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001 A Ghost Sails By Scotland's Isles 036 Your Pardon Sir (1st Address to Burns)
002 With Times Passing Is Lost Forever 037 As I Slouch Upon My Chair
003 Rain Beats at My Window 038 Only Be Proud If You Are Humble
004 A Rose Is Still A Rose When Not In Bloom 039 A World Without Dreamers Cannot Be
005 He Who Walks Among Thorns 040 On Times Passing My Mind I've Cast
006 Silence Is Gods Lullaby 041 Let Hate In My Heart Not Be

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007 My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep 042 Should You An Idea Hold
043 On Open Hills I Have Walked
3 044 To Be, Or Not To Be A Bee
045 Of An Angels Grace Are We Worthy?
008 Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams… 046 On Suns Setting at the End of The Day
009 Click, Click goes the Keyboard 047 I Too Am Human
010 Dark Hills and Dark Nights Foreboding
011 Wisdom Its Said Comes With Age 11
012 He Shall Be Humbled, Who Is Proud
048 To The Recently Deceased
4 049 Too Many Chocolates
050 Once There Dwelt A Scotsman
013 A Sinners Plea 051 The Apple of Eden
014 Christmas Eve 2006
015 The World Is Gripped by Hatred 12
016 First Ode To Wordsworth
017 I Am Awake As Others Lie Asleep 052 Too Little Time to See the World
053 Calm Be, Though the World Seems Mad
5 054 From Another World
055 To Have Again the Days of Youth
018 The Great Mc Gonagall 056 Crazed Beats Echo Into The Night
019 His Hand in the Wound Had Been.
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059 Let There Be Joy
020 Verses on Big Folk And Little Folk 060 Care Not For Your Brother
021 Tore Down By God, Who Was Angered By Man 061 To Grow in Love Is What God Asks
022 Glass In The Hand 062 Crying Spirit of the Night
023 Brave Wallace Lies Neath Weeping Skies 063 Adored By All
024 This Rainy Night Where Is She? 064 The World Is Dying
065 Be There Peace
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025 I Often Think... If God Is Islamic
026 Dancer Move Across The Stage 066 Eve
027 A Prayer Tonight Let Me Say 067 Where There's An If
028 The Ballad of Old Clonbroney
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069 Snakes All Around Us
029 In Darkness Crept Shadows Dark 070 What Ails Ye Now?
030 Stars Twinkling, Unseen, Behind Cloud
031 What I See Before Me 16
032 Days Gone And To Come
033 The Crying Sky 071 Words of A Writer on the Folly of Fools
034 Shall Another Read My Words 072 At The Turning of the Year 2007
035 All Are Dead 073 As If Pearls, Below Me Lights Are Spread
074 Can I See If I Look in the Distance?
075 Be A Bard Like A Bird
076 A Thought for Israel
077 An Angel Over Me Keeps Watch
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078 Born of Loneliness Are The Arts


079 All Is Lost When Lost Is Hope
080 A Dream Held Close to the Heart
081 An Ear Always Listening for a Prayer
082 Carry On In Love

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083 King Billy and The Pope


084 Nothing to Write Upon Today
085 Some Things Never Change

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086 Let Us As Friends Not Be Silent


087 In A Bog of Brown, A Message From God?
089 Equally Wise and Foolish Are We
090 Begin in Delight and End in Wisdom

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091 On Suns Setting at the End of Day


092 I, A Sinner Preach of God
093 From a Tomb He Has Risen
094 Natures Great and Natures Kind
095 Gods Love for All Knows no Bounds
096 Is God One or Three?

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097 Calm As The Sea Unstirred By Wind


098 Crawl With The Creatures of the Earth
099 In Times of Despair I Ask My God
100 Of the End, We Shall Be Spared
101 I Cant Remember What I Chose to Forget
102 City of Ships of the Seven Seas
103 Open All Windows and Let the Gales Through
104 Smiling We Cannot Always Be
A Ghost Sails by Scotland's Isles A Rose is Still a Rose When Not in Bloom

A ghost sails by Scotland's isles, A rose is still a rose when not in bloom,
And looks at a nation in chains To say so is like to say that grass is green,
A spirit broken, a tongue not spoken, But when something of beauty is not in flower,
Just brave defiance remains. The fact that it is a flower often is not seen.

Each chieftain looks after his garden, Roses have thorns as well as blooms,
His gardens the kingdom he hopes to expand, Then grasped can give pain, make us bleed,
He swears loyalty to any king, So it is so, when one once we loved,
Bears none to his native land. Speaks to hurt, or does against you a deed.

The people pure, their leaders not sure, That they are still the flower let us not forget,
Declare allegiance to one and all, And flowers cannot all the time be in flower,
Be you from Norway or from France, But when they do bloom, how lovely the display,
When you upon them call. To be with such a bloom on their hour!

The last of the Stewart kings, He Who Walks Among Thorns


Who fought with Highland men,
Looks on his land with tears in his eyes, An African proverb states:
Knows he'll never rule there again! "A man does not walk among thorns,
unless fleeing from a snake
With Passing Time Is Lost Forever or pursuing one"

With passing time is lost forever ******


The opportunities of the past days, He who walks among thorns,
But new case with the morrow, Does not do so for its own sake,
And show in different ways. No but rather he flees
From a chasing snake...
To make the most of what we have
As a resolution may it be said, And if not so that the man walks
For we know not the day or the hour, A path of thorns his way in bare feet to make,
When tomorrows we have none: we are dead! Should he not be fleeing from: he must pursue
To capture a fleeing snake.
Rain Beats At My Window
Silence is Gods Lullaby
Rain beats at my window,
As the day it slowly dies, Floating music and soaring voices
As midnight approaches, Break the silence of the night,
I'm cold I realise. Singing Christmas songs in a tong I don't know,
For long I've sat at keyboard As outside nothing is in sight…
Typing words onto screen
Its seems as if no time, For it is but the early hours of a new day,
And yet for hours writing I've been. Even the birds are still silent now,
It is as if the world stands still,
And I turn on the heater, The closest we get to God while living somehow...
I get up from my chair,
I stretch and yawn, look in the mirror For when life and all its craziness stops
Laugh at my reflection there... And the worries of the world cease,
And on the screen, to be on paper, The ensuing silence is Gods lullaby
These words I wrote be they many or few, And we awake or asleep live in peace...
As much as the mirror,
Are a reflection of me too!
My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep

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My mind is wrapped in stillness deep,
A calmness that's unbroken, After to sleep drifting I wake again,
For it is night and it is dark And in the bed I turn
And there is not one word spoken An image or though from the sleeping time
Outside in the empty street Vivid in my mind does burn,
That patiently waits the dawn, Through sloth to get up to write I fail,
And I as I try to sleep, So it is written never,
I turn in bed and yawn. For in the morning its long forgot,
To be remembered never.
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And in this emptiness of mind,
Images and words can play, And sloth it is a sin they say,
As I in slumbers drift in and out Which I never understood,
In the early hours of day. For slothful I love to be,
The devil finds work for idle hands, And as I explained sleeping idleness is good!
Often by wise men it's said, But sloth makes us fail to work,
But for an idle mind open to God And it makes me sleep all night,
Poetry finds it instead. And so the words God sent through sleep to me,
I never get to write.
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VIII
And images from those sleeping hours,
On waking are forgotten, No, God speaks not to me,
Though vivid they be at the time, I must tell you in a rush,
They are for the back of the mind begotten, Im not that crazy, just a poet,
Of worries of our waking time Im not like George Bush!
And of our fears and dreams, But God gives us a talent,
Sometimes pleasant, sometimes nightmares, And God he gives us time,
Strange to me it seems. And God gives both to me at night,
When my mind can rest and rhyme.
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And this stillness is like a blanket,
Neath which all worries cease And talent is like the biblical lamp,
And I am occupied by a force, To show light it was made,
Of and for peace. Why light a lamp to show the light,
And in a heart that's peaceful, Then hide it neath a shade?
You shall find only good, Shade is the passing hours
And God at these times in such hearts dwells, Tween when I think and rise,
And its only right he should. And lost through the shade is the light of my words
And this I realise.
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In our hearts he seeks to dwell
And tries to find out how, Though still from bed I refuse to rise,
To find a bed in our hearts to rest, And my words write for all to see,
But sometimes we wont allow And so I waste talent God does give,
The Lord in His goodness to come in, And so with Sloth, God can charge me.
And will not tell Him why, To change from Sloth I resolve,
And so by the trials of the world we are broken, But I know not how,
For our hearts to God we deny. Before I die I'll find a way,
But be content in sloth for now!
(cont… My Mind Is Wrapped in Stillness Deep) Dark Hills and Dark Nights Foreboding

