My Castle

Somewhere out beyond the noise, beyond the car horns and the shoe shine boys,

There’s a place of calm and gentle thought, of quiet peace and stillness sought,

Where all that tussles within my brain is forgotten now with soft refrain.

The wattage from the sun above, is dimmed beneath a careful glove

That keeps me warm and shades the glare and hosts a world of love and care.

But this is a place no man can find as it happens just inside my mind

And here at least for just an hour, I like to sit and my aches devour.

On some fine day maybe you’ll join me there, and deep into my eyes you’d stare.

But what you’d see I’m sure would daunt as one mans thoughts are anothers haunt.

As we grow, we learn and time does heal like something dumped upon a potter’s wheel

To be moulded, shaped and at last defeated, the painfulness maybe deleted.

But it’s all still clay, just prettied up, formed to something from which we’ll sup,

With avant-garde or abstract beauty, our minds distraction is all its duty.

But problems linger in a different form as a ship stays upright amidst a growing storm.

So steer a path to somewhere bright, where the leaves grow fresh and the air is light.

But then moor that ship and step right back, unload its cargo and its bags unpack.

And join me here by the waters edge with a cooling drink and a lemon wedge,

Forget the noise and distract your struggle, away from the things in life we juggle.

Live life for a moment just like a child and sit with me while the world spins wild.

Fungie, The Dingle Dolphin Poem

The XXL American squeezed off the XL coach.

He wiped the crumbs from off his shirt at the green clad guides’s approach.

„Well too-ra-loo and janey-mac, what a grand soft summers day”

He smiled and winked at the gathered crowd as the rain crashed down across the bay.

“Welcome to Dingle and the Ring of Kerry, Gods own promised land.

Such honest people, kind and true and sure the craic here’s only grand,

So take an hour and stretch your legs, the boats at 12 o’clock

For Fungie’s waiting out at sea, way out beyond the dock.

He’s thrilled such folk as you nice guys, for over thirty years

And never fails to show his face so allay your jokes and fears. “

So, at 2 o’clock the boat left shore, as punctual as ever

And out they went with hopes set high and the skippers name was Trevor.

They sailed and watched and sailed some more but nothing did they see,

The groaning started getting louder, the waves as empty as could be.

So they turned for home and cut their loss, feeling slightly cheated,

When around the coast, a sight so strange, increduled as they were greeted

For on the shore 4 local men huddled round their giant machine,

The 10 foot dolphins nuts and bolts, had run out of gasoline.

Bad Hat Day

Bad Hat Day

Today my hat’s the wrong way around so I think I’ll stay at home

Today the clouds outside are grey, and down the streets I cannot roam.

I’ve no idea why the hat just can’t sit the right way round

But it’s a circle at its edge and sometimes the right way can’t be found.

I can turn it till it’s the other way, and the back is now the front

Sometimes it never works and all I can do is hunt

For the courage that I need to open up my door

And face the big bad world outside and stop pacing on the floor.

It’s funny how something that just sits upon my head

Can ruin everything and just fill the world with dread.

But the blackness that I feel and the fear inside my heart

Is often trivialised by some folk who think they're smart.

But everybody knows, that a circles got one side

So to fix my hat disaster after my tears are dried,

I must be brave and smile and fool the world that I can show no fear,

And even though my heart is broke, my minds thoughts will never hear

The light of day, so just shut up and all this soon will pass...........

Is not the truth and will not help for a heart is made of glass.

So maybe I can leave it and not face the world today.

Maybe that’s the best idea, so here alone I think I’ll stay.

The Fly in the River Arguement - An Atheists Poem

In a tortured land we don’t hear them cry,
Somalia’s people live with a strange little fly. 

The fighting stopped, the sandstorms gone away
Eight year old Almar has run out to play.
He’s chasing a ball much like all kids on earth
With his friends that he’s known since the time of his birth.
A tiny small prick he soon feels on his neck,
But he’s covered in scars so he thinks – what the heck.
Little does he know a worm that lives in a bug
Will now go into his eye, he’ll be blind-can’t afford the drug. 

Such a complicated symbiosis between man, bug and worm
Evolved long ago, „evolved”, there I said it, yes that’s the term. 

Do you really want to tell me from on your pedestal?
That this course of action was not accidental?
Jesus or Vishnu , Allah or Christ
Are fucking sick in the head to pull off this heist.

We should stick to the facts, and stop a second to think
And see what we have, step away from the stink
Of thousands of years of hatred and war,
Chopping off bits and afraid to explore,
The beauty of Earth, the sun and the stars
The planets nearby like Venus and Mars
The beauty of a face not covered by veil
We can’t see their smile, stunning and frail. 

Do we need an almighty, watching above
To make us unite in his totalitarian love?
Does this make me do good, stop beating my wife?
Helping my neighbour and loving my life?
I don’t fucking think so, please credit me that
So I don’t go off killing your mother and cat.

