Inspirations

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A Ghost Sails By Scotland's Isles With Times Passing Is Lost Forever Rain Beats at My Window A Rose Is Still A Rose When Not In Bloom He Who Walks Among Thorns Silence Is Gods Lullaby

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My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep 3

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Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams… Click, Click goes the Keyboard Dark Hills and Dark Nights Foreboding Wisdom Its Said Comes With Age He Shall Be Humbled, Who Is Proud 4

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A Sinners Plea Christmas Eve 2006 The World Is Gripped by Hatred First Ode To Wordsworth I Am Awake As Others Lie Asleep 5

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The Great Mc Gonagall His Hand in the Wound Had Been.

Your Pardon Sir (1st Address to Burns) As I Slouch Upon My Chair Only Be Proud If You Are Humble A World Without Dreamers Cannot Be On Times Passing My Mind I've Cast Let Hate In My Heart Not Be 10

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Should You An Idea Hold On Open Hills I Have Walked To Be, Or Not To Be A Bee Of An Angels Grace Are We Worthy? On Suns Setting at the End of The Day I Too Am Human 11

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To The Recently Deceased Too Many Chocolates Once There Dwelt A Scotsman The Apple of Eden 12

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Too Little Time to See the World Calm Be, Though the World Seems Mad From Another World To Have Again the Days of Youth Crazed Beats Echo Into The Night

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Verses on Big Folk And Little Folk Tore Down By God, Who Was Angered By Man Glass In The Hand Brave Wallace Lies Neath Weeping Skies This Rainy Night Where Is She?

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Let There Be Joy Care Not For Your Brother To Grow in Love Is What God Asks Crying Spirit of the Night Adored By All The World Is Dying Be There Peace

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I Often Think... If God Is Islamic Dancer Move Across The Stage A Prayer Tonight Let Me Say The Ballad of Old Clonbroney

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Eve Where There's An If 15

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In Darkness Crept Shadows Dark Stars Twinkling, Unseen, Behind Cloud What I See Before Me Days Gone And To Come The Crying Sky Shall Another Read My Words All Are Dead

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Snakes All Around Us What Ails Ye Now? 16

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Words of A Writer on the Folly of Fools At The Turning of the Year 2007 As If Pearls, Below Me Lights Are Spread Can I See If I Look in the Distance? Be A Bard Like A Bird A Thought for Israel An Angel Over Me Keeps Watch

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Born of Loneliness Are The Arts All Is Lost When Lost Is Hope A Dream Held Close to the Heart An Ear Always Listening for a Prayer Carry On In Love 18

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King Billy and The Pope Nothing to Write Upon Today Some Things Never Change 19

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Let Us As Friends Not Be Silent In A Bog of Brown, A Message From God? Equally Wise and Foolish Are We Begin in Delight and End in Wisdom 20

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On Suns Setting at the End of Day I, A Sinner Preach of God From a Tomb He Has Risen Natures Great and Natures Kind Gods Love for All Knows no Bounds Is God One or Three? 21

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Calm As The Sea Unstirred By Wind Crawl With The Creatures of the Earth In Times of Despair I Ask My God Of the End, We Shall Be Spared I Cant Remember What I Chose to Forget City of Ships of the Seven Seas Open All Windows and Let the Gales Through Smiling We Cannot Always Be

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A Ghost Sails by Scotland's Isles

A Rose is Still a Rose When Not in Bloom

A ghost sails by Scotland's isles, And looks at a nation in chains A spirit broken, a tongue not spoken, Just brave defiance remains.

A rose is still a rose when not in bloom, To say so is like to say that grass is green, But when something of beauty is not in flower, The fact that it is a flower often is not seen.

Each chieftain looks after his garden, His gardens the kingdom he hopes to expand, He swears loyalty to any king, Bears none to his native land.

Roses have thorns as well as blooms, Then grasped can give pain, make us bleed, So it is so, when one once we loved, Speaks to hurt, or does against you a deed.

The people pure, their leaders not sure, Declare allegiance to one and all, Be you from Norway or from France, When you upon them call.

That they are still the flower let us not forget, And flowers cannot all the time be in flower, But when they do bloom, how lovely the display, To be with such a bloom on their hour!

The last of the Stewart kings, Who fought with Highland men, Looks on his land with tears in his eyes, Knows he'll never rule there again!