XI Dark hills and dark night foreboding


You'll not find me there at all
To think of the verses that are lost, But there are those on both good and bad days,
As must happen to other writers too, These hils, by the mane of heaven, they'll call!
I wonder how to sleep and write they got,
Or of lost work like me did they rue? For to walk in but ones own company
The stillness of my sleep held brain, To climb to the top to look down,
Matches the stillness of the night, As in wonder, as if it were a kingdom,
I must get myself a Dictaphone, And you were its king with no crown...
Record the thoughts I don't want to rise for to write!
Slothful I prefer sleep to relax,
THE END I recharge my batteries in bed,
And I will explore many landscapes
Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams Make In the fitful dreams of my slumbers instead!
Heartache and Great Songs
Wisdom, It’s Said, Comes with Age
All the futures finished
They've lost those who once to them did belong Wisdom its said, comes with age,
Broken hearts and broken dreams Though that you'd never know,
Create heartache and great songs. For mankind is but fools,
And as the music dies away This to you I'll show:
A broken heart slowly heals,
One wonders if ever the same For to spite all the wars we've had,
A broken heart ever feels? Caused by senseless hate,
We still despise each other,
And so we dance along, And fight until stalemate...
Look into each others eyes,
We think not of the future, Wisdom its said comes with age...
For we may end up as the song too... It appears this times old rule
The happiness before the heartache, Is true in all times bar its exception:
The smiles before the tears Wisdom never comes to a fool!
The kisses before the hatred
The youth before aged years...
He Shall Be Humbled, He Who Is Proud
Hope and love it seems...
Among fantasy belongs... He shall be humbled, he who is proud,
For broken hearts and broken dreams And will know shame to his name,
Inspire heartache and great songs... For to be so of yourself is not allowed,
For the mighty will know shame.
Click, Click goes the Keyboard
The least man shall be exalted high
Click, click goes the keyboard, It says so in the bibles Holy Word
And words appear on a screen, Though he may not get his dream, he can try,
To be printed one day for all to see, No matter how much it seems absurd.
Which heretofore only in my mind have been.
Some things are meant to succeed or to fail,
Words woven that once were faint Unless we try we will never know,
Ideas in the obscure corners of my mind, And the fool for one day can we a wise man,
Come together to form verse in rhyme The clever man, the fool he is in time will show!
And as stanzas on paper themselves find.

And they, those who read my words,


Know that upon this day,
What I was thinking, and what I wrote
And of it, what they like, they can say!
A Sinners Plea First Ode to Wordsworth

If an ill thought is bad of the dead Early writings of Wordsworth were libertarian and
Oh God, what a sinner am I reactionary in nature, full of the joys of life, to which he
signed his name "Will Wordsworth".
Guilty of lust and of greed
Damned for eternity when I die. However, a change in the tone and subject matter
arrived in the second period of his life, and on these
To be damned if I get to enjoy more socially standard works he wrote his name in the
Sins committed: I say, fair enough more formal "William Wordsworth", by which we know him
But to suffer if not having enjoyed today.
Is in my opinion quite tough!
This poem is inspired by a "Readers Digest" article from
Oh, we aspire to be holy, 1970 that explores his work and asks why as to the
change in the name and tone of works from Wordsworth.
Yes, thoughts so are said to be a good deed,
If so, with thoughts so I am holy Verses of Golden daffodils I've read
And so for salvation shall plead...
That waved in the varying wind around
That showed the beauty of the world
Christmas Eve 2006 That in the sight he found.
Such verses of serenity,
An empty coke bottle rattles as it spins round, Of ambience and of peace,
Twirled by idle hands in the darkest hours of night, That he desired for the world,
Outside, cars speeding by make the only sound, And of global freedom were to cease...
And the shouting of a couple having a fight...
A dark December night, slowly the hours pass by, And the champion of the underdog
It seems so cold... I cannot get any heat The republican, and of those not free
The worlds asleep neath the dark night sky Was to change in the blink of an eye,
As I, to the radiator press my feet. To champion the system, empire and monarchy.

An hour into Christmas Eve,.. on the screen I see And bonny Wordsworth who with pen
Cars coming and going from the town Signed his works with name as "Will"
Other people, other lives unaware of me, Changed to the more formal "William"
Who is working as they are gulping their drinks down... And wrote his name as such his death until...
Nor think did I, when one of tem I was,
Out with friends at a party, drinking late, What caused this change I do not know,
Life is good, and of others we don't think because, To find out is an impossible task,
Life's to short, is to be lived: Life is great! But if to where he is on death I go,
The question to him I'll surely ask!
No blue flashing lights, but as the hour turns and dies,
An ambulance arrives and who's to say I Am Awake, As Others Lie Asleep
What story of misery lies inside...
Maybe just a drunk: maybe an RTA. I, awake as others lie asleep,
And those who work in A&E, who with this will deal
Gaze out upon the silent scene,
They are the real ones working tonight, not I, All is quiet now, and nothing moves...
And for whinging ashamed I feel, Where hours ago, a throng had been...
A silent prayer for them I say, with a sigh...
The night passes, Im told so by a screen,
The World Is Gripped by Hatred That slowly changing numbers shows,
Each hour, minute and second that dies,
The world is gripped by hatred, Another night into oblivion goes...
Help firmly in its clasp,
Though we cant alone break the world free, And this night, like that day to me,
We though love can loosen its grasp. Is as if it never was at all...
And each to the next to come shall be
So love each other a little more today As dawn is followed in time by nightfall.
Defeat hatred a lttle bit at a time
Win the battles and dont worry of winning the war And on a day to come we will pass
For not to fight hatred is the only crime! - And be to some a memory
Who some cherish, more maybe not -
As if we did never be...
The Great Mc Gonagall! And them his finest hour came,
Or maybe his greatest composition of shame!
William “Topaz” Mc Gonagall was poet from Dundee, who When the Tay Bridge collapsed in a gale
discovered he could make a rhyme at the grand old age of While upon it crossed a train by rail...
52 or so. And to write upon it he was possessed
To read his words few were impressed
He considered himself second to Shakespeare in Britian, and And his ode to the tragedy of the bridge of the Tay
it will be of no surprise that he was of Irish stock to have a
Causes smiles to all to this very day.
neck to make a claim such as that considering the quality
of the verse he wrote.

