Tag: poetry

“21 Guns”

Dedicated to all who campaign against and affected by suicide. 

Life started anew.                                                                                                                                                                       Friends, drinks, the odd joke.                                                                                                                                                 Girls and boys fall in and out                                                                                                                                                             The neck begins to choke.

Blocked ears and mind                                                                                                                                                                The eyes lack soul.                                                                                                                                                                     People cry and wonder:                                                                                                                                                                “Will we die old?”

One day a call will come                                                                                                                                                          All that will be said                                                                                                                                                                    Is an apology, and                                                                                                                                                                   “He is dead”

I will be there at your grave                                                                                                                                                         Wishing you were here                                                                                                                                                               To see your 21 Gun Salute.                                                                                                                                                       A gun for every year.


“My Crazy Diamond”

I met you in the darkness of my life. And you shone like a rare precious jewel. 

You would shine when you would tell an oddly true story. You would shine when you laughed at my antics. You would shine when you were honest with me like no other. You would shine when you fought bravely against your problems. You would shine when you selflessly thought of others in their hour of need. You shone, because you’re crazy, just like me. 

I wish you the sun, the stars and the moon, my friend. But mostly, I wish for you to shine on, my crazy diamond.

To My Precious Wife…

Aoife & Louise

I love you like Tom Hiddleston loves Shakespeare, or like fangirls with Tumblr.

I love you like we love Benedict Cumberbatch, or like you with your cat.

I love you like my warm bed, or a John Green book thoroughly read.

I love you like four slices of pizza, or like a full jar of Nutella.

I love you like a pint of cider. My love for you grows wider.

I love you like a cup of tea. I totally ship you with me.

I love you like Bob Dylan, or like a dark-haired sic-fi villain.

I love you like free wifi, or the memory of when I first saw you before my very eyes.

I love you like the Irish love GAA. My love for you will never fade away.

I love you like the British love Doctor Who. I know for certain that you love me too.


I Am Not

I am not my gender. I am not my age. I am not my beliefs. I am not my interests. I am not my education. I am not my career.

I am not my family. I am not my friends. I am not my lovers. I am not my peers. I am not my teachers. I am not everyone else.

I am not my past. I am not a fool. I am not my fears. I am not a child. I am not my mistakes. I am not inferior.

I am not my nationality. I am not my creativity. I am not my sensitivity. I am not my sexuality. I am not my disability.

I am not anything, except me.

All the World’s a Stage – Modern Version (UCC First English Shakespeare Writing Competition Entry)

All the world’s a television series,
And all the men and women merely characters:
They are written in and written out of the show;
And one character in their screen time played by many actors,
Their acts being seven ages. At first the tot,
Howling and heaving on the midwife’s (and then the mother’s) arms.
And then the sulking student, with the ragged school bag
And the bleary morning face as a slinking snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the awkward admirer, 
Intoxicated from the fumes of love’s stove, featuring a romantic soundtrack
Made to woo to love interest. Then an action hero, 
Brimmed with mysterious motives and hard favoured rage
Preserving glory, prepared to fight and kill.
Seeking a fatal reputation
Even facing the barrel of a gun. And then the champion,
Well rewarded and well fed, 
With intense eyes and stunning good looks
They have seen the world and can speak with great wisdom; 
And so their part is played. The sixth age shifts
Into the comfortable cloth confinements (rather than fashionable),
With large bifocals and matching crow’s feet;
The youthful attire, well kept, a world too harshly vast
For small frail bodies; and their strong eloquence,
Turning again to childish folly, complete 
With comical sound effects. Last episode of all, 
That ends this strange eventful programme, 
Comes full circle with the start and then the tear-jerking death scene,
Closing eyes, closing mouth, closing credits.  

“It’s Not Bullying If…”

“It’s not bullying if it happened on the bus. It only happens in school. It’s just horseplay. Lighten up!”

“It’s not bullying if he tries to throw your toys or books out the window when the bus is moving. He’s only joking.”

“It’s not bullying if he made you feel worthless and weak. You’re just paranoid.”

“It’s not bullying if he hurt you against your will. You’re six and handicapped. It was your fault in the first place.”

It’s not bullying, it’s torture.