I’ll see her beauty slowly wither away,
Her dithering mind a cloud of grey
I’ll kill the crow inside myself,
Aggression’s thorn removed or else
I’ll meet the shadow of my dreams,
I’ll find my mantra – live with love.
Perpetual happiness, peace therein
Everything I hope and more thereof
I’ll lay me down among the fields
With a weary resting heart
I’ll pass from this world to the next,
And on the wind I shall depart.
The Starving Land
This starving land battered brown,
Electric sheep butchered and shorn,
Puppies in suitcases abandoned to drown,
Tragedy blooms where the wicked are born.
Wizened old men crack and they weep,
In the dark wilderness where they lay
And pray to their fear of eternal sleep.
Beneath acid rain clouds sobbing and grey,
Hoping for the baptism of rain
To give birth to a new way of life,
This is the hard terrible country life.
This is where we are left rife like a stain.
Only to cause our dying earth endless pain.
From fleshy cogs
Wear fake smiles and sing along
To boiling brains
In hot forges
Taken out and strung along
Personalities programmed automaton
Metal hands and scraps of thought
Cold snaps colliding
And he watches from the tower
Sipping his drink
He watches, unblinking
Screens surrounded by screens
A world made of lies
One day we’ll be unchained
Order to a world gone insane
Free brains full of power
A world reborn
The machine slowing down
No one to wear a crown
A legion sworn falling
The man crawling back
But the screens have turned
We come to cry,
Where dreams rot,
In endless circles
This abyss in which we fall,
Our heroes cannot save us all,
In this never ending cyclical cycle,
A biblical proportion of monotonous idle.
On death’s row we wait up to line,
Gambling eternity on a speculative divine,
To go to the heavens and eternally rest,
But is an infinite life really for the best?
Unfolding new experience.
Others worn like old shoes
Dilapidated and discarded.
Young men reprogrammed
By rules and regulations
Life skills are learnt
But never mastered.
The children of today morph
Into the stats of tomorrow.
These riddles of graffiti
The desk where dreams to go to sleep
We wove from each clockwork class to clockwork class
Listening to the sharp shrill voice of the main man
The room slowly but surely
Becomes a distant voice
An echo in a trance
Quietly led conversations
Exploding into life
Going through puberty,
Times are hard,
Drinking cans with the lads,
Headlocks in the yard.
From where it grows,
I do not know,
But it grasps my peers,
Through immaturity and fear.
The idea of being men,
It clouds their minds,
To be ‘strong’ and ‘brave’,
To them it’s divine.
It comes from nature,
The alpha males dominate,
To many it makes sense,
The feeling innate.
Every lad has seen it,
The rowdiness in class,
Fake fighting with their friends,
Acting the ass.
To intimidate those they don’t like,
Thump their head in,
Assault is okay,
Because it’s ‘masculine’.
One thing they lack,
The most important thing,
To access their emotions,
Instead oppressing them within.
It affects their wellbeing,
Despite being unseen,
The feeling of no one to talk to,
Feeling so lonely.
From there it continues,
To fit our society’s norms,
Of how men should be.
Those who escape the clutches,
Of this toxic disease,
Better appreciate life,
Feeling a lot more free.
I feel for those who are trapped,
In this concept we created,
A hidden penitentiary.
School, I go there every day without a say
Trying to ignore all the stares and all the glares
That is life
Class, I walk while the others talk, to the back trying to be invisible
I sit, silent and compliant like a brick in the wall
All seeing and all-knowing yet never commenting
That is life
Corridor, survival of the fittest, a battlefield
There’s no way back only forward
Through all the people that think of me as a wimp
And all I can to do at the end is limp
Yet I still go forward
Because that is life and all I can do is live
Titeann an Báisteach.
Áar bhinn geal crua, titeann an báisteach.
Fanleoga dubha, aoibhneas an sháimh seo.
Luímse sios, fáine im laimhibh,
Dar le h’íosa, tá’m’cheann go cráite.
Thugas grá doí, mo rún geal maorga,
Rinneas fáine, mo shearc léirthe.
Gheall sí dom pós, i nguth mar chéirseach.
Goideadh í uainm, uaidh mo chéasadh.
This is Where
This is where revolution took place
Shattering cities, making haste.
Oppression and violence rule supreme
A world where normality is obscene.
This is where the government fell
Where tanks and guns create Hell.
A time where the army has defected
Greed and hate the world infected.
This is where those who swore to protect
Have decided to this promise neglect.
Against the people they have turned
For a new leader’s respect they have earned.
Irrevocably damaged and left in ruin,
The population scrape by, clearly losing.
With the upper classes comfortable and safe
The common man must duck and strafe.
