We live in a world of sorrow
A world of pain
A world of corruption
A world of shame
In the darkness we are all blind
Our teachers pull the wool over our eyes
There is a light but when it’s extinguished
We are all blind
Blinded from love
Blinded from truth
Blinded from those
Who show us a route
A route to Europe
A route of freedom
But in the darkness those people cannot find
But in the end in darkness we are all left behind
Matthew O’ Neil
The dead king of the dark night
The strong men of the dreaded fight
The wet days that dragged the dread
The rotten food that I’m force fed
The big feet with the ugly smell
The dirty mess that is gone to hell
The loud whistle harshly blown
The flash of red card cruelly shown
The great sesh the lads all love
The bully, the jibe, the push and the shove
The creative art on ghetto walls
You are the echo that sounds in the halls
D Detention the teacher’s weapon of choice
U Under the ground where our dreams are buried
N Nobody knows the corrupt world behind closed doors
G Getting ready to run home after an awful day
E Everything bottled up never to be released
O Oh help me the emotions I feel
N Nobody cares even if I say
O Other people feel the pain too
F Fake people pretending they care
B Being brought back to Earth, but maybe I don’t want to
O Other people making decisions about me without asking
R Running to a place I feel safe no people just me
E Every note bouncing through my body
D Darkness fills my room secluding me from reality
O Opinions of mine never heard
M Music my salvation each note a first aid kit
The pressure of school, the pressure to do tests
That pressure your teachers, parents, everyone
As if they expect nothing more, nothing less than to be the best
They don’t realise the pressure
The pain of not being popular and not having fame
The pressure, the pressure, the pressure of school
The pressure to have the perfect hair
Life shouldn’t be about education
It shouldn’t be about the looks
You are the people who never make me feel sad or bad
You are the people who make different the same
You are my friends who will always be the same
You are the people who never make me see the difference between first and last
You are the people who make me dream at night
You are the people that make me who I am
You are the people that make my thoughts into feelings
You are the team that always supports my decisions
You are the people that make me feel special
You are my friends and my family
You are the only person that matters
You are everything you fear
You are the boy who dreams,
Dreams of becoming a soldier.
Your family needs the money of a Royal Marine.
You are the boy who is needed,
Who is expected provide for his family.
You are a boy who lives in the depth of poverty, of dark and eerie presence,
Who lives in the constant prejudice,
“You are a paddy, a catholic scum!” they say,
You stand no chance of achieving, but you push on.
You have been struck, hit by those who you aspire, your spirit is broken.
A time passes, a new opportunity, a cu, revenge!
They hand you, a pre-teen, a gun and a knife, a new boy is born,
You WERE a boy who dreamed, dreamed of becoming a soldier,
But now the sour taste the queen has spit in your mouth fuels you,
As the soldiers you slay stare into your eyes, they see him,
A broken boy, who no longer swears allegiance to the empire,
But a new republic, a republic of freedom and new people.
From his mouth words do fly
People wait, people cry
Because he is the bad guy
But they never wonder why
He isn’t good, he isn’t great
He is totally fuelled by hate
But why is there so much hate?
Because of those who once thought themselves
The people they trod on, the people
And then what they say is ‘shush’
They preach freedom but not for all
And the common man begins to fall
You’re not Alone
I was once bullied
I was very sad
Felt alone in a hole
They wouldn’t stop
I asked them to
Why me? Why me?
They were saying lies
And being horrible
Why me? Why me?
But then it stop
Because I told
A sigh of relief
If this is happening to you
Don’t be scared to talk
You’re not alone
You’re not alone
The slamming of
Brave men. The clashing
Of bones, the thrashing
Of limbs. The passion
Runs wild as the
Ball screams by
Every man, woman
And child cheering
In the crowd.
You are the best
You are everything
You are better than the rest
You are a beast
You are the copy books of hell
You are sketchy pencils
You are the crappy stencils
You are terrible storybooks
You are the big dreamer
You are the theatre of dreams
You are the big bad player
You are the heart of the teams
You are the fearless hurler
You are the mad footballer
You are all the GAA pitches
You are the bad pool player
You are all the places
You are all the sweat and tears
You are something big
You are you…
I will succeed
I will be the best version of myself
World class, you could say
Not education wise,
Not the next Einstein.
