Did you meet anyone?

Did you meet anyone, where did you go?

Did you stop to chat to someone you know?

Was the sun shining brightly, as you ambled your way,

Did you meet someone with something new to say?

Did you learn something new, about where you stood,

To those you spoke to, was their tale good,

Did you talk about history, fables, and tales,

Old murders and mysteries hauntings and tales,

Of people who worked hard while toiling their land,

Farmers and gentry, of foxes and hounds,

Who chases who in the bid to survive,

While the chased and the chaser try staying alive.

Did you meet anyone was it someone you knew,

Did they know of your family your history you?

Did you travel afar all over the county,

Watch all that grew, so vast a bounty,

Planted by all who wish to recall,

Heroes to yet come after those who would fall,

Did you meet anyone, was it good to head out,

Find old and new friends scattered about,

Of all you have met their stories please share,

Tell us all, as if we were there?

In your time and place you are never alone,

We tune in and listen. For this is our home.

Christy O Donnell

the pandemic

 The pandemic shows no sign of shifting 

Let's all have a party in Clifden 

If they find out so what 

They're a right foolish lot 

We'll spin em a yarn and they’ll listen 

finding fathers

Finding fathers

It was pre planned, before you arrived they, decided,

In secrecy, hiding behind a veil of, who knew best?

Yet to stop neighbours gossiping rule they abided,

Henceforth my time, was always put to the test,

Though I was for the asking, until I was blue,

Stonewall silence I met, at each, and every turn,

Family and friends, denying all they knew,

Avoided any and all mention, my desire burned,

Wondered, if somehow you knew I existed,

Did anyone tell you, I walked this planet earth?

My annoying questions, was how I persisted,

To no avail carried on, heavy of heart,

Knowing a past life will, find a way,

To make a noise in the present time,

An idea, a question, little or nothing to say,

Triggers fear for those who thought, all to be fine,

Information passed from one to the next,

Like subversives, on any border, cruising,

Word of mouth, no paper trail, no hidden text,

Nice thoughts, yet feeling all the while, losing,

Yet time and tide wait for none,

And both time and tide have, surely turned,

A million questions, a million, plus one,

And into the past, once more, we are hurled,

Her account? His version? circumstances untold,

No more vague response, to who or why?

Answers to a past, and a future to unfold,

From conception, I never, you, denied.

Ana Kreigel

Judged and found guilty

Part three Ana Kreigel

The jury is in and sentence is due,

For boy A and boy B both these two,

Boy A gets life for the one that he stole,

His the main part his dominant role,

Boy B gets just a little bit less,

After all he took flight from their horrific mess,

He will not accept his part in this deed,

Did he not understand he would not be freed?

Reviewed it would seem while being held in good care,

Given the best of all it doesn’t seem fair,

For the life that was taken to just serve some time,

To one day be free and still try denying,

Blame one another for this disastrous deed,

Hoping a not guilty verdict would see them both free,

As both now reside in their comfortable cell,

They’re part in this murder each one knows well,

Yet the victims in this are all those involved,

Parents and children and how this act evolved,

Ana kriegel is dead her name in the news,

Let’s protect her killers their names we can’t use,

We do not understand and we ought not to try,

It makes no sense that a child has to die,

Yet die she did at the hands of these two,

As we count our blessings knowing this truth,

The media will scream it’s too much or not enough

Life given or taken is always so tough,

Pray it’s enough justice and she may now be at rest,

For the murder of Ana kriegel a full sentence is best.

insulting poets (for a very insulting chip thief)

Insulting poets!

Ah sure anyone can write poetry, if they’re willing to try.

Just pick up a pen, grab some paper, and let it flow.

A historic statement from those who’s pen is always dry.

From those who’d have you believe they are truly in the know.

Poetry is easy just put some words on a page.

Ridiculous to think you might have to serve time.

Learning to recite or perform on a stage.

Learning meter, rhythm, style or rhyme.

Learn to send a message within those words.

Put effort into structure so that others will know.

Sure anyone can shout over a microphone and be heard.

No knowledge required no history in tow.

Yet why frequent readings each and every week?

If anyone can do it find better ways to spend your time.

Other than try to ridicule the meek.

Perhaps hide the fact within yourself all is not so fine.

Untrue to say “anyone can write” poetry on a page.

Your ignorance shows by the remarks you utter.

Your blank facial expression shows how you disengage.

You say poets writers are a bunch of nutters.

Still you return week after week.

For an hour you live through someone else’s word.

Insulting words are all you speak.

Forcing yourself over others to be heard.

Every poet here has set themselves a task.

At every level to try their best.

Over time improving their poets mask,.

Their work laid out put to the poets test.

So no not everyone can poetry write.

Not all can put words on a paper slip.

If poetry serves to have you contrite.

Stay home we’ll send you your chips.

death of a martyr

from a long time ago found this thought it was worth throwing out there :)

 

Death of a martyr

 

Sat in this cell, is like living in hell,

They’ll never let me out,

The louder I scream, the less I’ll be seen,

So I’ve learned how, not to shout,

I’m sick of this bucket; they won’t let me chuck it,

So I threw it all over the walls,

The smell is intense; it makes no bloody sense,

And still, they won’t answer my calls,

They’ve taken my clothes, for god only knows,

I sit here naked and bare,

A tin plate on the floor, behind that solid door,

I’m refusing to taste their fayre,

I sleep on the ground; it’s where I am found,

For they have now taken my bed,

Cold and alone, shook to the bone,

I think that soon, I’ll be dead,

They’ve taken my all, in the hopes I will fall,

And agree to their little plan,

Soon they will see, my mind is set free,

They’ll learn the resolve of this man,

With clean sheets I woke, a doctor he poked,

A needle right into my arm,

Asked me to eat, the taste of defeat,

Before I would, do myself harm,

Yet locked in my cell, its heaven not hell,

It is them who sit and observe,

While they kneel down, under that British crown,

I for one will not serve,

Keep yer food and yere bed, I’d rather be dead,

Than give up my right to be free,

For a simple request, put you all to the test,

Pride was all you could see,

I’ve had my last shave; I go now to my grave,

For freedom I made my last stand,

I made it my fight; I fought for the right,

I die free for my Ireland.

doghouse

 

Doghouse

Well, he’s in the doghouse and has no idea why,

It’s a familiar place he won’t deny,

This is where she said to go,

For what reason he still doesn’t know,

Yet here he sits in his newfound home,

Quietly sat just left alone,

Came home from work as he did all week,

To be told to him she will not speak,

Not for weeks after what he has done,

And just to enforce it there will be no fun,

And still no clue why he is sent right here,

The more time passes the less he is clear,

While in the doghouse he decides to just wait,

His life his time she says contemplate.

To this place of now comfort he has been sent,

Silently hearing her shout and vent,

So often here now it feels like his home,

No one to talk with here on his own,

With a thousand jobs flying about his head,

He forgot to do something while she lay in bed,

But he did recall that this drove him mad,

For he had given her all that he had,

And while in this doghouse he formed a plan,

Promised he would be a better man,

As she waited for her man from work to come home,

Intending to the doghouse send him again on his own,

With the light now fading and still no sign,

She wondered was this by way of design,

No man came home at the end of this week,

Now she must go and him try to seek,

A phone call later and directions were sent,

A new house built where no one could vent,

No screaming nor shouting in this his new place,

The name on the door showed horror on her face,

Here is my home fit for a man or a mouse,

Henceforth be known as the peaceful doghouse.