Portumna Community College

Weird Rituals

What if they notice me sitting here,
In cold sweats, biting my nails
Chewing the skin on my hand.
Suffocating on every decision
Wondering why every decision I make is wrong.
Drowning in confusion,
Carrying the weight of the world on these tight shoulders
I panic as to if they notice me sitting here
Repeating rituals that don’t even make sense
And if they do , do they think I’m weird?
Hyperventilating over the thought of never being fully happy
And wondering if tapping on the desk a certain amount of times,
And trying to flick my nails ten times before the teacher speaks
Is completely pointless.
And if it is will I ever be able to stop?



Darkness into light
She’s lying in a bed
Bed bound no life
Lying their helplessly
Hope is no where
Would these be her final few hours?

Hours passed she improved
Imagine what hope could bring
Belief and positivity
Praying for her
Hope was coming
Would she improve
Life was at the essence

Maria Mitchell

The Hospital

The swish of the door,
The new, cool, clean smell,
The chatter of people with much news to tell.

The doctors come hurrying fast to and fro,
With weight on their shoulders,
They keep their eyes low.

As for the nurses,
They follow behind,
The patients depend on their duty,
So kind.

The sick are now ringing,
Looking for tea,
The visitors are saying,
“Thank god thats not me.”

Nobody asks if the nurse is okay,
Or if the doctor is tired from such a long day.
Instead they give out about waiting so long,
They say the the workers do everything wrong.

The doctors and nurses are trying their best.
Please stop complaining and give them a rest.

Martha Tuohy


You judged for no reason,
I didn’t understand,
That was the moment,
I got the helping hand,
To move away

The penny dropped,
But you dropped me too,
Left solitary, left alone,
Kicked out of the queue,

Starting fresh, yet again,
But this time it’s different,
An accidental meeting,
But now it’s more frequent,
Finally, a friend
Respectful, not ruthless
A friend.



What to write about?

Poetry is hard!

Joseph Evans


Being judged
It’s a common thing to deal with
We attempt to hide from it
Behind books, doors, walls, screams
Mobile phones, computer screens.

We never look past the exterior
Judge by their hair colour
Figure or clothes
People think they understand us
But the sad truth is
That nobody knows

Do they know what we feel?
What we feel inside?
That when we said we were okay
That a brave face lied.

Am I not intelligent?
Can I not do great things?
We try to reach higher to find
We are pulled down by these puppet strings

By the strings of not only ourselves
But strings that get tangled
In the strings of others.
Strings that can be wound in spools
Or sold off dusty shelves

Strings that can strangle, or choke
Our secret selves.

Strings made from stereotypes
From mass media marionettes
Actors, models, celebrity icons
But to truly be free we need to break
Those wretched strings

And allow ourselves to fall
Into our own identity.

Niamh Quinn


Black people gained “equality” before 1965,
So why is it still so hard for black men to stay alive?
Black parents working round the clock to help their babies thrive,
Yet they’ve gotta teach them about hatred before they’re turned five.

His mama sits at home worrying about her son,
All he wants to do is go out and have fun,
Suddenly he’s looking down the barrel of a police man’s gun,
Wondering why he didn’t get the chance to turn and run.

He was innocent.

Even though he didn’t commit a crime,
The colour of his skin meant he still got time.
How can we put up with this injustice
Now can everybody see what all this fuss is.

Leah Hoary


It’s me..
I’m ugly…
I’m sad…
I’m weak…
Nobody wants me..
Nobody likes me.
I’m the third wheel in a friendship that nobody wants
I drink through the pain,
I sleep through the pain,
But nobody will understand
Because it’s me…
The dark inner me,
That I hide with an overdosed fake smile not waiting for my time to go home..



I understand. Your entire life you were raised with it. It was life, it allowed you to live.
I understand its your culture, thousands of years, meal after meal, generation after generation; protein is life, meat was life.
But now we understand we can live without it, beans, peas, pulses. We could be healthier, we don’t have to kill.
I understand it would be hard, it’s what you’re used to, it’s what you love. But why must we take all these lives?
I don’t understand, the lives of billions of cows, pigs, sheep, chicken, fish? Are these really worth less than the brief human enjoyment?
I don’t understand, but I know it won’t change. What makes you better than the steak right before you?
I want you to understand.

Fionn Moore



When I was a kid I wanted to be a famous, important person,
Today when I think about what I want to do and who I want to be,
I still think about wanting to be that important person,
A barrister? A scientist? A doctor?
About the years of college and study and exams and late nights and no social night,
That lies that each of those paths.
I still don’t know.
The only thing in my future that is certain is I want to be a mother!

There is nothing I love more in this world than the idea of having a baby girl!
I imagine the ultrasounds, the swollen belly, the baby kicks,
The day I first hold her and take her home,
The sleepless nights, the crying,
Her tiny hands and feet.
And I love her already.

And I know the world is cruel to girls and women,
Policing and judging OUR bodies,
Telling us what and who we can and cannot do.
But I will protect her and teach her,
And remind her that she is a goddess and can do whatever she wants in this world.
I still don’t know who I want to be,
But I know I am important enough to be her mother,
And I look forward to it.