But I will be myself
Maybe I could be in the 0.000027%
Or 1 in 3.7 million
My bank account will be a billion
I did get 10% on my maths test,
But I do not let that define me
Success is the only thing on my mind.
I come from my mother and father on a late Wednesday night Now I`m a beacon light
A green and yellow passion on cold winter nights
Me and my brother picking fights
The rats scuttering underneath the floor boards sending chills up my spine
Now I’m in the forest throwing around pines
Junior passion is where it’s all at one day we’ll make a comeback
Well most of the team have a bad back
Trodden fields in a broken country where the cows and the sheep are your only company
It’s more than just a game,
So much to gain, mainly pain,
Stepping out on the battlefield green,
There to prove a point not just to be seen,
70 minutes of blood tears and sweat,
Giving so much, just not to regret,
Throwing shoulders, breaking hurls,
Some of the lads are only there for the girls,
Doing my best just not to lose,
Been praying all week kneeling on the pews
And then the final whistle blows,
And off to Shirleys the whole squad,
It’s been a long road but we have done it,
Dunnamaggin county champs,
We have finally won it.
The Only Game
The game, the only game
It’s the only one
On a summers day
We line out on the battlefield
With the weapons on our side
The ones gone before us looking
On with pride
Rustle up with our helmets
We make our march
With the first whistle blown
The ball was thrown
The game was finished
But the celebration was only starting
The crumpled jacket in the corner,
The stacked up boxes of the hoarder,
The grey skies that rain non- stop,
The stark grey cross on the top,
The dirty brown floor,
The slamming of the door,
The 1800s heating pipes,
The different classrooms of various types,
The grey and black uncomfortable chairs,
In the teachers’ lairs,
The spiral stairs and the stupid dares,
The smashed up food stuck to the floor,
The droning of the infamous old bore,
The unstoppable obsession with a sport,
The angered teacher’s unstoppable retort.
The Mysterious, the Fantastic and the Frightful
You are the scary monster from under the bed,
You are the frightful being which I’m sure is dead.
You are the fidget spinner spinning in my hand,
You are the boy from the forgotten land,
You are the villain always on the run,
You are the child with his father having fun.
You are the superhero here to save the day,
You are the beautiful month of May,
You are the murderer that left a family to mourn,
You are the disappointment at dinner called corn.
You are the car that brings me to my destination,
You are the book that gives me information,
You are the choice id make without hesitation,
You are the mysterious old train station.
Nicholas Dermot John Conway
The Love of the Game
The roar of the ground of the game.
The pressure on all thirty of the players.
Their hearts pounding as the game comes to the last minutes of play.
They don’t think about anything else just the ball,
The players and the love of the game.
The pressure lifted, as the whistle blows.
One team broken hearted,
One team overjoyed,
On the Pitch
When you walk onto the pitch staring at your opponents
Looking like you will kill them
The crowd hypes you up
The ball is thrown in and hurls break
Players fighting and colliding
Every hook, shot, hit, goal and punch
Everything for the win
People getting broke up everywhere
The crowd behind you’re nearly dead.
Last few minutes you give everything
You can even if it means bones broken.
But its all worth it for the win.
A dirty, old, smelly farm and broken down tractors…
Black and white films with silver tongued actors,
Broken hurls and mucky turned up pitches
Playing a lot of matches and getting tonnes of stitches,
The village of Tullaroan with its rolling green hills,
Poor old Daddy has to fork out for the bills.
Each new day at school which bores me to death,
Smash the battered ball in the back of the net.
Five hours of FIFA without any stop,
I keep on playing until I get to the top.
Every Blessed Summer’s Day
Every blessed summer’s day,
When I wake up,
I see the suns beaming ray,
On the frosty cold cut grass,
I go outside to hit my ball
Off my sisters bedroom wall,
Only to hear her angry call,
This brings me to a halt
She tells me sharply to be quiet,
And I say to myself I might,
I then scream ‘Oh help me Lord’,
This will just cause another fight.
You are my Friend
You are a set of double doors,
A small brown wooden box,
The fire extinguisher that torments the fire,
The socket for my phone charger,
The steps leading upstairs,
Music and drama,
You stub your toe,
You break your neck,
You are the future,
The moon, the sun, the stars,
The blue screen when the projector turns off,
The password to my Xbox,
You are Wi-Fi,
You are internet,
You are no signal,
You are a bin,
You are the lid,
The rain, hail, sleet and snow,
You are fast,
Kind of clever,
But best of all,
You are my friend.
