended,

These questions on sex, with or without my ex,

With man woman or beast I’m offended,

Did you travel she said, as I sat on her bed,

There is no need for you to fret,

I’ve travelled I said, in and out of my head,

No blood from me will you get,

I am still in a haze, from that form on the day,

And they want to remind me by text?

Before the needle went in, I was gone, twas a sin,

That giving blood was all about sex.

friendly banther

Friendly banter

Peggy called, said she got the word, That I was unwell, or so she’d heard,

Today she had within her will, and asked of me, tell all, come, spill,

Well I thought, where to start, with this information to her depart,

So I been unwell for this past year, compared to you I had little fear,

The doc he warned give up the smokes, right away, for it was no joke,

With patch in place I went along, giving these up felt oh so wrong,

Three days in I was like a devil, my head it seemed began to swivel,

Until I gazed upon the wash, inside the machine the patches sloshed,

For I only stuck em to my vest, no wonder this was such a test,

My comfort blanket of 44 years, has now been kicked with much less fears,

Then my head it ached so I took a pill, thought of those I’d like to kill,

To the hospital to cure my plight, meningitis now I had to fight,

They pushed three needles in my spine, any wonder I began to whine,

My back it hurts, it’s sometimes hard, yet I manage to walk across my yard,

I feed the dogs who bark and shout, now the doc says, I have a thing called gout,

A blister on my foot this day, fungal cream to help it fade away,

A lump inside the inner gut, was keeping me held in a rut,

So camera up and camera down, and I awake in constant frown,

Lots of bits, cut and removed, this past year not one I’d choose,

Meds made up in the chemo lab, have me wrecked I don’t look fab,

A pill for this, cream for that, and when I sleep I must lie flat,

If the weather changes as it’s apt to do, I hope for one less pain or two,

For a while ago I felt that lump, from my right ball the sliced a chunk,

Yet I’m still here and standing small, all five foot six, I was never tall,

Here you are asking poor old me, how I am doing and if I am pain free,

You on chemo every week, and here’s me moaning, I have some cheek,

If we’re both around this time next year, you want a jump on this you’re clear,

My vision soon became impaired, the thought of which you should be spared,

For tied together, we would depart, and go in search of our missing parts,

The jump you said was on a bungee cord, thoughts abate thank the lord,

So how are you my dearest peg, getting stronger on your legs?

I do so hope your head is clear, although neither of us, now have hair,

Of all our friends with whom we reminisce, some we thought true, are still amiss,

I’ll call you soon and we can chat, say it like it is and lay things flat,

You’re very good to say you heard, I was unwell you got the word,

In troubled times, when you need a friend, to hear there might be soon an end,

For while we are fixing others woes, wrapped in pain from head to toe,

True friends will stay and remain like glue, all you ask of me, I will give to you,

A rock you are and a rock you’ll stay, so glad I cheered you up today.

For Peggy (fragill) Whelan

Christy (punchy) o donnell

so poor are we

So, poor were ye.

Moan

Oh ye were posh growing up so ye were,

You even had brushes to soften ye’re hair,

Things were so bad at our side of town,

We couldn’t get up from being put down,

Reply

You think it was bad you not getting up,

All we had was black tea in a cup,

There was no love in our place, no one to hug,

With your tea in a cup, we hadn’t even a mug,

Moan

Did I say cup heavens too far?

Forgive my boast we had only a jar,

And no money to spare, all ours were broke,

No crust on our bread, it wasn’t a joke,

Reply,

I’ll say this much, I will be honest and true,

We couldn’t afford to have soles in our shoe,

All we had then was string as our laces,

And no bar of soap, to wash our poor faces,

Moan,

Ah worried were you, about faces that were clean,

In our house, we had no face till we were fifteen,

So no soap needed, by either husband or wife,

We were so poor, there was no edge on our knife,

Reply

Ah sure it was tough, having a knife with no edge,

And the man in the house, having to swear to the pledge,

It was tough alright way back in the day,

One tougher than the next by all accounts I’d say,

Both,

We agree than that both our past was quite tough,

Each in our turn has had more than enough,

On and on each in turn got worse,

Money so tight, neither could afford a purse,

Until the shout went up last orders for the night,

They had one more just to avoid a fight.

statue of a grant of a statue

Statue of a grant of a statue

Now I’m all for artistic licence, in proper shape and form,

But there are statues popping up, which to me is not the norm,

One of poor axel Foley, shoved by the bend in Clancy’s strand,

Does not do him justice I don’t know by whose hand,

But you can be sure it cost a pretty penny,

Then there is Terry Wogan unveiled in Harvey’s quay,

Fifty thousand if I am right, someone’s house is free,

What did he ever do for limerick, in his life across the water?

