The mask I equip won’t stop thawing,
For the inner and outer bombardment of clawing
Will not end, so I turn my head into a safe,
Where dark black thoughts chafe,
The walls that already show cracks,
That will spill my thoughts onto the tarmac,
Because you see, just because you’re male,
Society will order you to never let your mask fall.
A prick, nothing more that’s what they say,
It doesn’t hurt, you’ll be okay,
But when you do it f***ing day after day,
You know the sickness won’t go away,
You kick and you scream hoping for it to leave,
It won’t, that’s not how it works, but you still believe,
That it will get better that it will be fine,
You just have to stay on the worthless grind,
It’s not that that easy day after day,
When you’ve been shot down at work and at play,
You go to your room and put your best music on,
You drown out the world and you are finally gone,
In this life, there are no freebies,
This is your hell now you have diabetes.
My Worries Drift Away
Junior cert results day,
I won’t be with the other boys,
While they’re drinking the night away,
I’m sprinting up to the buoys.
School on Thursday becomes hangover central,
I’m the only student that didn’t go out,
As the other boys lied about getting their hole,
I felt tired for yesterday’s workout.
Things calm down on Friday, back to normal again,
Everyone finds out each other’s result,
I say I got 9 A’s, and then
All I hear is “swot, swot, swot”.
Who knew there was a punishment for
Best in the school?
“He’s never even drank before,”
Apparently staying sober is uncool.
It gets personal as the day goes on,
“No wonder you’re alone,
You’re no fun at all,
You’re probably never gonna get stoned.”
Saturday, it goes away
With a short drive where I get rid of my deflation,
One All-Ireland final, hopefully another on the way,
As I get in the boat I find some motivation,
I start rowing, my worries are no longer real,
Who knew sport could change the way we feel.
Our churches are as empty as our souls,
Broken glass covers all the green of the grass,
As green as the rotten flesh of rotten food.
The stench of bad eggs cover the air.
Only the richest have to beg.
I hate the way that watchers think that they have all the power,
Some day we need to speak up proud and talk a little louder.
We need to stand up against them all and look down on them, like towers.
Put some fire behind our words and stop being little cowards.
They stand up in front of the class as if we are their b****es,
We need to show them who is boss and start making some switches.
Throw them back in their place like kicking the door off the hinges,
Thinking they don’t have a penny but we know they’re the richest.
Why is emotion blanked out by one’s strength?
A feeling like a stab through the heart and the depths of the ocean’s blue.
A feeling similar to drowning, smothering, dying.
We are based on stereotypes and put into categories
Like we’re some sort of blood type.
Are we all some sort of robot programmed by rules to do what the man says?
We’re all oneself, fighting battle after battle, physically and mentally.
Why can’t we just be the person we are?
The rule of foreign government has forever fragmented the land,
Back handed in a little brown envelop passed hand to hand.
Bringing them a cutty stool made in a Catholic school without any fundament.
The endeavour of a diplomatic monarchy of our country devoured of sentiment.
The petrified nationalists treated as second-class citizens.
The cry being pushed aside by a rationalists over heated mind,
Ideologies gone dissident,
It’s a new direction where humanity is heading down a one-way street,
It’s a void dystopia armageddon.
The School System
These teachers we have to please
We’re like fish forced to climb trees,
Nothing has changed in decades
We’re still competing for the same grades,
There’s way too much pressure
To all be successors,
While the smart ones receive praise
The thick ones seize to amaze,
It shouldn’t be a memory test
Because us fish can’t achieve the best.
Liam Evans, Joe Dunne and Conor Cooney
Wrapped in a bubble all my life
I never knew about the strife
Wars rage and people die
And all I thought about was a slice of pie
Bombs were dropped and homes were broken
But I was refreshed I had just awoken
My life was great and I was happy
But others weren’t and their lives were crappy
Growing up was easy and I never gave a damn
So I count myself lucky I am who I am
On a dark winters morning
In the small box room
The rain hits the window like bricks and stones.