Today he is lauded as probably the worst poet in history, Was he a fool... or just a bad poet
and some say he was a fool, more say he was a satirist. His If he was a fool he seemed not to know it
style is like the peasant songs, except not set to music, and Some say he was clever acted if on a stage,
presented as pure poetry. Commanded an audience as he read each page.
Though they laughed at him things threw,
His style of delivery left a lot to be desired, and he was That he brightened their day that much he knew
mocked frequently when doing readings in his native city
And how many writers who so serious could be
and beyond.
Will be long forgotten when remembered is he?
Whether satirist, fool or genuine and misguided, this poetic
anti-hero can be found in all writers, and this poem is written How many poets refuse to use rhyme
in his style to recount his tale! Mc Gonagall insisted to use it all the time
Unfortunately the pattern often fell out of place,
Of awful verse he was the master, For the Romantics cast him from grace,
Writing of the Tay Bridge disaster, He was but a common man, at least he did try,
Stating Shakespeare the best wordsmith be, To be like him, none want to be including I,
In Britain to date, and second he, But still to convention he was never a slave,
No disrespect to Burns the Bard And to his emotions was never the knave
No desire for a great name to be tarred,
He was second best Scottish son, As I this verse write in his appalling style
North of the border, Mc Gonagall was number one! I admire his bravery, smiling all the while,
Though great are his foes and his friends are few,
On receiving inspiration divine To his art in his heart he tried to be true,
Pen he seized to write a line Those who read his words may mock and may grin
Continued to write, such verse he penned: But to be a weaver and a poets no sin
Was to cause mirth until his end! And as I sit here more poetry to write,
His first verse was to the Rev. Gilfillan, an address May I be pure as heart as he as I scribble tonight!
Which was judged by same to be a poetic mess
Wryly the poets efforts the minister did dismiss His Hand in the Wound Had Been
Stating "Shakespeare wrote nothing like this!"
His hand in the wound had been
His verse on theatre and street he read, Then he knew they did not deceive
With laughter and derision he was met instead, Happy are we who there have not been
Of the respect he expected, while reading pompous But in the Resurrection believe...
Clad in Kilt he caused quite a rumpus!
He tried once to America to go Though it is good not to be a fool
But on its shores no-one did know To seek to prove what you are told,
Found himself cut loose, culturally cast away Trust among the Apostles was the rule,
His homeward fare a kind stranger did pay In respect and honour each other to hold.

Once fifty miles or more he walked


To read verse to the queen: but when he talked
To the guardsmen at the gate
He was turned away in indignant state
To be poet laureate he said he wished to seek,
To be told that to try he had a cheek,
And he’d better move while still was free,
To go as he pleased all the way home to Dundee.
Verses on Big Folk and Little Folk Brave Wallace Lies Neath Weeping Skies

A little king looked on his kingdom Bold Wallace lies neath weeping skies
That no mortal eye could ever see, That cry on a land not free,
And to be one of these little folk, And many more beside him will lie
Was indeed a blessing, said he. Who Scotland liberated wont see.

The Little Folk unlike mankind The cruel hand of England


Knew no wars and done no wrong, Even when she lets a land go,
Lived in bliss, a life of music, She keeps a hand upon its tiller
A life of laughter, lust and song. So that shes the master, they know.

They were here long before the Big Folk And England, who their freedom stole
Aye, were here thousands of years... Makes sure from her colonies freedom she gains,
In a realm of peace and of magic, The flags and the army may be gone,
Where only falls brought to the eye tears... But the Saxons power remains.

On the arrival of the Big Folk, For a land is but free when England says:
The little folk fled underground, At her decree your a free man,
And that is why to this day And she will return and crush you again,
In open fields they wont be found. If you against her plan.

The little king looked on his kingdom And a weeping sky for Scotland will cry
Where to be hidden was to be free For to come many many years,
He knew Big Folk believed his world did not exist, Even in freedom she'll be bear the Saxon yoke,
"Long may they so think!" said he! Drawing from brave Scotland more tears!

Tore Down by God, Who Was Angered by Man This Rainy Night Where Is She?

As today we reflect, This rainy night where is she?


On how our faith is wrecked Is she in Dublin town
By faiths, so many Racing along O' Connell Street,
The saved, the chosen and the few As the rain comes thundering down...

Our faith, as one, we tried to make Does she go home to a lover,


United for our glorys sake Does she go home alone,
A tower, like Babylon to build high Does another man share the love
Assure ourselves of heaven when we died... That I could never had known?

And God, by our effort was not amused Or is she home in Italy
Sowed doubt and debate and so confused In her town I don't know where,
Caused us to fight, wage war and die: Or maybe she's from the country,
Pride of man is the reason why. Or from the mountains air...

Glass in the Hand As I think I know I don't know her,


Although I once thought I did,
Glass in hand, staring into space, I wonder if she knew I loved her,
As the night is old, the brain is confused, If she cared why my love so I hid?
Swaying as he staggers forward,
The fool who his alchol abused. Maybe she's in the arms of another,
He falls against a stool by the counter Some lucky man darling she does call,
Someone lends a steadying hand, I wonder if ever I met her,
To be thanked by a torrent of abuse Would she even know me at all?
Slurred so much none could understand.
And so he moved out of sight,
As at a friend who speaks to me I look,
If only at him youth could learn,
From his folly a lesson be took!
I Often Think... If God is Islamic The Ballad of Old Clonbroney

In death Il;l face God as a sinner One night dark walking along
As each in our time we will do, A lane onto its end,
And if for now of my sins I don't worry A neighbour walked up to a house
At that time each one I'll heartily rue! To call upon a friend.
But I'm hoping he'll be judging me kindly, The neighbour was new, his friends wife too
When me to account He does call, Had arrived not long ago,
For I as a sinner have failings... And friendship new as neighbours do
And sure I'm Irish and all! They called on one another each other to know.

I often think... if God is Islamic! And as he approached the house,


And as Im cast to Hell as I don't believe He wondered at how strange shadows moves,
In things like the Koran and Mohammed It looked as if it were a hearse,
Because circumstances me did deceive... And all of a sudden a sound of hooves,
The opportunities for sin I'd have missed And a wall through at terrific speed,
The excesses in life I could've enjoyed, Driven by a horseman with no head,
The bills I'd never have bothered paying, A hearse up through the fields fleed
And the devious schemes I could've employed! To Old Clonbroney with its dead.

Its one thing to go to eternal damnation Our hero stood there shaking,
Having enjoyed to the full both life and sin, Wondered if he imaged was what he had seen,
Twould be a shame to be cast away to the flame When the woman opened the door to the house,
Without enough wrong to have beforehand indulged in! Asked where the horses had been?
He raced into the house so fast,
Dancers Move Upon the Stage Slammed behind him the door,
Told how the hearse before him passed,
The Dancer moves upon the stage And where it came from before...
All eyes on her look down
Some with joy at her movement That it went up to Old Clonbroney,
Others over technicalities frown. After driving through a wall,
But it was not real: twas but a ghost,
The crippled walks ungainly down the street For the wall was not damaged at all.
Having being crippled as a boy And drinking whiskey strong his nerves settled down,
Some look in disapproving pity Though still great in him was fear,
None share his mothers pride and joy. Though you may mock and you may frown,
You too’d shake if the headless horseman did appear...
For every step ungainly that allows him progress
Is another step in life as his own he stakes, And in time the husband returned,
Not pretty to the eye is his step A miller he was by trade,
But to many ugly even a limp a walk makes... He came to see his wife terrified,
And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid,
Let us not pity the cripple, They told him of the horseman,
Rejoice he walks, as he is glad of the chance, Of the hearse, that the man had no head,
Enjoy the movements of the dancer on the stage, He shrugged his shoulder with a sigh,
See not the faults in her dance! Declared one of the neighbours dead.