You are the young boy from Callan
From the great town of Kilkenny
The image of your family
You are the hurl held in your hand
You are the Irish land of which you stand
You are the king
You are the worst and the best
The good and the bad
The merciful and the cruel
The healing and the pain
You are the large mountains
The low valleys
The dark forests
And the deep rivers and lakes and seas
You are a weapon
And a normal typical man
Whinging sisters and annoying stupid brothers
Growling fathers and barking mothers
Small town minds with fattening chippers
Old ladies wearing comfy slippers
Really thick teachers with stupid sayings
Back to mass for silent prayers
Dark nights of training through the rain and frost
Under the bright lights of the city don’t mind the cost
Smelly farms and dirty country roads
Generous granny the sweets she’s giving me loads
Our team stepped out onto the pitch
The warzone where our broken sticks
And brittle bones were at risk
The ball thrown in
The clash of the ash
Iron men doing what it takes to
Win that hallowed prize
I looked at the man I was marking
Little skill, but big in size
This was going to be a test
Which team would come out best
Maths is mostly useless x+2y=3 where would you use that.
Not much that we can learn we can use 1+1=2 that we can use
But the value of x we can afford to lose
But 9+7 we always use.
What is Algebra but a waste of time.
Maths should be stripped to the basics.
The Black and White Hills
I come from
The black and white hills of Sligo
Where GAA doesn’t exist
I come from
The cold rainy nights of playing soccer
But we don’t win any matches isn’t that a shocker
I come from
The warm sunny days of hurling matches
And being slapped in the hand when going for the catch
I come from
Broken hurls and ripped sliotars
To having pints out in kitlers
I come from
High balls dropping into the square and pulling hard
I come from
Riding a bike down the hill at 10
I come from
Cheap LIDL chocolate digestive biscuits with tea and sugar
I come from
Monster hurling at the parish pitch under floodlights
I come from
Wet cold frosty days in the early morning
What we Should Do
Why do we learn about Shakespeare?
Who died nearly 300 years ago
We should learn how to cook
And use tools to build machines
But no, society feels the need
To drive us crazy studying for
Exams, learn about graphs, notes and diagrams
Which we will never use
In real life
Life is real, life is precious
In real life pain you feel,
But in a game life is
Meshes, in a video game
You respawn, but in real life
You could die at dawn, you
Could fall asleep, but never
You shouldn’t care what
People say. So just live your life
If you end yourself think
About other like your
Family, they’ll live nothing
But shame as parents
Who think they are not good enough
People can mock you but they
Cant mock your pain, we live in
A world where others don’t care
The Circle of Time
The burning sun starts to shine
And the icy moon soon will rise
The silver rain starts to fall and the
Autumn leaves start to call
The spring flowers start to bloom
And the summer trees grow tall
The animals start to come out and
Play and the farmers begin to harvest hay
The wind begins to die down, the
Trees bark turns a golden brown
The Green and Red Hills
I come from the green and red hills of Mayo where football is religion,
From the cold winter nights out on the Kells road, forced to run laps till I fall,
From broken hurls and ripped sliotars,
From late nights staying up doing homework,
From Evergreen B, where I play on the wind,
But the curse brings us back to life as we’re all crying on the kitchen,
And all my terrible teammates slagging me for being small,
To having pints out in killers,
To trying to play FIFA but the controller won’t work,
And scoring goals is a daily thing.
Where I Come From
I come from teenage boxing outside Kieran’s College.
Long golf drives in my golf club.
Full fat bottles of Lucozade. Fat packs of sweets.
Hard running 3 years ago in Kilkenny.
Dirty pigeon Lofts and hard cleaning.
I come from heart pumping sweating teenage boxing.
Long hard lives in my golf club.
Lucozade shots and some rotton cheats.
Running and pumping at the same time.
The boys in green were told they didn’t stand a chance,
To beat the All Blacks in Chicago.
They had great men who would fight for the cause
But the All Blacks of New Zealand wouldn’t accept a loss.
The match begun and the All Blacks went straight onto the attack.
They got the first try
But the Irish weren’t fazed.
