Holy Rosary College, Mountbellew, Co. Galway

Winter Lullaby


The comfort of the rhythm
The pattering of the rain
Like a sleepy lullaby singing on the window pane
The howling wind that blows a gale
That sweeps the day into the night
The storm that thunders through the town
Is no match for this fight
The wind that bites in winter, with deadly teeth of frost
The gentle flurry of the snowflakes disappears and then are lost
The winter that retreats upon the bitter winds of morn
The snow melts into spring from which summer is born
But the glittering frost and lashing rain soon will come again
An icy beast whose lullaby roars upon my windowpane.


Mary Conroy


Ugly isn’t Real


You are more than your looks
More than perfect hair
More than a pretty smile
More than clear skin
Or clear blue eyes
You are more than your looks
You are a human
You are a living breathing thing
You are unique
You are amazing because you are you
Because there never was a you before
Nor will there ever be a you again in the future
So screw what people care
About your ugly parts
Your spots
Your bad hair days
Your brace face
Your ugly things that are only ugly
Because society says they do
Ugly only exists if you let it
So don’t
It’s not in stone that ugly exists
It’s in society that ugly exists
It’s in society that
Spots make you ugly
That frizzy hair makes a bad hair day
That you are too thin or too fat
That ugly face means an ugly person
Ugly faces don’t exist
Ugly people don’t exist
Ugly doesn’t exist
But society makes it.




The Roast of Holy Rosary College


When you look at someone, what do you think?
High heels, short skirt, lipstick in pink
Must be a slut, a whore, because there’s no way
She’s wearing that outfit because she feels beautiful today

E-cigarette, curly hair, stud in his ear
Sure he’s a pure legend, he has no fear
But he dresses like this just to cover up the fact
He has no idea what he’s doing and not an ounce of tact.

The quiet one in the corner with her pigtails
Pigs will fly before she ever fails
Sure who would ever shift her?
The thick wan with the tits up to here is who’d we all prefer.

The non-binary edgy weirdo who’s so over this s**t
But really they care more than anybody else, an inward hypocrite
Sitting in detention even though they don’t have to be there
Sketching a portrait of the sad kid on social welfare.

The county hurler wearing his half-zip in class
Gets sent to the principal’s office where he loses all his sass
Cos the big hard man around the lads
Really doesn’t want to let down his dads.

Then there’s the really mysterious one
The one who’s always cracking jokes in class,
Whose homework is always done
But what do you know about them really, they don’t have a type
That’s what makes them different, they don’t believe the hype.

So, which one would you like to be?
I think I know the answer.
There’s more to people than you can see,
Stereotyping is a cancer


Áine Healy




“You’re weird”,
They say it.
It’s always followed by an onslaught of other comments,
Nice. Disgusting. But in a good way.
They say it.
Sometimes it makes me feel better,
It mainly makes me feel worse,
But they say it.
It’s what I wanted them to say, wasn’t it?
I was so sick of being generalised that I acted out,
Acted unconventional, acted weird.
I didn’t want to be like the others, I wasn’t like the others.
I wanted to be treated different to everyone else,
I wanted to be special.
I wasn’t. Not really. Not like I wanted to be.
I tried to act cool and mysterious, but I failed.
I was just weird.
But at least I was different, right?
I stood out, others stood away, I was too strange, too eccentric.
They just couldn’t relate to wanting anything more than to not fit in.
I thought I could be the chosen one out of a hundred that told society
That I could be the one to set free all the other slaves and blanks,
But I couldn’t, because there were none.
They were just people being people,
But I wasn’t,
I was just weird.




The World’s Worst Humanitarian Crisis at the Moment


When we wake up in the morning,
I don’t know what I’m going to eat,
What I’m going to drink,
Or if I’ll be alive at the end of the day.
I just sit and wait
And hope for the best.

You’re usually good at helping in these situations.
Sending in your soldiers up North
Helping people whose families,
Whose lives have been taken away,
By people, more powerful.
Why are we different?

Why won’t you help us?
How is oil more important
Than millions of innocent lives?


Amy Kennedy




Bad memories,
Driven up with words and phrases,
Colours and meanings no one gets.

Days and weeks and months and two long years
Repeating the same song
Through the same blue headphones with the frayed wire.
A song about loss.

But that’s what every song is about,
Love, loss, both, neither it doesn’t matter.
Everyone has something they loved and lost.
Someone, thing, a place, a phone number,
An irreplaceable something. A name.

A word unspoken for two whole years
Because those memories were too painful to kill.
It never mattered if anyone wanted me to say it
That word would never be spoken again.

Maybe through word games and made up languages
But never past my own two lips.
Day in day out, colours, phrases,
Reminding me of the same something I lost.

Repetitive, isn’t it?

Should’ve done more, should’ve said more,
Should’ve cared more.
Should’ve been enough to not lose that something.
That someone. A head full of another someone’s problems.

Screaming, shouting.
Wanting to tell them about the someone
Wanting to tell them someone was Beautiful
But fear, FEAR, fear of hurting them
Even further than I have, holds me back.

