'Everything's Gonna Be Alright' - Limerick Sings for 2014

Completely finished

 

No English dictionary can explain the difference between, complete and finished,

Some people say there is no difference and either word cannot be diminished,

Try as I might I have looked in most,

And the amount of time and effort it’s cost,

 

Has my head in such a spin,

Between complete and finished I can’t decide who wins,

Am I finished when I decide that I am done?

Are things complete when it is no longer fun?

 

Things seem confusing when I am near the end,

For on these two words I cannot depend,

I’m beginning to think that final is the thing,

Yet complete and finished have such a nice ring,

 

So I’ve thrown the dictionaries into the thrash,

And decided to explain things simple but harsh,

Here is my take on these similar words to date,

Because on my nerves they are beginning to grate,

 

When you marry the right woman you are thus complete,

And all things in life are then nice and neat,

When you marry the wrong woman then you are surely finished,

And your life will steadily and painfully diminish,

 

But should the right one catch you with the wrong one having fun,

Then you are completely finished and finally done,

But if you don’t start in the first place there’s no end,

Having been caught with the wrong woman you cannot defend,

 

All in all I am still confused,

Right or wrong woman I am completely finished feeling used,

So I should stick with the right woman and be complete,

Because the wrong one will see me finished in defeat,

by
Christy o donnell

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: from gloves to pen

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: from gloves to pen: well I have my first collection of poetry out now From Gloves To Pen, anyone who wants to buy it can mail me and I'll gladly post it t...

from gloves to pen

well I have my first collection of poetry out now
From Gloves To Pen,
anyone who wants to buy it can mail me and I'll gladly post it to your home address
e-mail punchy1963@yahoo.co.uk for details
all support is gratefully appreciated
and it will definitely make you smile
price 8 euro plus post works out at about ten altogether
many thanks
Christy o donnell

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr

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tribute to the boss

Dear Mr Springsteen,

There were people queuing up to see you since Thursday last,

And the radio station played your songs all day long,

I have listened to your music both the present and the past,

No doubt when you have gone the audience will still be humming along,

There was barbeques in killeely, thomandgate and Moyross,

For those of us who could not gain entry to Thomand park,

Even those we beat on Sunday returned to limerick to see the boss,

Their journey less painful on the road back from cork,

You gave a good account of yourself on the big stage,

I know because I listened from the confines of my front garden,

I heard you sing of love pain hurt joy and rage,

Nice to hear over the years your heart didn’t harden,

I’d like to thank you for giving limerick a much deserved lift,

By choosing to have at least one show in our fair city,

And sharing with us your most enjoyable musical gift,

Unfortunately there are few like you mores the pity,

Just so you know we are so glad that you came,

It was almost like waiting 17 years to win the Munster final,

Things here in limerick will never be quite the same,

The weekend will be recalled as the Bruce Springsteen hurling revival,

Who would have thought that a musician from the states,

Could perform on a small island in the sea,

And then be joined and share both fates,

You have been accepted as a true limerick man and our city is free,

I will finish by saying thank you for visiting your now new home from home,

In the fervent hope we will see you again real soon,

If you’re ever in Ireland come to limerick you will not be alone,

We will show you how we have a drink and whistle up a fair tune,

There will be no need to book out Thomand Park,

Call round to my place and we will relive your concert while dancing in the dark.

17/07/13

2 poems about a ghost in my house and hand me down clothes

http://youtu.be/1raw5jOz1lA

Her room my house

Having lived in my home alone now for some years,

The history of our home now came under a cloud,

I lived here I said with the usual woes and fears,

And for the most part I’m proud,

 

They found out there was a murder committed in this place,

And wanted to know who what where and why,

So I told them there were times when I saw the woman’s face,

The look on my brow told them I didn’t lie,

 

In winter she passes me at times on the stairs,

But always when I am alone and at night,

I could tell they were shocked by their astonished glares,

Its ok I told them she never gives me a fright,

There are times when I lay asleep in my bed,

And I forget to close the room where she died,

She will pass me in the landing, sometimes nods her head,

But there were times she was angry and would not be denied,

I’d be lying in bed letting off the odd snore,

When the bedroom would suddenly become cold,

You see I would have forgotten to close that door,

The duvet ending up on the landing and that’s me told,

 