The river of water flows down the window
Like tears on the child’s face.
The wind blows through the cracks of the window.
The clock strikes upon the hour
As the effort of school steadily creeps up
Jack Martin Kenny
Gotta lift weights so my arms can get stronger,
Gotta run track so my legs can run longer.
Gotta keep it up so I think I have a purpose,
Don’t want anyone to think that I am worthless.
They look and they think he’s doing fine,
Look at his six pack, he runs track, doesn’t slack,
Always up for a bit of craic.
They don’t look beyond that that like how he sits alone in class,
Not responding to anything but the ring of the bell.
He doesn’t talk to anyone anymore
He wishes he could go back to when life was simpler,
When it was easier to engage with others.
He doesn’t have a life outside of sport.
I can feel cracked bones
As I let out a groan
Caused by an action fuelled by testosterone
I fell onto stone
The shouts and screams reminded me of a deathly tome
As I lied on the ground, twisted and contorted, I felt so alone
Now all that’s left is a tombstone.
This is where I live,
This is where people get hatchets in the head,
This is where people smash cars to pass time,
This is where twelves drink in dodgy alleys and fields,
This is where people spend their dole money
On cheap bonsai and Adidas tracksuits,
Instead of the rent on their rundown one room flat.
This is where good people are misled by other misled people.
This is Daphne View.
People say “are yous gonna fight?”
I say “no, I just want to live a normal life”,
All I ever do is get into a fight,
With my parents and all my mates.
My parents say, “why is there always something up with me?”
Maybe because I’m worried somebody is about to punch me,
People walk by me and say “Oh look it’s the wuss”,
Maybe I just don’t want to make a fuss.
People ask me, “are you going off with this girl?”,
If her brother found out he’d hit me with his hurl,
He’d say, “don’t hurt my little sister!”
But what about her hurting me mister?
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, always dread,
For generations that now lay dead,
That fought for our nation and culture,
From a power hungry, red, white, and blue vulture,
But now their victory is a cruel remark,
On the long school days that teenagers embark,
For one such class is a pointless endeavour,
Because for Irish in our schools will not create an achiever.
The joker in class,
The smoker of grass,
But nobody knows
What inside really grows.
The anger the fear,
More drugs and the beer,
But I’m actually clever.
Don’t ever say never.
The wardens they look,
While reading a book,
School is like jail,
Except no visitors and no mail.
Again and Again
His hand cold now and limp
Like the calm before the storm
Then they all come all the hands,
Cramming in trying to get a piece, making sure
”They’ve done what they can”
Inbox full 54 new messages
Shut it down too much lock yourself in a room and just play
Wake up the next day
Into the next room, forget what happened
Expect to see him there, cup in hand
But no, just a box with ash inside and a lonely card sitting on the side
Then it all comes tumbling back in
Again and again, you see them
Again and again, you hear them
Again and again, you feel them
Check the inbox
No new messages
Everyone’s forgotten, but you’re still here
No-one likes moving
And soon the choice is looming
Clare or Wexford?
Which is for the choosing?
Return to West?
Where friends are best
But where one can’t rest
For teens judge
You must accept and begrudge
Physique, sport, humour, and clothes
Every fail deals blows
There I am popular
There I am liked
But there, judgement remains
And there it pains
Or stay east?
Where judgement is no beast
New people I have met
Close enough to, I am not yet
Return to west?
New friendships in Wexford,
Will be stressed
Return to Clare?
Forgotten I will be
In the Wexford air
Clare or Wexford?
Which is for the choosing?
Soon I’ll be expected to:
Be able to drive cars,
To be getting drunk at bars,
Have a girlfriend for a week,
Not be nervous when I speak,
Get A’s in all my subject,
All without negative physiological side effect.
Lives scales are hard to balance,
Especially when people keep adding more.
I’ll be expected to do this and more,
Because of a number.