A gravity I can’t shove away anymore.
Two years of subtlety, silence, fear, insomnia
And pain that I can’t shed.
All because of a someone.

Deep and meaningful is right. And wrong.
A rant is what I needed.
A not-so-subtle rant about repetitive words and colours
And phrases driven up to the surface is therapeutic.

Two long years of bottling biological chemicals
And suppressing thoughts and words
In order to not hurt anyone else but I can’t anymore.
Because I’m only hurting myself.

I’ll be fine in a week, I said. Just gimme a week.
Two years later and I’m here.
The anniversary barely a month away
And a rant about a someone I loved and lost.


Rebecca Hughes



Dress Codes


I stood in front of the principal.
She terrified me.
She had so much power,
It was almost biblical.

Her thin glasses were pushed forward on her nose.
She was wearing a grey pants suit,
Her regular clothes.

She looked me up and down
Making me nervous.
“I swear” I said,
“I didn’t do it on purpose”

“You think you can wear that to school??”
I didn’t see the problem,
There was nothing wrong
I thought I looked cool.

But apparently showing shoulders is not acceptable,
It distracts the boys,
And wasn’t deemed “respectable”.

I was sent home, full of fears
In front of my peers.

It isn’t right,
“No shoulders”
“No knees”
“Cover up”
As if I had a hideous disease.

I have the right to wear what I want.
I have the right to show shoulders and knees
At least I believe.






A lot of people say that their biggest regret is not what they did do,
But what they didn’t do.
People say they chose a dream
But no a dream chooses you.
Will you pursue that dream?
It’s really up to you.
Did you know that a plane is more dangerous
On the ground than in the air?
Because on the ground it starts to malfunction
And wear more than it ever would in the sky.
But it’s your choice if you want to fly.


Alex Park




We sat in the corner hungry and cold
Waiting and waiting for father to get home

The draft came in and the curtain blew
Granny on the chair crippled with the flu

Then we heard the wheel barrow creek
At this stage the hunger had made me weak

Mother stood with the pot of water ready
As we heard father say to the pony, ‘steady’

He walked in, three spuds in his hand
So hungry we didn’t care if they tasted bland

The silence and tension could not be broken
We sat around no words spoken

The spuds were dished up one by one
Gone in a few seconds, soon there were none

Over and over same story each day
Hoping to get in to the work house we pray


Adah Silke


Heartbreak Storm


I see you with her.
I’m drunk so I don’t comprehend
Your plump, soft, red lips against hers,
Your tongue swirling in her mouth.
Heart racing. Chest beating.

I find myself alone panicking, not able to breathe.
Thinking about how this new foreign woman
Has walked into a room and all you want is her,
Not me! Her!
I ask, “what does she have that I don’t?”
I stop and think for a second.
I can think of a million and one characteristics she has that I don’t.

I am not something you can use and reuse.
I’m not a towel. I’m not strong.
I can’t keep it together when every single moment of my life
becomes an immense storm of my insecurities.
A storm of hate from my loved ones and hated ones.
A storm of disappointments
And a storm that keeps knocking me down
Even when I can’t get back up. I want this to end.
I want you to see that I am in fact fragile.
Your actions hurt
More than any words that have been thrown in my face.
I want to be free from this heartbreak storm




A Best Friend


He was always there for me when times were hard,
He’d always watch over me, he was good at keeping guard.

He loved to play with me, we were the best of friends,
He’d make himself available, weekdays and weekends.

I loved him and he loved me,
He’d light up my life like a Christmas tree.

I know what you’re thinking, who is this man?
Well he was by far my biggest fan.

Is it a bird is it a plane, or even a frog?
No way! My best friend is a dog.

But time has passed and now he’s not here,
I was hoping he’d never disappear.

I have no shame, he was worth every second,
I’ll never have a better friend, what do you reckon?


Sarah Skehill


At Night


When I go to bed at night
I close my eyes and get a fright
Spooky pumpkins in my mind
I feel them coming from behind
Come hither come hither they whisper to me
I open my eyes and there I see
Burly pumpkin men looking my way
Their piercing glares turns me gay
(As in happy)
I leap from my bed in my night robe
“Come with us o Jaros.
We’ll show you the globe
But do not fret my little beast
We shall avoid the Middle East”


Dorian Jaros


Sight for Sore Eyes


I hate my sight
It isn’t right
I cannot see what’s in front of me
These glasses that I wear
I just want to tear
The lens’ thick and bulky
They make me so grumpy
Purple in colour
It gets tougher and tougher
The blurriness continues day after day
As I pray that one day my sight will be ok




Fame, Shame, Blame.


The three pains that “don’t hurt”.
Fame, the one that people want,
They think it is care free.
When truly fame can bring down the strongest person
Who would have never considered pain as fame.
But wanted the life that they got, the life that has broken them,
The life that has put so much shame on their name
That makes them regret wishing for fame.
The life that has forced them down the wrong path
Leading to the media only to blame.
Blame for the actions that have been brought
On by the pressure the take drugs
And drink alcohol
All from the dream they wished for “fame”.