A Prayer Tonight Let Me Say It was like the banshee,


The miller said of the apparition,
When these neighbours died, the spectre you'd see,
A prayer tonight let me say
So was local superstition,
Though great my belief may not be
And so all a prayer they said,
For in times of need I pray
For their own and the deceased sake,
And ask God to help me.
Its not told the name of who was dead,
Though believe in him greatly I do not
Or if the miller and his neighbour slept or stayed awake!
I don’t hesitate to plead
To him for assistance
When great is my need.
In Darkness Crept Shadows Dark Days Gone And To Come

In darkness crept shadows dark, Of days that are gone some try to remember
Of forms that could not be seen Days that are gone more try to forget
It seemed as if I was awake Of days to come some wait in wonder
But it was just a dream... As others in dread pray “Don’t bring them yet@!”
Though knew it not I at the time
When among these shadows I walked, Life for different people brings different things
And though I heard not what they said, Different people different ways to the same thing feel
I understood when they talked. So we must play the cards that we have got
For in the Poker of Life there is only one deal.
These forms invisible to the eye,
Could be felt by the moving air, The Crying Sky
The little cold breeze of a moments life,
That says something has moved that once was there. The rain is falling as I lie awake
And a shiver went through my spine, Beats a soundtrack to my wakeful night
Though I knew it was not bad, And I the dreamer who cannot sleep to dream
Still I shiver as if in fear Those raindrops are music to me as I write.
Of a soul distressed and sad.
Yet footsteps neath my window move quickly I hear
I knew not of the shapes As someone is soaking and quickly moves by
Their kind, origin or name, The darkness covers all so none can see
But knew they grieved a wrong to them done, Under the blanket of the crying sky.
Or mourned an unrightable shame.
And the tears of these silent shapes Shall Another Read My Words
Splashed onto cold cold stone,
I stood, with no-one near me, Shall another read my words
And yet I was not alone. In a far off distant da
I hope that they enjoy the rhymes
The very fact that I was there That I on paper lay.
Brought to these souls some ease,
I though scared, I was glad And if they look in wonder
These distressed souls I could please. At the world that through my eyes is seen
And as around me the faded, Then, I the writer will have known
One to me he spoke, My life as a writer: a waste has not been.
Reached out and took my hand,
And in a cold sweat I awoke!
All Are Dead
Stars Twinkling, Unseen, Behind Cloud “For Lords or Kings I dinnae mourn
E’en let them die, for that they’re born”
Stars twinkling, behind cloud, - Robert Burns
As if they were not there, to my eye, “Elegy on the Year 1798”
A night dark, as around I walk,
To keep myself warm I try... All are dead, both great and small men
Never to be known or heard of again
Among the ranks of the lost and the poor, And all shall rise in turn when
Are burdens great we never see, The time it comes for man to be judged.
As the clouds of poverty keep them so
Should we do nothing, this will forever be. Then: see the King in fear shake
His turn before the Judge take
What I See Before Me His case for clemency for to make
As to his fate he's nudged…
What I see before me as I look around
At where there is nobody or nothing Behind him stands the man that’s poor
I see peace, I see heaven and tranquility Who always of Gods love was sure
As a chorus of songbirds start to sing. With prayer, not complaint, he his cross did endure
To his Salvation he has trudged!
At another time, if such a scene I see
I would find it distressing, feeling alone
For we see what we w see not as it is
But rather how we feel on our own.
Your Pardon Sir (First Address to Robert Burns) A World Without Dreamers Cannot Be

“Your pardon sir for this disgression A world without dreamers cannot be
I maist forgot my dedication Or a way forward we could not see,
But when Divinity comes cross me For without visionaries, ourselves we would find,
My readers are sure to lose me
Lost in despair, without dreams we are blind.
- Robert Burns
Crazy dreamers should be allowed
- “A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton Esq.” To be so crazy: and of it be proud,
Lines 78/81 For in time, I think, maybe,
They're crazy dreams become reality.
Your pardon sir, as a writer I beg
I am not joking or pulling a leg On Times Passing, My Mind I've Cast
Though I live and love not your lifestyle
I find I enjoy your poems… they make me smile! On times passing my mind I've cast
And brought back memories of the past,
Too many today share your outlook Though indeed yet young am I,
Scorn piety to party: scorn the Good Book Sometimes I sit and think of times gone by...
And to answer their responsibilities they fail And, remembering, sit for a while,
Leave worried minds and broken hearts in their trail. Something to my face brings a smile,
Only for then my eyes to cast down,
Though you are dead, this day I bet As something unpleasant brings to my face a frown...
You are for your sins unrepentant yet
And God knowing you were honest and true But, soon is passing the times when I am sad,
Probably made in His rules an exception for you For my life so far I am glad,
And should I good one day be,
Time took you from your paper and quill I'll be contented with such a reverie.
But did not strike your form until For life, I've come to expect,
Enough of note and humour you had wrote down Every so often needs us to stop and reflect,
To ensure for ever your renown! Be we advanced or young in age,
We look back on life as if it were a stage...
As I Slouch Upon my Chair
And but a play is the life we had,
As I slouch upon my chair, As if actors say the words we've said,
And into the space before me I stare And we are, in some strange way,
As if what before me was not there The audience, looking back at our lives here today...
I slowly pass the night. Then reality strikes reflections broken...
And of my thoughts nothing is spoken,
Slowly from my reverie, But later, as at my desk I write
Something outside I see Of my thoughts, as I do tonight.
Its nothing that bothers me,
But a stray dog is the sight. Let Hate In My Heart Not Be

And as I fulfill my protectors roll, Let not hate in my heart be,


I feel as if empty is my soul, When I think of a foe,
For such is the poets toll, Or tell of a wrong that to me was done,
In such emotion, I start to write. Lately, or a while ago.

Only be Proud If You Are Humble For hate achieves for us nothing,
Your numb when only it you feel,
It is but folly to seek And an open wound will only hurt,
That upon your passing A wound kept open will not heal.
That others of what you've done speak
In awe and be amassing... So let not in my heart let hatred be,
It is the prayer I've said,
Should you talent have... use it Though too often, there it is,
Be you tidy or rough and tumble Where there should be forgiveness instead.
To be proud you are allowed,
As long as you are humble.
Should You An Idea Hold Of An Angels Grace, Are We Worthy?

Should you an idea hold, Of an angels grace, are we worthy,


Cherish it, to spite being told We who bathe in sin
That the dream that you hold dear And wallow in the baths of selfishness
Impossible, it does appear. Never letting God in
Never admitting God to our hearts,
Yes, so it may seem Where for Himself He made a place
But man is nothing who has no dream... But we block Him from His home,
And in our sin see no disgrace.
On Open Hills I Have Walked
And so He sends us His angels
On open hills I have walked To guide us in our errant way,
And from their summits to view I stood To be there, in times of trouble,
All that nature before me spread To guide us, should we need God, one day.
As many others often would. Surely of this angel we are not worthy
But I. not looking, often saw, Yet God deems it to be so,
Only what was physically there, That even in sin, when in trouble,
Not the hopes and dreams and fears, To our aid, our Angel will go!
Of those that there dwelt, and did not care...
On Suns Setting at the End of The Day
I cared not for the farmer in the tractor
Whose harvest was another battle won On suns setting at the end of the day,
To build a farm and a family The night we trust to us safe keep,
To hand one day to his son. And all in bed to slumber lay,
Nor the lady in the cottage And slip to blissful sleep.
Passing the last of her days, And in slumbers start to dream
Who by others was despised for her frequent scorn Images disjointed, varied, pleasant...
For she was too set in her ways. Causing us to make in sweats and screams,
If such a dream wasn't.
I saw not the joys and the disappointments,
Of those building the future or reflecting on the past, Mostly on waking we forget
All i saw was a tractor and old woman The reveries tapestry,
As across the scene my eyes I cast. And to more its as if not
For those not looking will not see Asleep were they, but in reality.
The truth before their eyes that's placed,
For they don't look, and they don't care, For a strange thing is the mind,
As through their lives they've raced. Tricked by our slumber embraced brain,
And when so confused ourselves we find,
To Be, Or Not To Be A Bee We question are we sane?
So as you to your slumbers settle,
What a horrid life it seems to me, I hope that you sleep well,
To be the drone, a male bee, And at the mornings breakfast kettle,
Who lives for love and lust alone Of no nightmares you have to tell!
For it he's bred, fed and grown.
I Too Am Human
But the bee to woo the Queen,
Is among many who scorned have been I too am human, I know,
He who tried and failed has flown away, That's such is true I often show,
To chase and woo another day. Let me in love grow,
Let me in God trust.
But cruel is fate to the bee,
Who finds that successful is he, For, though human, I can pray,
For though he gets to love, and do so well, That I need help, I can say,
He ties from it, and so of it never gets to tell! And God for me will find a way,
But ask Him to, I must.
To the Recently Deceased Once There Dwelt A Scotsman