Nothing comes to mind, in hindsight may be he ought to,

The more the zero’s the bigger the smiles,

Mr Richard Harris, stood right outside the bank,

Who or how much this one cost, who do we have to thank?

In common with the first two, yes they did very well,

Who replaced axel Foley I’m still trying to tell,

Apparently limestone has no price tag or sculptor as yet?

I could go on and mention, every statue in the city,

But not all are erected for being famous mores the pity,

Just these recent ones are, making no common sense to me,

The price the council pay, such large amount the fee,

And the arts council forms are there to be filled out easily,

Did these recent sculptors have to fill out that cursed form?

I looked for help with a book, which to me was perhaps the norm,

Half way through the puzzle, I got lost and had to start again,

It became more than my life’s worth and thus I had to refrain,

No money for this budding artist,

Let us at least recap, to what has simply gone before,

Let us remember, it has cost more than a pretty penny,

Let us see how many zero’s it takes to get the biggest smile,

Show me the limestone that cost fifty thousand quid,

Or the bronze broadcaster show me what he did,

Oh but give me the Rubik’s cube of a form to fill out,

I need a uni degree and someone with some clout,

Alas I am but a budding artist writer,

Seeking to find some help with my chosen form,

Unless I ask for a hundred thousand and I might have to,

It appears to receive some help, this amount is the norm.

war always wins

War always wins

( Manchester bombing May 2017 )

Let us all return to the old ways, a time now sadly lost,

Live out each and every new day, not worry of the cost,

Take ourselves back in time, when we had no need to hurry,

All about seemed fine, with please, thank you and sorry!

Turn the clock fully around, more than a hundred years,

Before instant news was found, as well as instant tears,

To when you had a row, you had to walk across the land,

And on the way somehow, the walk curbed your angry stand,

When it was man to man, each stood his chosen ground,

Both did rightfully stand, shook hands when done, real proud,

Yet this has not been so, the poor have, through ages paid,

The rich pull too or fro, soldiers in the ground are laid,

Armies go to fight, in foreign fields and places,

Bringing all their might, killing nameless faces,

While home is thought to be, untouched yet safe and sound,

No internet to see, whole cities flattened to the ground,

Yes please let us all return, to a time we knew no hate,

When all the bad we learned, would somehow seem too late,

When reporters had to go, to so many war torn lands,

It took a week to show, what they wrote with their own hands,

There is no going back, no way to turn that clock,

We have computers now that hack, and bombs instead of rocks,

To every corner of every land, religion organised and spread

Too many willing to lend a hand, to increase the numbers of the dead,

There is no going back, for there never was, a peaceful time,

Instant news was all we lacked, war was never something fine,

The less well-off always died, no matter near or far,

No government heard or tried, as long as they had their war,

So before we condemn one and all, blame a single race or creed,

No matter who started this brawl, hatred planted its seed,

And long before we ever knew, of such horrendous things,

We are so many, we are so few, and we bury all that war brings.

bon secuers galway irish religeon ???

It’s a secret, it’s the church

It matters not, on what patch of ground,

The holy “nuns” never acted alone,

Babies and infants, unfortunately bound,

Never again, through hunger moan,

This is Ireland, stronghold of the church,

Where all bow down, in praise and glory,

A paedophile caught, a child lay’s hurt,

Details hidden, no further story,

A Christian brother gives out detention,

A frightened child stays after school,

Beneath his smock detailed attention,

Tells his brothers, that child’s a tool,

First communion class, taught by a nun,

Excited children, eager to receive,

His body secretly forced on some,

And from the stigma, no reprieve,

Tuam in Galway, you are not the first,

Yet trembling again, a secret is out,

Successive governments, their bubble burst,

All along they knew, what the church was about,

Pack em tight now, we need the space,

Make sure they’re all covered well,

Tighter the better, with a downward face,

They’re souls are tainted, they’re off to hell,

Packed into the ground and left to rot,

Children dead from who knows what,

Does it matter from which religious order?

From where in the country, what side of the border?

Oh holier than thou, are you priests, nuns, and brothers,

As successive governments, held tight your hands,

While your coffers flourished, babies and mothers,

Ye buried deep ye’re secrets, across this land,

Proud to be Irish, don’t make me laugh,

Send that basket round the pews, each week,

Monies needed to keep the church alive,

If there is a god, then on you, Satan will thrive

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: great turnout good craicexcellent poetryif i do ...

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: great turnout good craic
excellent poetry
if i do ...: great turnout good craic excellent poetry if i do say so myself feeling good about the future

great turnout good craic
excellent poetry
if i do say so myself
feeling good about the future