Kevin Murphy Kennedy
This is Where
This is where appropriations aren’t in bed
But only what you have specifically said
Where the walls describe you
Where no one else is allowed into
No pressure is inbound
No criticism can be found
There is no required quota
There is place of comfort
This place is not the same for all
But we all should have a place we feel we can fall
Me in my Words
‘Just appreciate me for me as that’s all I can be
Take my side of the story, listen to what I have to say,
Don’t persecute just because I’m not one of ye,
I’m not you, you’re not me, and that’s the way I want it to be
This all goes both ways, but let me travel down mine’
‘I’m angry, I’m pissed
You might feel the same,
It’s nice to see it’s not just me in pain
And I know that sounds insane,
But to know I’m an individual but not alone
It’s comforting, it’s just plain to see’
Spoilt thugs to go to be exploit their tricks
The lost and insecure try to fit in
The evil and the wicked are in power
One can get skewed and lost
Most lose hope
Lonesome men swing sticks
They abandon their lives to the principle bin
An orange man sits in his pomp in his tower of sin
Not knowing or caring what it may cost
The sentence, the sermon, the cross and the rope
Children run, not knowing where
Delinquent babies in their perch
No one knows such tragedy
Many struggle with reality
The oppressed commanded
Nepotism, the heart of the affair
Astronomers seizing their right of search
Those accused of blasphemy
Spreading the spirit of the banshee
Beneath these trees
They went to die
To end it all
No reason why
Like seasons fall,
The young man went
In hope his sins
He could repent
Like falling leaves,
The failures be
Those who were failed
And in the dirt,
He lays today
A forgotten man
No one can say.
He leaves behind a family
One on the way
And a girl of three
By forgotten roots,
He came to die
In the trees of Jukai.
The Reminiscent Past
I always asked myself when I was young:
“Why go to school?”
I’m not the rebel, the ‘lad’, or the ‘eejit’ to go against everything just for the fun of it.
I’m the good boy.
The boy who always bowed to the system
The boy who always bowed to the ‘lads’, the ‘eejits’ and the rebels.
The boy who always gave up, gave in and agreed blindly.
The boy who never had friends, only focused on grades
Because there was nothing else to focus on.
People have their sport, family or lovers.
I only had one of those, and even that wasn’t complete,
But this time is not that time.
This year is not that year.
These 4 years are not those 12 years.
I will become something better.
I will become something independent.
I will become something greater.
I want to become these so I can step away
From what the ‘eejits’ boxed me into when I was young.
I want to become these so I can show the teachers
That said “You’ll get nowhere”, that I got somewhere.
Somewhere much further than they will ever get in that hellhole of a country, Hungary.
I don’t hate Hungary, mind you.
I just hate the people in it that are so narrow-minded and hopeless.
Now I ask myself again:
“Why go to school?”
They go because they have to, but I go because I want to.
Not because of education itself, but because of the great people that I get to meet there.
I met my friends that made me feel confident and wanted.
I met my friends that made me feel loved and supported.
And the scars that the ‘eejits’ gave me,
Are now slowly healing.
I never saw the light at the end of the tunnel in those days.
I was always dragged along by my family to keep going and to not end it all.
But now, I reached the end of the tunnel, and I experience the feeling of the sun on my skin again,
My friends by my side,
My goals in sight,
But not a lover close-by.
I am not in a hurry with finding ‘her’, but I can feel the loneliness creeping up by my side,
Whispering darkness into my ears, blinding my steps, clogging my nose.
But my friends hold me close and love me, repelling the darkness from my side,
As I feel the sun on my skin once more.
The sky loves grey, even though the grass is bright green.
Filled with cows and sheep wandering around in empty fields,
The island itself keeps growing in strange pace,
After losing its tiger from the zoo.
This emerald island forgotten by larger countries.
A tiny island found in North-west of the continent,
Its closest neighbour had taken more than it gave,
Bullied for how weak it is, for many years.
Forgotten by others as they solve their own problems,
Requested plenty of help from other countries to help,
But all failed to help or simply denied the support.
Why does no one want to help us?
Everyone seeks something in return for help,
As we owe them a favour for that they fail to do.
Why does it feel so bad to the forgotten by others?
Why do we want to be recognised?
Because we are different to our neighbour, we aren’t the same.
Yes, we do speak the same language
But our spirit and history are completely different,
They don’t know that it is to be Irish.
We are proud for who we are,
We are proud for our size,
We are free from the time had passed.
A Rich Estate
Coming from a rich estate playing around with rubber snakes,
Going to a Irish speaking primary school with all my mates,
Learning the ways of the older classes,
Obsessing over that one with the glasses,
Finally made it out of hell,
To a school that had no bell,
Moved school to the Christian Brothers,
Got thrown into a class without a bother,
No friends or family go help me,
Only strangers that may kill me,
Made it to TY,
Never needed to cry,
Glad to be a Christian Brother,
Sharing class with my brothers.
Most guys want to date them.
Easy for some but difficult for others.
They’re a mind-field.
It’s like you need to complete an algorithm to work them out / understand them.
You fantasize about them…a lot!! It’s like they can make or break you.
You start talking to your mates,
About how “there’s this one girl that [you] like and [you] wanna ask her out”,
But then you get a ‘male’ reality check and start thinking “there’s no way she’d date me,
I’m fat as a pig…I’m never gonna have a girlfriend”
Then, the ‘macho-man’ comes into the game.