So I’d get up and lock the door to that room,

Picking up my duvet and head back to my bed,

And when I awoke in the morning a feeling of gloom,

That light would be on and the door open instead,

 

For the most part I say we get along her and I,

And if she’s angry and I want to keep my duvet off the floor,

Nothing more for it but to remember I’ll try,

To close and shut her bedroom door,

To this day it’s her room for it is where she died,

And no woman has ever set an eye on her ghost,

And any man who’s slept in it knows I haven’t lied,

It may be her room but it’s my house and I’m a fair host.

And the man who killed her lest I somehow forget,

If you gaze out her window you’ll see where he met his tragic death.

12 Jun. 13

Hand me downs

Growing up in the sixties really wasn’t so bad,

Times were tough but we shared all that we had,

The wireless radio played Beatles songs most days,

There were dark times no jobs and no pay,

 

I had ten sisters six older four younger,

One younger brother one older and stronger,

Clothing was an issue it was all hand me downs,

Nothing was wasted amid all of our frowns,

 

For years I was happy in my hand me down clothes,

No shame in recycling as everyone knows,

The shoes had holes in them under our feet,

Yet we smiled at each other whenever we’d meet,

 

The mother would issue us all with some chores,

And we’d be out that door in threes and fours,

All chores would be left undone none of us trying,

Through the arch of the house of Mrs O Brien,

Did you see them my mother would shout from our yard?

I saw no one the reply with my eyes it’s a bit hard,

 

We’d be gone for the day our freedom achieved,

But coming home none of us felt relieved,

Our chores still undone with a clip upside the head,

Were always done before washed and to bed,

 

My pyjamas too small they pinched and chafed,

With four sisters after me they would not go to waste,

A night gown the mother presented to me,

From one of the sisters who giggled with glee,

I’m not wearing that I said it’s her slip,

And my ear went red from her hand like a whip,

 

My introduction there and then to ladies attire,

Back in the sixties there wasn’t much more for me to aspire,

I often wonder with sisters numbering from one to ten,

Was it ok to be a cross dresser, aged nine back then.

12.06.2013

love is not blind and the lost plot

love is not blind and the lost plot

Love is not blind

I wondered as you walked away and left me behind,

Would I ever see you again in my life?

Would you come back as you promised and then me, find?

Or maybe you would become someone else’s wife,

Have children with them and be a mother to them all,

Would you even recall this life where you turned and walked away?

With my heart in your hands you promised not to let fall,

 

And as I watched you walk away unknowingly for the last time,

I forced myself to believe you would be back,

That I would see you again tomorrow and all would be fine,

Yet in my heart of hearts I felt the first little crack,

 

That was when I learned that all in love is never fair,

And people lie while they smile into your face,

And tell you they love you and they truly care,

Suddenly heartbroken you are alone feeling utterly disgraced,

 

It can take years before you are willing to trust,

No one in your mind is now worth the time,

As you get older your brain tells you trying is a must,

Still you are unwilling to call someone anyone mine,

Yet you recall when you first felt that little crack,

As your heart began breaking into tiny little pieces,

An endeavour into which you swore you would never go back,

And like a shorn sheep vulnerable fleece less,

 

Whoever said that all in love was fair,

In reality must surely have been blind,

To trust and show someone that you care,

Means never hurting them leaving broken hearts behind,

 

Finding love simply explains itself,

You find it without ever really looking at all,

Mostly while thinking you are left on that shelf,

The lucky ones find what others have left fall,

And on the day you walked away and left me behind,

All was not lost for love did me truly find.