The Angels they are calling, and you, you cannot stay Once there lived a Scotsman
When the angels of the Lord beckon, we all must obey Whose years nobody knew
Happier you will be, back where you are from Who was seen by all in town
Now is your time, someday mine will come. And known by very few.
And when my day does arrive, and my time is near, For men, for loners such as he
I hope I can face the Lord without a hint of fear Were left that way... alone...
Admit the sins I've committed, and with them was content Scorn and pity and indifference
But I knew I was wrong, was sorry, and for them did repent, By the townspeople to him was shown.
Just like you did, as now your crop you reap,
Beside you and the Lord, a place for me keep, This Scotsman was nobody
For if I am good enough, I will get my reward None knew from where he came
And then I will join you, in the house of the Lord, Bar the obvious. from Scotland...
Though large in number, not great was any sin Few even knew his name.
And I feel, the Lord been good, eventually will let me in! And the children in the dusty streets
Making song of him... the sang
Too Many Chocolates For he was also a simple sort
Who spoke in Scottish slang.
**************************
This poem is inspired by the words of Bono as recounted by And all unknowing of him went
Mick Wall in his book "Bono". who was tired of churning out more of About their business from day to day
the same music, while it was good it still was boring for him. None spoke of him when he was not seen
Bar the children when at play
"... we (U2) were growing disillusioned with the pap, the "Where is Mad Jock, the Scotsman:
wallpaper (music) and the gloss.
By this way he has not walked,
So we get to mock no more"
Its as if someone has eat too many chocolates ... suddenly
they're beginning to feel ill as they look at all the papers So of him the children talked.
around the room."
Some months passed until one day
The lesson I see from this is that over indulgence in life or a part of it, A burglar an open door spied
leads us to feel sick of life, or tired of it, and it may be this that leads us It looked an easy job, he thought
to be so unhappy causing our social problems, while those who really As an escape route he eyed.
have life hard appreciate it when things become good if only for a But upon entering the house
while, and so are happy and smiling
He did not rob, but instead,
Stopped to mouth a silent prayer
Too many chocolates have been enjoyed,
As he found Mad Jock rotted and dead.
As you look at their wrappers around the room scattered,
As nothing in life seems important right now,
And though long passed to the other side
At this moment nothing else mattered...
God to love him never ceased
To pray for the passing of his mortal soul,
For living for now is the new way,
God sent the burglar... not the priest.
Live only for now and to excess,
"For God was with him at his end,
Think not of tomorrow or yesterday,
As through his life" the church bells to ring began...
Forget it, and care about less.
As the cortege passed by the a house...
Once there lived a Scotsman.
Wise words of Bono, written one day,
Of how his music needed to be re-inspired,
By a sound and a vibe and by something new, The Apple of Eden
For of all that there was he was tired.
Fruit of a tree that begot sin
Too much of a good thing is not good at all, And led poor Adam astray,
After a while it all seems the same, When misled by a lusty Eve
Like the kid in the kitchen who too many chocolates ate, In Eden's garden one day.
That we cant enjoy them now: we are too blame.
I have indulged in your fruit
But sad am I to say,
It takes more than eating you,
To by girls be seduced today!
Too Little Time to See the World To Have Again the Days of Youth

To little time to see the world, To have again the days of youth,
There's so much of it to see, When everything was honest truth
And life, it never eases up, And possible: yes we could do
We're always so busy. Anything we wanted to.
But alas, we are shamed,
But, should we find the time, Our ambitions by time were tamed,
To see the world in what we do, And though not of an age great,
We would never see it all, I am tamed, I sadly state.
But we'd see a lot against with life we were through. Those times of youth when all was new,
Little was false in a world so true,
So when you today do something, A heart large from lack of strife,
Go somewhere and meet someone, To be hammered and reduced by life.
Look on it as another part of the world, And if thinking so I am its to be told...
You got to see as you passed on... What an earth will I be like when I AM old?

Calm Be, Though the World Seems Mad Crazed Beats Echo Into The Night

Calm be, though the world seems mad, Crazed beats echo into the night
As if on the eve of doom, A couple passing shake their heads: say its not right
In other lands things happen bad, Crazy music, adored by crazy kids
And war it seems to loom, Lets, keep moving... one to the other bids.
It looks so bad as its at our door,
Other times was far away, Once on TV, a dance I saw
It could be ignored before A dance of emotion, wild and raw,
It cannot be today. Strangely graceful, I must presume
I thought so because of age and costume.
The world has always been fighting
It seems was is like a need, Clothes worn by the dancers, shown in black and white
And man is like an animal sighting Dancing the Charleston somewhere one night
As he striked to quell his greed, What now seems quaint because it is old
A greed for gold and power Was in its time both daring and bold.
A bloodlust from the smell of oil
God protect us in this hour: Crazier music will come to be
And Satan's Folly foil! The one tut tutting will be me
Remembering respectable nights spent
From Another World Dancing to Eminem and 50 cent!

From another world they look on us, We, Ungrateful Sinners, Thank Our Lord
To visit us they wont try,
For they all fear disaster, We, ungrateful sinners thank our Lord
And that they will die. Not because we must,
But because in our hearts we know
For mankind is a hopeless case, That He is fair and just.
Even if one had the will,
But they, being wiser, effort will not waste, Often even his presence we deny
Saving us from each other trying to kill. In range of anothers ear,
But we, the pagan, of most believe,
Benign strangers who view our world, Tho not so it may appear.
With dismay - will our fighting ever cease?
Why cant we like them be: We ungrateful sinners thank our God
Many - and at peace? Unlike the pious, who often dont give a toss,
For we know it was for our souls,
They're afraid that we will kill them, He died upon that cross.
Because of all our wars that have been,
Over whether man is black or white:
Imagine what we'd do to green!
Let There Be Joy Crying Spirit of the Night

This is a small hymn calling on people to rejoice in their The crying in the bight grew faint
troubles and in the name of God, as He is there to help As to listen for it I slow,
us through our troubles. And there looks to be nothing now
Where there was a woman a while ago.
Inspired by a piece on one of those American God channels
I've got on the satellite television!!
But then upon again walking
Beneath a window stands
******************************* Crying, as she brushes her hair,
With a comb in age gnarled hands...
Let there be Joy when you say the name of the Lord,
On hearing his name, let there rejoicing be, And I, though I have heard her
For those fortunate to know or have heard of our God And before my eyes her vision did appear
Will know or have heard that merciful is He. Of the Banshee, Crier of the Dead,
I, passing, have no fear.
He sent His Son to die on a cross for our sins, And there's some inside who've heard her,
But we still sin as if He never was, And prayed as outside, she cried,
Still He loves us for what we are, just wants us to repent, And another within, who heard her not,
Why he loves us? just because... Who later that night died.

He is our God, and we're what He did create, Oh, to be born of noble blood
So like apparent with a child unconditional is the love and Followed by the Banshee to be,
grace I wish that in my final hour
Bestowed on us by God, who loves us sinners all, One as devoted prays for me.
All he asks is for us to our sins repent and face.
Adored by All
Let there be hope when you call on the name of the Lord,
Though the time and reason may be of despair, Adored by all, despised by none,
Rejoice in your burden, though great be its load, A goddess in all but name,
For to ease it on your shoulders the Lord is there. To soon passed while in her prime,
Too great, it was, the shame.
Care Not or For Your Brother
One angel among millions,
Care not or for your brother Without working to get their reward,
To all, your heart let you close, A baby, died in childbirth,
Ignore the pleas of all, Called home to the bosom of the Lord
And care not who knows,
That of and for all nothing you care, The World Is Dying
For that is how and what you are,
If you honest be The world is dying, they wail, and we don't listen...
Your better by far. Its the ozone layer... we’ll have none in twenty years,
Too many give too much We watch in wonder as they foretell our doom,
And want all to see and know, And our leaders seem to cry crocodile tears.
But false is the spirit in which they give
What they give, the give for show. We know not is it true or is it false,
Or is it as bad as they say it will be,
To Grow In Love Is What God Asks Oh, the fanaticism and fury of the ecologists,
Though it may be to late... lets wait and see...
To grow in love is what God asks...
Or lest not grow at all, Be There Peace
And let happy being small be...
Should be when large not be good at all. Be there peace and no more fighting,
For theirs nothing wrong with being small Let there no more conflict to be,
Though large all other things appear, May all men live in merriment,
And we strong to ourselves may not seem, And of our wars be free...
Which causes us to have fear,
For it is good to be small: We may never change the world as we desire -
Its decreed by God above, Our dreams in our hearts we may keep,
To be small is a blessing They will never be reality,
If your filled with love! They’ll only exist ever in our sleep...
Eve

I VI

In the eyes of Eve was not Evil And those who love have never known
But a desire of love for to know, And to never know it, have planned
And the act of Adam was not bad Live not in the world of men
The act of Love to show. And so cannot understand.
Nor was the eyes of woman evil For he he who to love has closed his heart,
That hold love in their hearts within, Never love will know,
Nor evil are the lusts of men: And he who has never known love
Evil are those who call it sin. Never love can show.