They charged forwards and gave their reply
Jordi Murphy tearing down and scoring a try
The teams traded scores until the All Blacks took the lead
The match about to end and it looked like the Irish had no hope.
Then Robbie Henshaw received the ball and put an end to it all.
40-29 the final score as the Irish got the win
I Come From
I come from sliotars grazing the green grass on a damp hurling pitch
Then it goes straight into the ditch
I come from a maroon and white parish
Where there is an old beat down guest house then we sneak in and be as quiet as a mouse
I come from fights with my brother which are split up by father uncle and mother
I come from my mother and father on a late Friday night
And bare knuckle fights under the dim street lights
I come from and old boring school with first years trying to be cool
Then then they say we bully them for calling them a stupid fool.
I come from the best hurling club in Kilkenny
Where Junior B titles are at the many.
I go to the chipper called Fresh Bite.
In the morning I feel not right.
I do big rough Junior B fights
Then a bag of cans for the night.
Flat out at the long season of silage
In the T6070 and she clocking up mileage.
Foot to the floor in the Hilux puffing smoke
No one can say she has no poke
I Come From
I come from
Sitting in front of the blazing fire
On a cold winter night
And a teacher telling
Me my answer isn’t right
I come from
Lying on the couch
In front of the telly
And eating Christmas dinner
That will stuff my belly
I come from
Hurling matches on a depressing,
Freezing morning during winter
Hoping we will get
Promoted from inter
I come from
Cutting the lawn on a summer day
And being stuck
Behind a tractor
Causing a delay
I come from
Driving the golf ball 200 yards
My granny sending me Christmas cards
Rough Neck Streets
From these rough neck battlefield streets
Boys with dusters in steel cad feet
Old robbed balls and rusty old bikes
Off-road quads and broken down trikes
Out on the town chased by the cops
We live for danger the fun never stops
For we are the boys who crawled from the rubble
You can call me sir or you can call me trouble
You are the owner or regret
A disease that kills millions
You are the bacteria in the jar
That turns that into billions
The disappointment in your eyes
When you see that empty fridge
The destruction of lives
That ruins everyone’s ridge
You press your beliefs on everyone
Thinking that you are all set
You promise so much but bring so little
Until then you’ll just live with regret
I come from a town full of cheats
And full of dirty feet
And green boring fields and brown mud
Angry parents and violent brothers with anger issues
Homework is good or bad?
Homework is a waste
Your free time gone
Why? Because of homework
Yes. Homework is nothing
But wasting your time on something that
You already learned earlier in the day.
Something that you know already.
Something that is no more than a waste of time.
Video games fun
Video games are class
Kids online will be a pain in the ass
Nothing will tap the feeling of getting first place
It is a feeling no one can replace
Being overpowered in an APC
When I’m in there they can’t hit me
All I Ever Wanted
All I ever wanted to do since I was young was to be a Kilkenny hurler.
Kids used to say to me I’m going to be like TJ Reid or Richie Hogan but I never thought like that.
I didn’t want to win just an All-Star or win only one player of the year or be the best hurler on the Kilkenny team.
I want to be the greatest, the best that ever lived.
The player that won an All-Star and player of the year every year.
The best that ever walked out on to the pitch.
Ireland vs Denmark
It’s just not a game,
It’s a war,
Between two countries
To get to the biggest stage if them all,
The World Cup.
We got Brady on the right, McLean on the left.
They’ve got Eriksen in the centre, but we can deal with that,
But can they deal with our rock solid defence and our quick attack,
This is not a match between two nations
It is a war.
Hurling is not just a game with sticks and a ball,
It is not a game that doesn’t matter,
It is not a game that won’t help you succeed in life.
When the ball is thrown on the day of the 1st round of Champo,
Everything you have done in your life will be put to the test.
When you put on that parish jersey everyone is equal,
Everyone is the same all striving for the same goal.
And if you’re lucky you go again a week later
And everything starts again and everything is tested again.
When you wake up in the morning you know this is your day.
You know that everything that happens will go in your way.
You know its time when you put on your boots,
But when you go out on the pitch all you think is of your roots.
If it weren’t for them you would not be here.
And you shed one tear.
Ready to go and the crowd cheer,
You know this chance you have is rare.
The final whistle goes we win by a point.
We all look forward to a nice cold pint.