Patrick Dempsey




4 years old,
Life already so hard it makes a Hollywood movie unfold
But normally people prefer to keep these things untold
Whenever she see’s other kids with their families she wonders
Why? Why can’t my life have colours?
Did I do something wrong? if so, tell me because I can’t live like this

Husband no.2
She thinks now our family is complete, beautiful
But after every sunny day a storm comes
And as she thinks about her past
While crying under her mask of lies
Is a good life a prize
Or is it just another lie?
Can’t I finally get the reply?

My head is a mess and my life is mess
I don’t know if my mind will be able to suppress
Going from one counselling to another starting to feel like a wreck
Wondering if they want me back to help or for a pay check.




The Whispers


The whispers in my head that say my life is easy
That torment my every living moment
They say I have nothing to be sad about, that I should be happy
But that’s when it attacks.
It says I’m weak, that I’m a piece of filth.
But when it’s just me laying in my bed, with those god damn whispers
I realise those dark thoughts bring out the worst in me.
It’s those whispers that make me argue
And fight with everyone around me.
I fight to hide those dark thoughts inside my head.
Those whispers are the worst part of me,
My dark thoughts, my mind, those are the parts of me that say
I’m worthless, I have it easy.
It tells me I’m weak.
But I’m not, I’m strong
I’m strong enough to get through it,
I’m strong enough to get my mind,
My dark thoughts,
That form in my mind and burst like nasty blisters,
Those god damn filthy whispers.




Titanium South Paw


From the day, we are born we are lied to
From Easter to Christmas
From Santa to the tooth fairy

From a young age we have to learn to fight for our self’s
From a young age we are beaten and taught to hate
Taught to hate those we were told to love
Yet that love too was a lie

At the age of 13 life was like a metal boxer fighting me
I was out matched and out of my league
Bandaged up by another family
Scared that life was lying to me
Scared that life’s metal boxer would beat me down again

Was this new family a lie told by life?
Mistakes they mended by the ones I used to call family
Now years on no metal boxer can beat me down
Now I’ve been through the dark and now I know
Life is always going to be a lie
All you can do is defend yourself from life’s metal boxer


Dereck Schmidt


When the Bell Rings


When the bell rings, the results will fly
The envelopes will be opened and some may cry
A’s B’s C’s and D’s
Everyone will be happy no matter what it may be
Parents cheer and some give out
Teens say “I don’t care, I’m still going out”
Drink, drugs and so much more
Many will end up passed out on the floor
White shirts coming home brown
And girls make up making them look like they have a frown
Guards coming from stations all over
Using the motto
Stay safe, stay sober






Skeletons,they scare me
Rattling bones frightening drones
Hollow eyes, ghoulish cries
‘Screeeeeee’ the skeleton shrieks
I cower I’ve always been so meek
But the skeleton grows larger
And I attempt to barter
But the skeleton knows
Not of our western capitalistic materialistic values


Colum McDonagh


What I Am


I’m not a fan of poetry, I’m not able to recite
I’m not great at rhyming, I think it’s a load of shite
I love to play sports, I practice everyday
I always try my best and get pushed to the test
I’m sick of getting blamed, I never get any “well done”
I’m always feeling taken for granted, kind of overrun
My teammates aren’t the best, they’ll hang you out to dry
They can be quite obnoxious and sometimes fairly sly
I can’t afford to lose touch, can’t afford to lose control
Must keep my mind focused, must keep my eye for goal
The doors are open wide and the wind blows a bitter cold
It’s my time to shine much brighter than any polished gold


Martin Lohan




Talented at what I do
I’ve made mistakes its true
But I’m in a relationship with a great girl
This may be cringe but she’s my world
I fell off a horse on Saturday
Shouldn’t have let them reigns slip away
I’m fighting for an Irish title next week
But so nervous that I might freak
I was bobbing I was weaving
I was swinging I was scheming
He tried to get me in the clinch
But I threw a tornado kick
He was kicking I was checking
I was counter-punching all of his weapons
I had him in thirty seconds




Poor Mayo


Poor mayo 11 in all,
None won, 11 lost

Every time they go back to Castlebar,
No Sam with them after traveling far.

Most of the team gutted again,
Though not new for most of them.

The Dubs get their three in a row,
Mayo come back again in tow.

Dublin think they’re the best of all,
When they couldn’t even catch the ball.

John Smalls sending off gave them hope,
But Vaughan followed and they couldn’t cope.

Poor Mayo, I’ll say it again,
The curse is strong, now until again.


Jack Flattery


The Way I Am


Not great at making decisions.
But later spotting having other talents.
A wing forward for my local team.
Scoring points to live the dream
A long-distance runner that runs for fun.
In any type of weather rain or sun.
Not the most popular person in my year.
But I have mates to laugh and cheer.
It’s not a joke, it’s not a scam.
Happy just the way I am.




J Cert Blues


On the 2nd Wednesday of September,
The shadows start to fall
It was the day I was going to remember,
When the exam results do call!
The night before I was thinking…
“What happens if I fail?”
“Will they put me in a mental home?”
“Will I be put in jail?”


Emmet Greaney