II VII

In the arms of Eve was not evil So, was there Evil in Eden?
For how can it evil be Does the Good Book deceive?
Regardless of state of undress, your love to caress Tell us a lie and not why,
The reasoning I cannot see. As the Gnostics believe?
To have the arms of a lady The Bible is but a book
Around you in sweet embrace With any opinions within
Is no sin when she don't belong to another, Hearts of good and evil find their kind,
No evil is within her face. And mark out what they call sin.

III VIII

The serpent that spoke, spoke not of evil For a man or woman who truly loves
As he dangled from the tree And their love they share
Oh no, for love would have found its way, Are loved by God on his own
And so, not evil was he. For He knows what's truly there,
And the heel that stamps him to the dust In the deepest cavern of their hearts,
And said that all others likewise should, From all the world hid
Knows only evil in his heart, It matters not the ceremonies of man,
As to know love he never could. To heaven, on death, they'll be bid.

IV Where There's an If

Desecrate the act of the showing of love If I were a rich man I would do good
By denying and condemning a need And the world a better place make,
To be loved, and to give love Not to seek glory to say I am great,
Gave rise to indulgence of greed. But for doing goods sake.
And so the act of love came not of the heart,
But purely of sensation to feel, If I were a strong man I’d do many things,
Which without love is empty, And everything correct make others do,
And without love is not real. But alas I am but one and of no power,
And this every day I rue.
V
If only I had, then I would do,
And the loudest voice kept shouting Why can I not do today,
Their version of the story to tell, The little Im capable of I can do,
So that now it is the only one Rather than looking away.
Of how out of favour Adam fell.
When hearts grow cold and love no more, Theres a hell of a want where theres an "if",
And love is but a historical fact No matter how well it you mean,
When we use each other for lust alone... Two walls will not a roof make,
Then sinful is the act. Unless theres a cover between!
Snakes All Around Us

Readers of these pages from Ireland will be familiar with Fr Brian And at the floor of the mountain tall,
D'Arcy's "A Little Bit of Faith" column in the Sunday Word, and The boy set the rattle snake free,
Irish Sunday newspaper. Upon touching the ground it rattled and hissed,
Rose... to strike the boy on the knee.
In the October 1 2006 edition, Fr Brian quotes a tale told by
Native American actor Iron Eyes Cody.
But you promised you wouldn't pleaded the boy,
As to the ground in pain he fell,
While he tells it to warn of the dangers of drink and drugs, I
feel it can equally apply for those who go into personal "You knew what I was when you picked me up"
or business relationships that are dodgy from the start with The snake to him did tell.
their eyes open. So should you meet a snake in the snow,
Or in the lushest of grass,
In summary, be wary of all who offer false promises be Believe not the promises they speak,
aware of the reality behind them. Back off! And by them pass...
****************************
What Ails Ye Now?
(First Ode to Robert Burns)

Each native youth on reaching age, "What ails ye now?" Words from your pen,
Before declaring himself a man, When you in the heat of anger basked
Goes in solitude like Christ himself, And boiled as you in retort wrote
To prepare for life as best he can. And the lousy bitches you asked:
One native youth a mountain he saw, Those who about others things say,
Decided to climb it as a test, And down upon who look
And upon reaching its summit cold, Would well be told the story
Congratulated himself fro his conquest. Of "Throw the First Stone" from the Good Book.

And then... a rattlesnake he saw, Aye, Burns the sinner who loved the ladies
Backed away he did with a start, And in sin indulged, enjoyed and was content,
Though aged it was... and stiff with cold, But to your God your peace you made
And looked to have faint heart. In privacy prayed and did repent.
It looked as it was nearing its dying days, Aye, with faults and all God made you,
No, rather was in its dying throes, As he did the ladies who caught your eye,
And to the boy, the snake it spoke... With a conscience clear and without fear,
Or so the story goes. I hope to be as you when I die.

Aye, the same as to Eve in Eden, If I, who live by others rules,


Who was to by a serpent spoken Of godliness and purity,
The apple to eat was tempted, Shall I find upon my passing
And so the promise to God was broken. Heavens not a surety?
This rattlesnake spoke to the boy, And those whose lifes appeared less pure
And with its roguish charm, In heaven shall they be?
Pleaded to be brought down the mountain, For their efforts futile at being good
And it would do him no harm. Were more in earnest than the successful ones of me?

After stalling for a while, What ails me now? I am the fool


So the story's told, Or at least I play the part,
The boy, or good heart or bad sense, I live my life, maybe don't live at all,
Lifted the snake from the ground cold. Live by what others say, not my heart.
And so safe the rattlesnakes life, Those lousy bitches who declare,
Or try to at least he might, To me how to lead my life,
And in return he'd save his own May God cast you to the eternal fire,
As the rattler promised not to bite. For causing me such strife.

And descending down the mountain,


Snake wrapped in warm buffalo hide,
Of the shirt that up the mountain he had worn
The snake slept soundly inside,
Words of a Writer on the Folly of Fools Can I See If I Look in the Distance?

Of late, my pen has not been in hand Can I see if I look in the distance
It was as if my mind was blank, All that I wish to see...
For a writer that's hard to understand, And is I could, I wonder would
Excess work for it I thank. What was seen be good for me?
And in those non-idle non-productive days,
When paper was not touched by pen, For all want to see and all want to know
I found that overwork never pays, Everything everywhere about everyone
I decreed solemnly then: But we need not to know, and so life will not show
That written greats of times gone by Everything that around us has gone on.
Were great though they were poor,
Though great may never be humble I, Be a Bard Like a Bird
Of not being rich Im sure!
And so to write, time I vow to make Natures song is one of joy,
For work is the folly of fools, Each singing birds a bard,
Whop work not for need but for works own sake, He celebrates each and every day,
And they’re never known in schools, Be it of ease or hard.
Or their books, as so never be known I may be,
From such pages never be read, Let us men be like the bird,
My words explored, the meaning or them to see, On days both short and long,
By students, when I am dead... Hard and easy, pleasant or cold,
But twill be worth it one day... Let us greet it with a song!
If only for a while...
One reads these words with which I play,
A Thought for Israel
And it causes them to smile!
I wish that when my eyes I open,
At the Turning of the Year 2007
A better day sometime will see,
Through my actions or those of others,
As a year dies another is born, A better time for all will be.
With the breaking of the morn, For as around at this world I look,
And twill be just like the old, Either in Europe, or the Holy Land there,
To spite what we say or we are told, I see hatred and bigotry,
Sure, Saddam may be dead, I see people who don't really care.
Now open terror rules instead, Why is it that throughout time,
Still Kurdistan’s not free, When one suffers pain they once knew,
This is liberation you tell me? That their more evil that those who opposed them,
Is known by all but said by few.
Corporations still rule supreme,
Workers rights is but a dream,
An Angel Over Me Keeps Watch
And the freedom for which we fought,
From our hands by Brussels is being wrought
An angel over me keeps watch
And with America will must side,
On my errant ways keeps an eye
Or they make our economy slide,
And tries the right way to guide me
And they call this heaven,
Until the day I die.
As is born 2007!
For God knows I’m a sinner
As If Pearls, Below Me Lights Are Spread And when put to the test
My faith, and so my judgment
As if pearls, below me lights are spread Can be shown not to be the best.
Like jewels of the satin of the night
As I from high on them look down So my God given guardian
From my descending flight. That no one can ever see
Is always there guiding,
All the other passengers as they look down And watching over me.
Appreciate not the beauty that's seen
I am the lucky one the beauty to be able to see
When at the vantage point I have been!
Born of Loneliness Are The Arts A Dream Is Held Close To The Heart

