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

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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