He Who Walks Among Thorns

With Passing Time Is Lost Forever With passing time is lost forever The opportunities of the past days, But new case with the morrow, And show in different ways. To make the most of what we have As a resolution may it be said, For we know not the day or the hour, When tomorrows we have none: we are dead!

An African proverb states: "A man does not walk among thorns, unless fleeing from a snake or pursuing one" ****** He who walks among thorns, Does not do so for its own sake, No but rather he flees From a chasing snake... And if not so that the man walks A path of thorns his way in bare feet to make, 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, As midnight approaches, I'm cold I realise. For long I've sat at keyboard Typing words onto screen Its seems as if no time, And yet for hours writing I've been. And I turn on the heater, I get up from my chair, I stretch and yawn, look in the mirror Laugh at my reflection there... And on the screen, to be on paper, These words I wrote be they many or few, As much as the mirror, Are a reflection of me too!

Floating music and soaring voices Break the silence of the night, Singing Christmas songs in a tong I don't know, As outside nothing is in sight… For it is but the early hours of a new day, Even the birds are still silent now, It is as if the world stands still, The closest we get to God while living somehow... For when life and all its craziness stops And the worries of the world cease, The ensuing silence is Gods lullaby And we awake or asleep live in peace...

My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep I VI My mind is wrapped in stillness deep, A calmness that's unbroken, For it is night and it is dark And there is not one word spoken Outside in the empty street That patiently waits the dawn, And I as I try to sleep, I turn in bed and yawn.

After to sleep drifting I wake again, And in the bed I turn An image or though from the sleeping time Vivid in my mind does burn, Through sloth to get up to write I fail, So it is written never, For in the morning its long forgot, To be remembered never.

II VII And in this emptiness of mind, Images and words can play, As I in slumbers drift in and out In the early hours of day. The devil finds work for idle hands, Often by wise men it's said, But for an idle mind open to God Poetry finds it instead.

And sloth it is a sin they say, Which I never understood, For slothful I love to be, And as I explained sleeping idleness is good! But sloth makes us fail to work, And it makes me sleep all night, And so the words God sent through sleep to me, I never get to write.

III VIII And images from those sleeping hours, On waking are forgotten, Though vivid they be at the time, They are for the back of the mind begotten, Of worries of our waking time And of our fears and dreams, Sometimes pleasant, sometimes nightmares, Strange to me it seems.

No, God speaks not to me, I must tell you in a rush, Im not that crazy, just a poet, Im not like George Bush! But God gives us a talent, And God he gives us time, And God gives both to me at night, When my mind can rest and rhyme.

IV IX And this stillness is like a blanket, Neath which all worries cease And I am occupied by a force, Of and for peace. And in a heart that's peaceful, You shall find only good, And God at these times in such hearts dwells, And its only right he should.

And talent is like the biblical lamp, To show light it was made, Why light a lamp to show the light, Then hide it neath a shade? Shade is the passing hours Tween when I think and rise, And lost through the shade is the light of my words And this I realise.

V X In our hearts he seeks to dwell And tries to find out how, To find a bed in our hearts to rest, But sometimes we wont allow The Lord in His goodness to come in, And will not tell Him why, And so by the trials of the world we are broken, For our hearts to God we deny.

Though still from bed I refuse to rise, And my words write for all to see, And so I waste talent God does give, And so with Sloth, God can charge me. To change from Sloth I resolve, But I know not how, 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

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Dark hills and dark night foreboding You'll not find me there at all But there are those on both good and bad days, These hils, by the mane of heaven, they'll call!

To think of the verses that are lost, As must happen to other writers too, I wonder how to sleep and write they got, Or of lost work like me did they rue? The stillness of my sleep held brain, Matches the stillness of the night, I must get myself a Dictaphone, Record the thoughts I don't want to rise for to write! THE END

Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams Make Heartache and Great Songs

For to walk in but ones own company To climb to the top to look down, As in wonder, as if it were a kingdom, And you were its king with no crown... Slothful I prefer sleep to relax, I recharge my batteries in bed, And I will explore many landscapes In the fitful dreams of my slumbers instead!

Wisdom, It’s Said, Comes with Age All the futures finished They've lost those who once to them did belong Broken hearts and broken dreams Create heartache and great songs. And as the music dies away A broken heart slowly heals, One wonders if ever the same A broken heart ever feels? And so we dance along, Look into each others eyes, We think not of the future, For we may end up as the song too... The happiness before the heartache, The smiles before the tears The kisses before the hatred The youth before aged years...