I read a quotation that said "creativity is born of loneliness", A dream is held close to the heart,
and while in times of dark moods indeed creativity can be And sometimes never shown,
a release... it is not the only time of creativity. How great a waste when that dream,
Is never acted on or known...
For me, creativity is a celebration of life... a day gone by
without a verse written is a bad one for me. Maybe I am crazy... ?
So we think when of the think
Of someone's broken dream...
Born of loneliness are the arts... But before those words you say...
Spewing forth from depressed minds, See if its what it may seem...
Who, from solitude of isolation...
Inspiration they can find... A man had a dream to rule the world,
As indeed had many,
So it is said: I say is not so... Thankfully due to folly of man,
For I love to life... In total come true did not any...
Find inspiration through life joys
As much as from its strife... For he who dreamt or the world to rule,
A thousand years until,
And in the solitude of slumbers Was Hitler, to rule for the German race,
Just before I go to sleep... And the unclean ones to kill...
Ideas formulate in my mind...
Many are lost.. a few I keep... That was his dream that failed,
But it nearly did succeed,
And upon the mornings waking... Let only the dreams of men that are good
I find paper, and then, Fail to fail... let the dreams of evil not succeed!
My thoughts and dreams in verse
I commit to paper with my pen.
An Ear Always Listening For A Prayer
‘Tis true the lonely can use the arts
As a way to null their pain,
And we, who are the receivers, An ear always listening for a prayer
Know not the agonies behind our gain... Or a thanks, or a thought that is good,
Often found too little to be there,
To say all artists are lonely is not true, With swears and blasphemies where there should
To say their blessed is true indeed, A prayer to god for help on our lips be
Whether lonely or enjoying life... For God listens for our cry
To create is the artist need! And should we not pray, how can we
Who have not for help asked: for lack of it wonder why?
All Is Lost, When Lost Is Hope
Carry On In Love
All is lost when lost is hope,
For no future can be seen Carry on in love the work of your God
The caverns of despair that's there Though all around doubt your faith
Is the darkest there has ever been, By your deeds may you preach, your sermon is seen
For without hope, we cannot try And your beliefs are shown to be great.
A way forward to find
And so we languish in the despondency But he who condemns and shouts scripture
Of the world and of our mind. And as sinner a non believer he deems
Shall inspire no faith, no: but hatred,
But those who try to find hope again And often be found to be not what he seems.
Will find that it will come,
And a future ill present itself
And contentment from that will come
For that is how in real dark times
The suffering manage to cope
For all things bad, as all things good, they end,
And that inspires hope!
King Billy and the Pope
Info on “King Billy and The Pope”

“It sits in a side room at the back of the disused Senate Chamber inside Stormont’s For info on the inspiration of this poem to show the
Parliament Buildings. The painting depicts King William III’s arrival in Ireland irony of the anti-Catholic usage of the Boyne
commemorations (the Pope actually supported King
A monumental canvas apparently depicting the arrival of King William III in Ireland in the Billy) read the article below which I reproduce from
1690s, it was purchased by the old Northern Ireland government back in March 1933. Mark Davenport of ( and apologies to) the BBC.
But the controversial work of art was vandalised soon afterwards and has not been on
public display for more than 20 years. Now some say the time has come to hang it
somewhere more prominent. Buying the picture, thought to be the work of William of The touring Orangemen in Stormont,
Orange’s court artist Pieter van der Muelen, cost the old Stormont government £209 To see the picture came,
and four shillings. Unionist MPs cheered when they heard of its acquisition. But those The victor of the Boyne,
cheers gave way to bewilderment when the canvas was unveiled. There in the
foreground is a figure which looks like King Billy on his white charger. But floating above
Who banished Popery to shame,
him on a cloud is someone who appears to be Pope Innocent XI, apparently blessing But when they came upon it,
his ally as he makes his way towards the Battle of the Boyne. A figure believed to be The asked how could it be:
Pope Innocent XI appears to bless William III For the pope blessing King Billy
For those who celebrate the victory of the Protestant King William over the Catholic King Was what they all could see.
James this may be an inconvenient reminder of the facts of 17th century great power
politics. But the Ulster Museum’s Keeper of History, Trevor Parkhill, explains that "there An outrage and an insult:
is a well documented record that the Pope had a ’Te Deum’ sung in the Vatican on
hearing the outcome of the Battle of the Boyne".
With this they could not cope,
An unholy alliance
"As Stalin would have said, they were objective allies in the 1690s against the Sun King Of King Billy and the Pope,
Louis XIV who was at that time the most dominant authority in power in Europe," he And so they vandalised it,
added. Back in the 1930s some couldn’t stomach that kind of talk. In May 1933 a group
of visitors from the Scottish Protestant League were touring Parliament Buildings when And turned in dismay,
they came face to face with King Billy and the Pope. Only to be arrested
£65 they had to pay.
Art attack

An enraged Glasgow councillor, Charles Forester, threw red paint over Innocent XI. His To next time you meet an Orangemen
companion Mary Ratcliffe slashed the canvas with a knife. Both were arrested and fined And about the defeating Pope he start to coin,
£65 when they appeared in court in Downpatrick. The painting was restored for a cost of Remind him both he and King Billy,
£32 and 10 shillings. The authorities at Stormont decided it would be a wise move to
shift it to a less exposed spot. Its precise whereabouts inside Parliament Buildings were Beat King James at the Boyne!
unknown from 1936 until 1975 when the picture was moved to the Belfast Public Record
Office. It went on public display there until 1983 when it was returned to the speaker’s Some Things Never Change
office at Stormont. Art experts dispute whether the painting is the work of Pieter van der
Meulen and whether the subject really is King William of Orange.
With a wicked eye, a short sharp glance
Public display But the attack on the canvas has made it part of Stormont folklore. Disapproval at once was seen,
Damian McCarney, who writes for Daily Ireland and the Andersonstown News recently
had a private viewing. In his opinion, "a reproduction of it doesn’t do it justice".
And quickly apart they did move,
"Whenever you first encounter the painting you are awe struck by the size of this epic The lovers who together had been.
tale unfolding in front of you," he said. "So in a visual sense it deserves to be displayed. The knowing nods of an opinion shared,
"But I believe the story behind it will capture the imagination of a lot of people as well. Gesture to each other who think the same,
"Here’s a painting which attracted controversy and was attacked for no justifiable
reason. "I think a lot of people can respond to that. It has echoes of the sectarian past It is not right, either in day or night
and now we’re coming to a more tolerant period in history now is the time for it to be In white with coloured, there is shame...
restored to its rightful place in the southern corridors of the Stormont assembly.“
Sure today there is no slavery,
==oOo== As once upon a time there was blacks in
chains,
Nothing to Write Upon Today. Buy the look of an eye shows opinions don't die
And , as if bound, the heart suffers times
immortal pains...
Nothing to write upon today,
A gamble on future that may not be
I mope around with little to do,
And fight against all she's shown...
How come when a writer has the time,
A jump in the dark with the man she loves,
The ideas to write are few?
Or the comfort of what she has known...
Life, when it is going fast
Brings poems fantastic to my mind
But when the time I get to write,
I've forgotten most... I find.
.Let Us, As Friends, Not Be Silent Equally Wise and Foolish Are We