It seems as though when you go to just talk to a girl,
They’re either in a group causing you to divert your course due to nerves and not bother,
Or when you go up to her, and you try and say something, all you do is
Blurt out some random sentence that makes no sense and ends up making you
Out to be a total weirdo who can never talk to a girl.
Every man thinks that no girl understands them but deep down,
The vulnerability, the sensitivity…the difference in a guy.
That’s what a girl looks for.
An Old Man
An old, old man, a dying man, lay quietly in his slumber
Within his room, he waited for his number
Though he laying by his self, yet he never was alone
A shadow stood, just by his bed, he patient for his own
The dying old man, giving in, raising from his bed
The shadow had left, its debt all paid, time it had gone and fled
When I started off in playschool
They lay down the ground rules
They said what wasn’t allowed
And threw me into the crowd
Everyone taught the same thing
Stuff about Martin Luther King
Nobody saw the point in it
And most decided to quit
We all sit now half asleep
Following others like sheep
As an old teacher drones on
All enthusiasm is gone
Now I’m TY
No idea what to do with my life
Sure I’ll go to college
Then I might get acknowledged
Ever go to school before?
Well sit down and I’ll tell you more
The students there can really stink
But some of them are cute and think
They really aren’t fans on the ‘sum’
BUT they always are silly and fun!
The teachers like to try their best
But that’s like calming a wasps nest
The subjects are to appeal to all
And if you like it then have a ball!
Oh but some love to doss
But then they’re forced to deal with the doss
The first years always quiver in fear
Of sixth years with their almost-beards
And don’t forget the school trips
Which is worse than a solar eclipse
They kick and they punch their way to the back
Discipline? That’s something they lack!
Ever go to school before?
Well load up and get ready for war
Homework is a tool that teachers use to make you sad
You sometimes get different kinds you do on internet and on paper
When you see books and copies after summer you get mad
In time you get times when you do not feel up to doing life any more
This is because teachers tell you how important this exam is
And then they throw it out of the door
This makes it sore and makes you want to do it no more
You call the teacher names this is quite sore
From the stands to the pitch,
All the poor and all the rich,
The old and the young,
And the songs that are sung,
That echo around,
In big and small towns,
That are heard for miles,
And make people smile,
It’s the sport that makes,
The grounds around shake,
For this sport my heart would ache.
Social media is blamed for too much,
People think your bullying when a screen is touched
Older generations are just pure jealous,
The fact is just that their afraid to tell us,
They say its cyber bullying, I know it’s not true
We’re bullying Facebook not me or you
Slavislav’s Nice Day
Slavislav Gopnik wakes up every day
First thing he thinks is “ok, ok, ok.”
He is simple man, with simple life
With simple routine and csgo knife
He squat down on carpet, starts praying to God
“Please heal my Babushka – She give us kompot!”
It is about time, Slavislav gets ready
He takes his tracksuit and AK which is heavy
Today will be special, but quite an ordeal
Today is the day SG makes the deal
He arrives at the twenty-four hour shop
There stands a man who is bald on the top
“A, eto Roman, my cygan boy!”
Slavislav says as he squats down with joy.
“Yes it is me, I have offer for you.”
He reveals his vodka at percent 42
“I give you this for your keys and some sticks”
But Slavislav Gopnik knows his cygan tricks!
“42 percent’s all I get?
Then you rob my house which I will regret!”
“Poshel nahui and get better men”
Roman is defeated once again.
Headset on, controller in hand
This is what I had planned,
Joining the server
The game starts
All of a sudden I hear a shout
“Get here and clean your room”.
“Pause it she exclaims”,
How many times have I said it,
You can’t pause online games.
Sweet and Nice
I like her so much she’s so sweet and nice
Like a sweet and sour spice
When I talk to her I feel like I can be myself
But there’s one problem she’s small towards me
Which will sure to cause a little bit of controversy
So that will leave be open to a bit of slagging
And a bit of chatting but I won’t stop bragging
Cause I still be snapping and laughing
Mono-rhyme – Take Four
Coming at you like paper, lined,
Margin to the left, size A4
You ain’t never seen nothing like this before
Messing with my head
Detonating like C4
See you on the TV ads on E4
Closing you down, control, alt delete
Like you hit it, alt F4
Fire Fighter, Fire Fighter
Hear the alarm
Safe the building
From any harm
Fire Fighter, Fire Fighter
No time to rest
Wake up, wake up
Be a hero
Do your best
When I was a kid
The lonely boy
I done stuff I shouldn’t have
I lived on the streets
For about 2 weeks
I did a lot of laughing
And a lot of crying
But most of the time
I did a lot of lying
My friends were always there
It did not matter where
But my father went to heaven
And my mother put me in care
I’m enjoying my life now
With no need to cry
My dad’s with the big man
Instead of being thrown in the van
This is Where
Hungry sheep graze in the barren field beside
I find the perfect bride
Stupid kids get an education
Better than god’s creation
I buy a chicken fillet roll
They are worth more than a bag of coal
On the pitch all are equal
22 players, 22 people
Two goals, one ball
Hard work beats all
You train as a team
You practice the system
You support each other
You know your position
That feeling you get
When you win a game
You can’t appreciate it
Until you lose a game
And you feel that pain…