14 May. 13

The lost plot

It’s gone you know and I doubt if I’ll ever get it back,

I came home today to be told it was missing,

I’ve always had it but alas it is something I now lack,

I sit alone like a coiled snake hissing,

And still I feel this loss has me stressed,

 

As soon as I opened the front door she said I’d lost it,

There was no way she would put up with me now,

I was staring into a never-ending pit,

I had to find it somewhere somehow,

A disaster that at one time had me stressed,

 

As I climbed down off of my high horse so to speak,

I set about relocating what I had apparently lost,

Not having much luck things were looking bleak

And I was feeling that I would dearly have to pay the cost,

I longed for that time when I had it and we were at times blessed,

 

But it looked like it was gone and lost forever,

And no sign of it wanting to return,

But I stand before you now not feeling so clever,

If I don’t find it she says in hell I will surely burn,

And there in flames shall my soul be eternally caressed,

 

So my mission before I am sent straight to hell,

Is to get it back that which has been lost to me,

So if anyone knows where I can find it please tell,

For I have looked and nowhere in sight can I see,

This thing which I lost has me so distressed,

 

Tired and to bed I went just to gather sleep,

I thought this may help me in my mission,

I don’t want to go to hell and forever burn and weep,

As I lay down in my room for some remission,

Hoping to find an answer to my quest,

 

As I awoke with the sun shining in my room,

And all about me seems to render me somewhat blind,

A smile upon my face no more thoughts of gloom,

What she said I had since lost was just my mind,

Hiding in a drunken haze I must confess.

19.05.2013

 

h sides of spousal abuse
http://youtu.be/_snlJNyAJto

paupers field and teanwork (pickpockets)

http://youtu.be/eeo6k9YLtk4

some more fun stuff hope ye like it

some nice poems for a change

http://youtu.be/fjxL2k7Rt9w

some new and some old but published in the blue hour magazine 1st anthology

http://youtu.be/qPghJRbqgkc

lets do lunch sock lesson

http://youtu.be/sazNI5qliz8

http://youtu.be/zR0-hM2vgzg

HDV_0085humour in poetry

i did this haha

http://youtu.be/m-DCf4oiE2s

try this link it has more fun stuff in my opinion worth a giggle

just some more thoughts on life and humour

 

 

The promise

I was walking through the village as I did most every day,

To the post office and the shops I would usually find my way,

My dear old mother told me I should walk along the road,

And if I met with a neighbour I was to help them with their load,

 

Her plan it was a simple one for I was getting on in life,

The walk would do me good and I just might find a wife,

Twice a week I took the road to the village and the shops,

The rest of my time was spent tending to my crops,

 

Mother she was fretting and asked me to make haste,

Before I was too old and my time would be a waste,

But I was sure of foot and my walk was for her too slow,

You stay home she said and walking she did go,

 

For it is the way with women as they walk along the road,

They stop and chat with anyone to make a lighter load,

She told them one and all that I was getting on in life,

And if it took her dying breath she would find for me a wife,

 

It didn’t take her long as she was sprightly on her feet,

And soon enough she brought along a girl for me to meet,

We spoke at length and thought each other to be just fine,

Pretty soon I had asked her if we could marry and she be mine,

 

The day it soon arrived and we were to the church to wed,

Your father would be proud she cried if he wasn’t long since dead,

Soon enough the wife announced that we were now with child,

Mother cried her eyes out I thought that she was riled,

 

From the kitchen window I saw her; she was talking to a ditch,

I thought her going senile and this could be a hitch,

Weeks had passed and I asked her why she still took to the road,

Was she speaking to the ditch trying to lighten off her load?

 

Sit in the chair she said and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,

All will be revealed and then perhaps you’ll see,

Remember pat she said who owns the farm across that hill,

He asked me if I’d marry him and when you were wed I said I will,

 

So that was your plan I said I was your heavy load,

Hence you sent me walking to the village along the road,

I made your father a promise as he lay on his dying bed,

I would not marry another until after you my son got wed.