Please teach in the schools how morality wins
But isn’t dictated by a fear of Gods sins
Be nice to your neighbour, don’t be a dickhead,
Should just be assumed and not have to be read
In two thousand year old books dug out from the sand,
Out of time, out of place, from a faraway land. 

When they call to the door to teach me their stuff
I don’t slam the door, nor do I laugh at their guff,
I’ll invite them for coffee, scones or some tea
And politely inform them that this stuffs not for me.
There’s people out there who use their belief
To get on with their life through hardship and grief.
And that’s good for them, whatever works, works
I guess nineteen eighty four did have its perks.
But faith is just that, a belief with no proof
It can be discredited as quick as any old spoof.

That’s not me being cruel or looking for fights
It’s about freedom of speech and all women’s rights.
And belief in all science, and medicines too
The companies are hypocrites but there’s truth in their brew.
A huge tiger’s cock or a black rhino’s horn
Won’t save us from things with which we were born. 

Cutting off things like a little girls clit
Will just get infected and hurt quite a bit.
So to go back to the start and recap real quick
If there is an almighty he is quite the dick.
Our world is not perfect we’ve made it that way,
Since religion and greed have entered the fray.

Just be happy with things that are all around
There’s no need to assume anything too profound.
Like that fairies and angels planted all of our trees
They didn’t I’m afraid but without them we’d freeze,
Cause over millions of years they’ve made timber and coal
And oxygen to breath, which gets us out of a hole. 

See everything happened accidentally on purpose
And things just died out that seemed kind of superfluous.
Evolution it’s called so go check it out
You’ll not burst into flames or get venereal gout.
Just be nice to your neighbour, don’t rape, steal or pollute,
Say hi to a stranger on your daily commute.
Give an old man spare change, and step over that ant.
Read some Charles Darwin and water your plant.
And if you insist on loving “Our Lord”
Keep it to yourself cause its making me bored.

Do me a favour though and practice what you preach. 

So let’s take off the burkha and allow freedom of speech.
And acknowledge the T-Rex buried deep under our feet
Saying he was put there is a shitty old cheat.
We can sing Hallelujah and all clap our hands
But first let us stop the expansion of sands
And drying up rivers and lakes filled with salt
Yes even with God we’re still all at fault.
Unfortunately I feel that if you’re of some belief
You won’t change your mind so I’ll save you the grief
Of another long rant about how you’re insane
Just look in your head and imagine your brain
It took an awfully long time to get that thing right
So please use it correctly and our future is bright.

Home, A poem about Ireland

On a little island swept out at sea, we call it home to you and me.

Lush from sea swept rain filled cloud, wrapped up tight in a misty shroud.

Windy beaches, deserted and bleak, mountains and valleys where no voices speak.

The land of Beckett, Yeats and Wilde, filled with humour and love beguiled.

Joyce and Singh and Jonathan Swift, spoke of Lemuel cast off adrift.

And like the short men in his book, us Irish see things with a different look.

Small men with a small town mind, the parish, Mass, and their daily grind

But never a man can forget where he’s from, lest they bear the wrath of gossips hum

And if you dance to a different beat, you’ll soon be told with harsh conceit.

These people though, with dreary souls, will pass through life with all their goals

Wrapped up in what their close peers say, their one concern is looking good Sunday.

So they can lean and spit against the wall and laugh about others sorry downfall.

But he didn’t fit in so who the fuck cares, “He’s gone now, we’ll get back to our prayers?”

But I make this sound like a rural mind, but the cities too have their very own kind.

Statues with their heads cut off, cursing at the smell of beef stroganoff.

“Dem fookin darkies took me job” and as he speaks into his pint he’ll sob

Cause God forbid he gets off his ass and look for a job or sign up for a class.

He’ll stay in his PJ’s from dusk till dawn and moan about his plight then yawn

Sure it’s all the government they made this mess but never the problem he’ll address.

Emigration is all we’ve ever known, the Irish Bar when the plane has flown

To Guinness, rashers and Tayto packs and the same old gossip with the same old hacks

So the next time you sit, staring at a foreign map, complaining that the tea there’s crap.

Think about what your new home can boast, perhaps a stroll along its sunny coast

And marvel at the healthy folk, jogging on sand and sharing a joke

The lack of hoodies, scowling drunk, the empty cans and McDonalds junk.

They use the bins, they use their heads, your rubbish shouldn’t be in the flower beds.

And maybe when you fly home next time, you’ll notice what’s mentioned in this rhyme

And help your neighbour and not spread scorn, Romantic Irelands not yours to mourn

‘Cause we didn’t help, we stood and watched, as scumbags wrecked and politicians botched

But maybe now we’ll see once more, we brought this all upon our shore.

And unlike O’Leary in his grave, we might grow up and our country save.

Me though……….I’m fucking out of this dump.