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

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