18 Mar. 13

 

I was there

I was there in the house when he walked on the stairs,

His presence large and his face all aglow,

I went there because as he said he had my prayers,

I gave them to him so that he would know,

 

I went there to his house to sort things out,

As his life was coming to a hastened end,

I stood there while he would argue and shout,

His life he tried so hard to defend,

 

I listened intently to the stories he told,

I got lost in the hunt and chase of it all,

Legends of poetry as yet to unfold,

As his fate was sealed he was facing his call,

 

There was so much that he was now to sort out,

And little enough time left, his future was death,

And as he stood in his house he began to shout,

“I’ll sort this place with my last dying breath,

 

He’s gone now and I stand in his now empty house,

I can still feel his presence as I load up his life,

Each corner of the room the signs of a mouse,

His watchful eye looking over us friends and his wife,

 

As we scurry about the place up and down those stairs,

Hefting bags and boxes out into the yard,

I can hear in the distance words and prayers,

Death is final but life is at times, hard,

 

Soon the door will close for good on his old home,

And we will relegate him to memory deep in our mind,

Not everyone can like us but we are never alone,

Take a look around you see what you find,

 

As we drive away for the last time, I look back on his place,

Don’t worry he’d say it will be fine, with that smiling face,

A nod is as good as a wink to a blind man I’d reply,

Life is for living it’s not a bloody race,

 

His life over coming to an early end,

You can feel his spirit floating about this place,

In the distance now dear old friend,

Remembered, always with a smile upon my face.

17 Mar. 13

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: Racy thinking Oh we spent the day in bed did the ...

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: Racy thinking
Oh we spent the day in bed did the ...: Racy thinking Oh we spent the day in bed did the other half and I, No sound passed between either lip nor ear, And though we were...

Magdalene jailers,,,

Taken from families who in some cases knew no other?

Children whom it seemed were thought to be of less use,

Or who had made some error in their life causing bother,

Shipped off by the Catholic Church for systematic abuse,

Made to work each day and no way out,

No reprieve for something that was never a crime,

Religious sisters never telling them what it was all about,

Living in bewilderment poverty and grime,

Many would profit from their incarcerated labour,

And no wage given for their daily tasks,

None for their lifetime would see any favour,

Instead of a smiling face would be a broken mask,

The Magdalene laundry had a fine reputation,

Their work was sought after by those who had money,

Society would not let these women see integration,

The horror of these places was anything but funny,

Some worked for a short time others their whole life,

Without wage or comfort as if criminal put to jail,

Too late for most to hope to someday become a wife,

Through an open gate and freedom they would never hail,

There is no justification for locking someone away,

Just because they don’t seem to fit in,

Forcing religion upon them each and every day,

Those in charge were the ones committing all the sin,

All the profit made from each day that was taken,

Bought land and prestige for this church of ours,

Young lives into servitude and futures forsaken,

To appease the religious fat cats and government powers,

But hey the currant lot in power now say they are sorry,

For anything and everything that happened to those lives,

Little word from the owners the church seems unworried,

It’s all about how much it will cost them for these could have been wives,

They provided that service while being told to kneel and pray,

How anyone can put a price on all that was lost,

And for years tell them they had nothing worthy to say,

Time given as payment is the ultimate cost.

20.02.2013

 

Car antics.

She always wanted to try it but never thought she would,

There just never seemed to be the right moment in this car,

Even though it was easy and she knew she could,

There was always a third party when they travelled near or far,

 

She knew she had some mad thoughts from time to time,

And this one had her feeling she was missing out,

If only she could do it once it would stop her trying,

Isn’t this what sharing and love was all about,

 

But he simply didn’t see the need to let her have her way,

As much as she tried to explain he didn’t want to know,

Don’t be so foolish he said a car is no place to play,

But inside her this need had begun to grow,

 

She gave him a choice with or without his consent,

She was going to do it and wouldn’t say why,

Only when she had her way would she be content,

Or he could agree and let her do it or at least try,

 

He refused point blank and said firmly no,

It was ridiculous to try it while driving a car,

Nothing she said would make him want to go,

Just so she could have her way while he drove on the tar,

 

Her choice made simple like any other,

She just wouldn’t tell him when she was in the mood,

I don’t care she said who’s in the car your sister or your mother,

Or even if we are shopping for food,

 

Then on a fine sunny morning with mother in the back seat,

She waited until he was speeding along the tar,

She reached across this was her need her treat,

She yanked the handbrake shouting stop this damn car,

 

There she said I told you I would,

As mother gathered herself up off the floor,

I did it I told you and you knew that I could,

That was the day she got her own car he drove her no more.