Wisdom its said, comes with age, Though that you'd never know, For mankind is but fools, This to you I'll show: For to spite all the wars we've had, Caused by senseless hate, We still despise each other, And fight until stalemate... Wisdom its said comes with age... It appears this times old rule Is true in all times bar its exception: Wisdom never comes to a fool!

He Shall Be Humbled, He Who Is Proud Hope and love it seems... Among fantasy belongs... For broken hearts and broken dreams Inspire heartache and great songs...

Click, Click goes the Keyboard Click, click goes the keyboard, And words appear on a screen, To be printed one day for all to see, Which heretofore only in my mind have been. Words woven that once were faint Ideas in the obscure corners of my mind, Come together to form verse in rhyme 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!

He shall be humbled, he who is proud, And will know shame to his name, For to be so of yourself is not allowed, For the mighty will know shame. The least man shall be exalted high It says so in the bibles Holy Word Though he may not get his dream, he can try, No matter how much it seems absurd. Some things are meant to succeed or to fail, Unless we try we will never know, And the fool for one day can we a wise man, The clever man, the fool he is in time will show!

A Sinners Plea If an ill thought is bad of the dead Oh God, what a sinner am I Guilty of lust and of greed Damned for eternity when I die. To be damned if I get to enjoy Sins committed: I say, fair enough But to suffer if not having enjoyed Is in my opinion quite tough! Oh, we aspire to be holy, Yes, thoughts so are said to be a good deed, If so, with thoughts so I am holy And so for salvation shall plead...

Christmas Eve 2006 An empty coke bottle rattles as it spins round, Twirled by idle hands in the darkest hours of night, Outside, cars speeding by make the only sound, And the shouting of a couple having a fight... A dark December night, slowly the hours pass by, It seems so cold... I cannot get any heat The worlds asleep neath the dark night sky As I, to the radiator press my feet. An hour into Christmas Eve,.. on the screen I see Cars coming and going from the town Other people, other lives unaware of me, Who is working as they are gulping their drinks down... Nor think did I, when one of tem I was, Out with friends at a party, drinking late, Life is good, and of others we don't think because, Life's to short, is to be lived: Life is great! No blue flashing lights, but as the hour turns and dies, An ambulance arrives and who's to say What story of misery lies inside... Maybe just a drunk: maybe an RTA. And those who work in A&E, who with this will deal They are the real ones working tonight, not I, And for whinging ashamed I feel, A silent prayer for them I say, with a sigh...

The World Is Gripped by Hatred The world is gripped by hatred, Help firmly in its clasp, Though we cant alone break the world free, We though love can loosen its grasp. So love each other a little more today Defeat hatred a lttle bit at a time Win the battles and dont worry of winning the war For not to fight hatred is the only crime!

First Ode to Wordsworth Early writings of Wordsworth were libertarian and reactionary in nature, full of the joys of life, to which he signed his name "Will Wordsworth". However, a change in the tone and subject matter arrived in the second period of his life, and on these more socially standard works he wrote his name in the more formal "William Wordsworth", by which we know him today. This poem is inspired by a "Readers Digest" article from 1970 that explores his work and asks why as to the change in the name and tone of works from Wordsworth.

Verses of Golden daffodils I've read That waved in the varying wind around That showed the beauty of the world That in the sight he found. Such verses of serenity, Of ambience and of peace, That he desired for the world, And of global freedom were to cease... And the champion of the underdog The republican, and of those not free Was to change in the blink of an eye, To champion the system, empire and monarchy. And bonny Wordsworth who with pen Signed his works with name as "Will" Changed to the more formal "William" And wrote his name as such his death until... What caused this change I do not know, To find out is an impossible task, But if to where he is on death I go, The question to him I'll surely ask!

I Am Awake, As Others Lie Asleep I, awake as others lie asleep, Gaze out upon the silent scene, All is quiet now, and nothing moves... Where hours ago, a throng had been... The night passes, Im told so by a screen, That slowly changing numbers shows, Each hour, minute and second that dies, Another night into oblivion goes... And this night, like that day to me, Is as if it never was at all... And each to the next to come shall be As dawn is followed in time by nightfall. And on a day to come we will pass - And be to some a memory Who some cherish, more maybe not As if we did never be...