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, Before God we are all equally wise - and equally foolish.
but the silence of our friends.” - Albert Einstein
- Martin Luther King Jr
Equally wise and foolish are we,
Our silence is worse than others shouts, No matter what we think we know,
For when our friends they assail, In the presence of the almighty,
By word or by deed our friends are assaulted Our ignorance of all we’ll show...
We aid the attackers when to speak out we fail.
Those who doubted that our God,
For our enemies words will be forgotten, Was real and does exist,
As will the evil they’ve done, Shall be selected and separated,
But our silence and lack of action will be remembered, Directed, and dismissed.
Long after the assault has gone...
Those who tried like God to be,
We are not friends who are silent... With what they did invent,
We are as bad as the foe, Like to, selected their quantity,
We who have voice we should use it, And to Hells flames be sent.
Let us as friends be vocal and always be so!
And the fool who simple of sort he was,
In a Bog of Brown, A Message From God? Tried his neighbour not to deceive,
Knew little but his knowledge and love of God
While myself sympathetic to the Palestinian cause, the recent Will be admitted, for he did believe.
conflict was shown in a new light with recent events: a
discovery of a 1000 year old book open at a page asking
Gods help against those trying to wipe out Israel... Begin in Delight, and End in Wisdom
::: "Book found open…
A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
Painstakingly copied in Latin script, it was - Robert Frost
found open to a page describing Psalm 83, in
which God hears complaints of other nations’
attempts to wipe out the name of Israel. This quotation from Frost, while about an ideal
template for a poem, struck me as an ideal
Wallace described the book’s binding and cover template for life. Often those despised at birth, die
as "leather velum, very thick wallet in appearance." in folly, in youth, their lives not making a
It could take months of study just to identify the metaphorical poem.
safest way to pry open the pages without
damaging them, he said.
To begin in delight and end in wisdom,
Is the aim of every man,
So it was throughout the years
In a bog of brown... a message from God?
Right from when time began.
What else could this find be...
Begin in delight when you are born,
A plea to their lord to defend from those
End in death at age when wise,
Who the death of Israel would like to see?
Alas, too many die young and stupid,
And more their birth others despise!
A wonder from a thousand years
Never before known to exist
Such is the tragedy of our world...
And a man with a slane, like Christ, so humble,
Makes it look as if all is lost,
So easily could have destroyed it, or missed...
If only all in our world could live
The truth in the words of Frost.
And in the peat of an Irish bog
It lay hidden until the day
When an Israel existing to their god pleaded
Against those who'd love to smash her away...

And in the land of the Aryan (Iran)


Once again markings they have to wear,
While waiting to be found in an Irish bog...
A message from God, was it that was there?
On Suns Setting at the End of The Day Natures Great and Natures Kind

On suns setting at the end of the day, Natures great and natures kind
The night we trust to us safe keep, Though cruel by many it is called
And all in bed to slumber lay, For survival of the toughest
And slip to blissful sleep. Leaves the weaker dead or mauled.
And in slumbers start to dream
Images disjointed, varied, pleasant... But those of us who call ourselves civilized
Causing us to make in sweats and screams, Can rise above this natural rule
If such a dream wasn’t. Should we help each other not we shall see
We are not clever: no, but the fool.
Mostly on waking we forget
The reveries tapestry, For nature in its kindness to us it gave
And to more its as if not The ability each other to assist,
Asleep were they, but in reality. Through the trials for the toughest:
To bad if we let this opportunity be missed!
For a strange thing is the mind,
Tricked by our slumber embraced brain, Gods Love For All Knows No Bounds
And when so confused ourselves we find,
We question are we sane? Gods love for all knows no bounds,
So as you to your slumbers settle, Like the universe has no walls,
I hope that you sleep well, The greatest sinner, and the greatest saint,
And at the mornings breakfast kettle, Both, as his sons, he calls.
Of no nightmares you have to tell!
For he who made them as they are,
I, A Sinner, Preach Of God Are a reflection of how they are made,
And as so, are a reflection of God himself,
I, a sinner, preach of God And to be themselves, are not afraid.
And what of us he asks
And give judgment of clergies guidance For he who repents to his God above,
And attempt to do their tasks He shall forgiveness know,
And the word of God himself And he who sins little is condemned
I commit the heretic crime Should he, repentance, not show!
To interpret scripture to you,
And to do so in rhyme. Is God one or Three?

I, a sinner, preach of God, Is God one being or three,


As to me He is known, Is it true, the trinity?
As I believe, as I understand, If so, how can it be:
As life to me has shown. For science it confounds.
And for all their education,
The men of cloth: they do To answer same many hours were spent,
Though not in verse: preach of God And with the answers none were content,
As they understand and believe Him too. Till an explosion of anger heretofore kept pent,
Spread and knew no bounds.
From A Tomb He Has Risen
And for beliefs blood was shed,
From a tomb he has risen And far too many ended up dead,
After dying for all men All because of an opinion said,
Some for him are still waiting That caused others offence.
And for him to come again.
He's done his time on this cruel earth God, be he one or be he three,
And many don't believe God loves you as well as be,
That He or God exists at all Who cannot see, such fools are we
Or by twisted scriptures they deceive Not this to know and have better sense!
Worshippers with open minds
To things which few have known
By the End of Days in all ways
The Truth, and the Liars, will be shown.
Calm As The Sea Unstirred By Wind I Cant Remember What I Chose to Forget

Calm as the sea unstirred by wind, I cant remember what I chose to forget,
The tree stands, not swaying, but proud and tall No matter how I try, no matter how yet,
As it has done through gale and storm For the mind blocks out so the eyes cannot see,
For hundreds of years: never to fall. For if it cant be seen, than it cannot be.

Leaves rustle in the breeze We will only see if we open our eyes,
By its trunk I rest as ease Allow ourselves to remember to our great surprise,
In the summers suns kind heat Lift the cloak of guilt overlaid to disguise,
I, the walker stop to rest my feet. And the consequences of your deeds let you realise

Crawl With The Creatures of the Earth City of Ships of the Seven Seas

"Crawl with the creatures of the earth" City of ships of the seven seas:
To loss of limbs the snake was condemned On your banks gallant galleys were made
He, who possessed legs at Birth The carpenter and the engineer
Was to wiggle in the dust until his end. On their ships plied their trade.
And the seven seas of the earth they saw,
Give not bad advice, as he gave Great wonders by them were spied,
If not for your victims, at least for your own sake, The gallant galleys Glasgow made
For God shall smite you, cut off your limbs, By the banks of the Clyde.
And make you crawl in dust for all time, like the snake!
But some to other lands brought misery
In Times of Despair I Ask My God And more cargoes of despair,
But that was the fault of the captains
In times of despair I ask my God, Not of the shipbuilders there.
"Lord what will I do?" Let us hope that what in life we make
And thee my God, though nothing you say, Does good, and God does not displease
Reply: "I’ll look after you." And let us be allowed to be as proud
As the city of the ships of the seven seas.
And I, the sinner, when times are good,
Ask not "What will I do" Open All Windows and Let the Gales Through
Proceed to go my sinful way,
And though my sins anger you. Open all windows and let the gales through
Be transparent in what you say and do,
I wish that I to my friends Complain not of the cold: be glad for the air
Could so patient be, All all to see your heart: that its good what's there.
When they do not as I want A spirit pure should by all be seen,
As you are with me Hidden souls not decent have been
When I proceed to sin again But with lies and deceit, good from them was wrung
I know you still have love Let your spirit not be stained by an evil tongue.
I the sinner have to repent
And ask forgiveness from above. Smiling We Cannot Always Be

Of the End, We Shall Be Spared Looking into the sunset, I see little
But the death of the day
Of the end, we shall be spared, I today am not a dreamer...
The horror for to see, And I cannot think any other way.
For seven years before, For on my mind the day already has ended
No longer will Erin be. And the darkness of the night has begun
A promise made to Malachi I think not of things of beauty as splendid
In prayer one day, to God I see little joy in another's fun.
That the horrors of Armageddon
Would be spared our native sod. But on sleeping, lighten will my mood
So look, all of you sinners And joy again in things Ill see
When Ireland is taken by the sea, Our humour cannot always be good,
Prepare in seven years to meet your doom Smiling we cannot always be.
And repentant let you be!

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