Wrong Side of the Bend
I shouldn’t really have problems; academic, over-achieving,
And yet it seems I’m in a state of perpetual believing,
While maybe an A student, I’m utterly physically and socially inept,
A slot for an institution to fulfill and accept.
The truth is, while resplendent with medals and awards,
When actually speaking, I’m shit with my words.
With women, well, I’m at my wits end,
And to some that equates to being on the wrong side of the bend.
Our Past, Our Future
It all began in the British Parliament
Where they talked and acted powerful
So they came and massacred our ancestors
Letting the Famine wipe out our people and tradition
But they didn’t understand how much this country means to some
It started with O’Donovan Rossa and soon the proclamation was born
This is when 1916 became a year to remember
A disgrace to the crown and all its mindless creations
The Irish heritage is one to be proud of
It is the cradle of early liberation
It was just a mistake, it must have been, right?
Nothing like that just happens, right in front of you
Just a silly old dream, a villainous fiend
A stupid cartoonish monster, with a bucket full of lobster
Then it dawned on me, it was plain to see
There was no mistake, he was right in front of you
It seemed so impossible, but now it was plausible
There is no doubt on my mind, he was there on the ground.
The pressure comes from everyone we see,
It’s like everyone’s favourite hobby is giving out to me.
Work hard in school.
We’re sick of all these idiotic f***ing rules,
It’s like everything in the world is trying to put us down,
If it pushes any lower we’ll be in the f***ing ground.
We go to War
I go to war in my dreams,
Thinking of the hits, the steps and the rush I feel,
Thinking of the match, the rush, the aggression, the violence, I feel.
The whistle blows, time for a scrum, a group of 8 men pushing 8 men
But you’re alone.
I fight my own battles, just me and him, staring each other down.
The ball comes, smash, the pressure of the earth squeezing us in,
We hold, we hold, bang.
The scrum is down, reset, do it all over again.
Waking up to the sound of cars,
You sit on your bed, with wrists full off scars.
Put your clothes on, go eat breakfast,
All you want is to end this f*** fest.
Sitting in the back of the class,
Everyone starts getting on to your ass.
Put a gun against your head,
Pull the trigger, who will care that you’re dead?
Think for a while, you tell yourself “No!”,
This way you’ll just make a show.
Don’t end your life just ‘cuz it’s s***,
Hope for the best, and one day, your life will be sunlit.
The adrenaline flows,
But my heart froze,
As the ball dove in
Between the ash and the clash,
As I smash with the ball in my hand,
I was grand.
I was free on a scoring spree,
It was key to keep my head
As I shed blood and sweat
I was the threat to the oppositions victory.
Walk through the school gates,
The pressure on you and for what?
The pressure of one piece of paper.
Good grades, the pressure is off.
Meet with your friends,
Plan the night ahead
And don’t worry about where it ends.
Go out, get your first puff
And you can’t think for a while,
Till you wake up on your mate’s sofa the next day
And try again.
All to go back home
And tell my parents we did nothing,
Meanwhile, I yearn for the next night out.
Lee O’ Connor
This is where he lives
This is where the weed gets sold on the tic
But all the drugs in the world
Won’t bring his past back
Where he tries every drug he can find
Hoping one high will last
The one thing they can’t do
Is the one thing he wants
Though he knows he’s insecure
It’s security that he flaunts.
If you’re obese, I’ll tax your fat.
If your bald, I’ll tax your hat.
If you walk, I’ll tax your feet.
If you eat, I’ll tax your meat.
If you read, I’ll tax your book.
If you fish, I’ll tax your hook.
No I cannot, should not, will not relax,
Until all of you I own.
I TAX, TAX, TAX.
The Rise and the Fall
The adrenaline rush,
The silence, the hush.
The blow of the whistle,
It stings like the thorn of a thistle.
The clash of the ash,
About to get smashed.
Grabbing the ball,
The rise and the fall.
The shouts of the crowd,
They’re loud and proud.