Teachers pressure you to get this done,
Homework, it’s no fun.
Doing the JC it feels like I’ve studied a various amount,
As wide as the sea.
And will probably end up getting a stupid B.
Oh those grades A,B,C,D ,
And if you’re unlucky you may get an F,
Which may be me.
Getting up at 6am,
When all I want to do is stay in bed.
If you ask me I think it’s a stupid test,
Exams are quite a nuisance,
I hate, it I hate it, I HATE IT.
So now I’ve shown you what school is a mess
The Aussies down under and the English wonderers
The proud Irish and the fighting Irish
The Kilkenny cats and flying bats
You are sweat, blood and tears and full of fears
You are long fringes and nose pickers
I am going to be 6 foot tall with hurl and ball
This is Ireland our land
Maroon and white jerseys so soft and fluffy
Freezing cold winters and roasting hot summers
I am not a Tipp man not even a fan
I am technology and business, kind and careless
Black jumpers, holy crosses and all the bosses
I am Jamie McGrath
A proud man
The Marble Man
I am the best
I am a god
I am the lad
I am an Irish man
I am a celebrity get me out of here
I am a neighbour of people
I am the man in a van with a plan
I am the lad with Amir Khan
I am the Irish man with pride
I am not a Tipperary man
I am a Kilkenny man
I am the man in the marble city
The Spark of my Flame
The bulb of my light
The icing to my cake
The stars to my night
The water of my lake
The bottle to my crate
The hood of my coat
The highlight of my date
The poem that I wrote
The brightness of my day
The apps on my phone
The words that I say
The sound of my tone
The love of my life
The lace of my shoe
The blade of my knife
The cure of my flu
The pencil, pen and paper
The mistake maker
The hurl, the sliotar and the ball
The person who stands tall
The floor ceiling and the walls
The person who watches the ball
The table and the chairs
The old fables
The eyes ears and nose
The person who has no foes
The toes and fingers
The midnight minglers
The supporters and the fans
The people who drink cans
You are a Tipperary man
You are a hurler
You are a genius
You are made of steel chairs
You are the sliotar that goes through a Kilkenny man
You are an arched window that is protecting rain
You are made of the north face material
You are a piece of wood
You are going to meet a girl
You are confident
You are hot like a radiator
You are the definition of pain
You are spaghetti alla vongole
You are tasty
You are like rice rice baby
You are black
You are white
You are taking a bite
Take off your jacket!
(man’s not hot)
The Rugby Pitch
When you get hit
Stepped and kicked
Your arms, legs and
Power seems to fray
Injuries when it
Is so bad when
It is happy it is
I started half forward,
We won the throw in,
The midfielder hand passed it
I hit it in low to the
He was too slow.
He lost the ball, the
Fullback cleared it.
There centre forward
Caught the flying ball.
He hand passed it to
There number eight.
He ran at the goal
Our corner back came
Out and hit him
He fell on the
Ground and cried.
We lost the
Match. The pain was
Like getting stabbed.
Later that day we
Won the Junior
So it was all ok.
I personally think the education system is terrible
And I personally think some teachers should teach differently
In their own way rather than what they are supposed to.
Subjects like Irish, Religion, CSPE, SPHE, IT, Alegbra in Maths, English,
All languages as I think these should be one language for the world,
So everyone could communicate easily
And the subjects named above I personally think I won’t use them later on in life.
I’d rather have my head in a rook
Than studying book
My gran thinks rugby is dumb when I told
Her I was in the scrum
Giving out a sneaky blow to another second row.
Our hooker cried out ‘
When I go for a run down the line
I cut inside and score a try
It gives the team a high
We all think it’s going fine
When we celebrate we wait
Until the next game, when we train
We train with pain. The big aim
Is to own a game.
The black jumper and the leather shoes
The hurl and the sloitar
The person who is getting fitter
The man look for all the craic
The lad giving it a whack
Santa with his sack
Hitler with his master plan
De Vinci with his skilful hands
The man with no plans
The field is a battlefield
The ball is the pure
Punches are thrown
Pints are drunk
When we win a match
We all go into
We puck the ball at
Off the air
Myself and Annee
Buying a pint after hard
Day of milking cows.