The Smell of the Grass
I love the smell of the grass,
The new lines marked,
Playing on a day as clear as glass,
As we hear the dogs bark,
As they hear the ball hit the fence,
Behind the goals,
It then starts to get tense,
When the first ball gets put through the two poles.
I am small,
But I’m not afraid to face it at all.
The thing that gets me is why do people put you down and make you feel small,
Why do people just look and just look away because you aren’t a “10”.
They don’t stop and think maybe just maybe he might be a nice guy.
Yeah he might be small but by god
He will do everything that he can possibly f***ing do for you.
Maybe he is small but maybe he is bigger than anyone out there
And he really is one big “10” after all.
She likes him because he plays county,
But she doesn’t see what’s under his shirt.
He’s insecure about taking it off,
Because he feels her laugh would hurt.
He doesn’t really play county,
It’s just a way for him to get closer to the shift,
Her friends behind her realise who he really is,
They see behind his lies,
But they always turn a blind eye to lads like him.
Matthew Figgis and Robert Foley
I’m sick of it all,
I’m being judged on how well i can control a ball,
Living my life in a shadow of a man who’s just older than me,
Now I’m here I missed one day yous are going crazy,
But what’s the point of going on with this,
As nobody wanted me when I was younger,
Just because I was a Murphy.
They call you by your surname,
Like you’re a witness to a crime.
Like you have just committed murder
And you’re going to do hard time.
Sighed, “not getting it again”, they said,
“You should have done it”, they said.
But they never ask questions that matter
They come up with so much blabber.
Our minds are like temples but theirs are like lemons.
Sour and old fashioned, just like there teaching.
Teens are mad, getting drunk and high
All their mothers hear, are f***ing lies
Don’t have the courage to look into her eyes
And say “Mam, I’m a Dad”
Going back to school thinking your the s***
Getting high-fives not realizing you just ruined a women’s life
Your biggest worry at this time
Is when are we getting high
Enniscorthy is the town,
Where they drink Dutch Gold,
Drink naggins of vodka
And let their joints go cold.
Under the bridge or in the grove
Which is the place you’ve been told
“You just don’t go” unless you’re on the dole,
Sesh, or tryna get a young wan on your pole.
Another great place is up in the rocks,
Where you can stare at the stars in your smoke-filled car,
Melting your 9 bar, filling your lungs with tar with rollies and joints.
When they wake up in the morning and say never again,
But the lads say “gway!, it won’t be week till you’re doin lines of ket”.
I’m gonna write a rhyme,
It’s not a crime,
Spending a lifetime,
Ahead of time,
Stuck in school,
What a drool,
But a tool
To a good life,
A loving wife and things to do,
With kids and a job,
Not a snob, nor a slob,
But in a way, it’s cool,
To be back in school.
I Found Myself
I found myself a friend
And brought him out with me
So when the drinking commenced
He made me pissed as can be
Little did I know that Smirny would leave me in such a state
Until I threw him on the ground and watched him break
So here’s a word of advice to all you lightweights
Stop hanging out with Smirny and get yourself a mate
Daniel Bruce and Micheál Gahan
This is where we fight,
Right underneath the corner street light,
He pulled a razor-sharp knife,
And then something flashed before me,
I pulled out mine, but it was blunt,
Oh what a lucky little c***,
He pierced my lung,
I was just all too young.
Rory Scallan and Cian Rochford
We’re not all Wenger Out,
Just because they scream and shout.
He’s been there all my life,
We can’t kick him out because of a bit of strife.
Just because he’s a bit old,
Doesn’t mean he can’t produce gold,
If you give him a bit more time,
He’ll make everything feel fine.
If we stick together and start to believe,
We’ll soon have ‘Champions’ etched on our sleeve.
Where I Belong
The middle of summer,
Sun splitting the trees.
We lose the match,
What a bummer.
But that’s where I belong,
Out playing the GAA.
Would love to prolong
My playing career.