You are strong
You are the one that keeps me motivated
You are like wonder woman just not as strong
You try you hardest to make me happy
While also fending for yourself
You would save me from a bomb
While still staying strong
You do so much for me
And leave no time for yourself
You are my mam
Our Special Land
The bang from a bomb like a grenadier’s song
The grade a grade and the St Paddy’s day parade
The brave boys in green we win fast and clean
The black uniform and the itchy school jumper
The hook mouth lad and brass knuckle thumper
The green bladed grass and the cold flowing river
The icy bite of winter, the tremble and the quiver
The jersey on the radiator warming up
The metal chair I’m on resting my hurt foot
The sacred song
The Wi-Fi we all need
The Christian creed
The ash and the leather
The terrible weather
The belts and bruises
The warrior’s pride
The brave young soldiers who left too early
This is Ireland
King of Kings
The king of all kings
The best man yet
The woman of my life
The cool dude
The drinks of all drinks
The tractors of all machines
The school I go to
The horses of all horses
The fingers of my hand
My toes of my feet
The dog of my life
The eyes of my head
The son of god
The school I go to
The spiders that I hate
The IRA of Ireland
The cool dude
The girls of my life
The grey and the black and white tie
The holy crest on jumper
The brown shoes and the white socks
The white stripes the go down my half zip
The PlayStation that I play
The remote that controls the game you
The whistle of the slitor through the air
The hardbacks copies and pens
The glass in the arched window
The tracksuit that I wear to double PE
The Monster on the Rugby Pitch
You are the killer clowns of the USA
The blue Nike shoe
You are the Hollister tops I wear
The monster on the rugby pitch
The nail at the end of the hammer
The strong lad on the hurling pitch
The weight in the weight lifter
You are the bang of the bank
White in the fighter’s fist
I am the wood worker in the tree
The Kilkenny in Ireland
You are the black cat of this hurling county
I am the horse in horse power
The Kieran in St. Kieran
I am the hurler of Kilkenny St. Kieran and Dicksboro
I am the king shark of the world
The farmer of the farm
The builder of the houses
You are the Irish of fighting Ireland
You are Ballyragget
You are the first pint pulled
The intermediate cup
And the lad that yells ‘mup’
You are the mad fan
Or Lar’s van
You are the local drunk
The man on the top bunk
You are the hangover mornings
The final dawn
You are the arrests, the best or the white vest
The fan, the vans, the bans
You are the minors
The layout, the pay-outs and the days out
You are Ballyragget
During the break
We went for 65 ½
I swear on my life,
None of them went wide,
In our last game
I started midfield
The hurl I was using
Was too small for me
I didn’t like it,
It didn’t feel good
I needed something
Bigger like a
Plank of wood
I caught the ball
And pulled hard
Eamonn said ‘well-done Conor’
And I said ‘alright Eamonn’
The ball flew over,
I felt like a man
The puck out we won,
Then on we ran.
The final whistle blew
And I ripped off my helmet
Then ran to the lads
We had won the county final,
The celebrations lasted a week,
Everyone joined in
We were all on the beer,
We are champs until next year.
On the Pitch
One night on the pitch
John got a stitch
He fell to the ground,
Until he came back around.
He hit someone a shot
He got caught
He got shown a red
His manager said get to bed.
The next day at training
His manager kept complaining
He said sorry
To manager Garry
We work on the tractor,
Sometimes with a contractor,
It carries a wagon,
It is Volkswagen,
We have moo cows,
And a plough.
We have sheep,
Like little bow peep.
We had a bog
And now it’s a swamp.
We have no money,
We use it so funny.
On the Farm
I work on the farm
We have a tractor, it is a class
And it really is class
The Zetor is better
We have a tractor, it is parked in the muck
Ophelia came, it brought a few ducks
It pulled down a shed
When I saw that I bled
I have a cousin
He is a contractor
And he owns a big tractor
We have a chicken
We call him dinner
The combine came
The crops were lame
All thanks to the rain
The best the king better than the rest
The Guinness on the bar top the clown the nail eater inside the theatre
The fight picker the, mankini maker
The castle of Kilkenny, the fingers of my hand
The cows of the milking parlour
The milk of Avonmore
The mad lad the hardy lad
The sun burn of summer, the one we call our mother
The club I play with, the pub that I pay with
I am the best
No better man
Driving around in my transit van
Can’t stop winning
Won’t stop winning
The Gucci wearer