And them his finest hour came, Or maybe his greatest composition of shame! When the Tay Bridge collapsed in a gale William “Topaz” Mc Gonagall was poet from Dundee, who While upon it crossed a train by rail... discovered he could make a rhyme at the grand old age of 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.

The Great Mc Gonagall!

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, and some say he was a fool, more say he was a satirist. His style is like the peasant songs, except not set to music, and presented as pure poetry. His style of delivery left a lot to be desired, and he was mocked frequently when doing readings in his native city and beyond. Whether satirist, fool or genuine and misguided, this poetic anti-hero can be found in all writers, and this poem is written in his style to recount his tale!

Of awful verse he was the master, Writing of the Tay Bridge disaster, Stating Shakespeare the best wordsmith be, In Britain to date, and second he, No disrespect to Burns the Bard No desire for a great name to be tarred, He was second best Scottish son, North of the border, Mc Gonagall was number one! On receiving inspiration divine Pen he seized to write a line Continued to write, such verse he penned: Was to cause mirth until his end! His first verse was to the Rev. Gilfillan, an address Which was judged by same to be a poetic mess Wryly the poets efforts the minister did dismiss Stating "Shakespeare wrote nothing like this!" His verse on theatre and street he read, With laughter and derision he was met instead, Of the respect he expected, while reading pompous Clad in Kilt he caused quite a rumpus! He tried once to America to go But on its shores no-one did know Found himself cut loose, culturally cast away His homeward fare a kind stranger did pay 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.

Was he a fool... or just a bad poet If he was a fool he seemed not to know it Some say he was clever acted if on a stage, Commanded an audience as he read each page. Though they laughed at him things threw, That he brightened their day that much he knew And how many writers who so serious could be Will be long forgotten when remembered is he? How many poets refuse to use rhyme Mc Gonagall insisted to use it all the time Unfortunately the pattern often fell out of place, For the Romantics cast him from grace, He was but a common man, at least he did try, To be like him, none want to be including I, But still to convention he was never a slave, And to his emotions was never the knave As I this verse write in his appalling style I admire his bravery, smiling all the while, Though great are his foes and his friends are few, To his art in his heart he tried to be true, Those who read his words may mock and may grin But to be a weaver and a poets no sin And as I sit here more poetry to write, May I be pure as heart as he as I scribble tonight!

His Hand in the Wound Had Been His hand in the wound had been Then he knew they did not deceive Happy are we who there have not been But in the Resurrection believe... Though it is good not to be a fool To seek to prove what you are told, Trust among the Apostles was the rule, In respect and honour each other to hold.

Verses on Big Folk and Little Folk

Brave Wallace Lies Neath Weeping Skies

A little king looked on his kingdom That no mortal eye could ever see, And to be one of these little folk, Was indeed a blessing, said he.

Bold Wallace lies neath weeping skies That cry on a land not free, And many more beside him will lie Who Scotland liberated wont see.

The Little Folk unlike mankind Knew no wars and done no wrong, Lived in bliss, a life of music, A life of laughter, lust and song.

The cruel hand of England Even when she lets a land go, She keeps a hand upon its tiller So that shes the master, they know.

They were here long before the Big Folk Aye, were here thousands of years... In a realm of peace and of magic, Where only falls brought to the eye tears...

And England, who their freedom stole Makes sure from her colonies freedom she gains, The flags and the army may be gone, But the Saxons power remains.

On the arrival of the Big Folk, The little folk fled underground, And that is why to this day In open fields they wont be found.

For a land is but free when England says: At her decree your a free man, And she will return and crush you again, If you against her plan.

The little king looked on his kingdom Where to be hidden was to be free He knew Big Folk believed his world did not exist, "Long may they so think!" said he!

And a weeping sky for Scotland will cry For to come many many years, Even in freedom she'll be bear the Saxon yoke, 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, On how our faith is wrecked By faiths, so many The saved, the chosen and the few

This rainy night where is she? Is she in Dublin town Racing along O' Connell Street, As the rain comes thundering down...

Our faith, as one, we tried to make United for our glorys sake A tower, like Babylon to build high Assure ourselves of heaven when we died...

Does she go home to a lover, Does she go home alone, Does another man share the love That I could never had known?

And God, by our effort was not amused Sowed doubt and debate and so confused Caused us to fight, wage war and die: Pride of man is the reason why.

Or is she home in Italy In her town I don't know where, Or maybe she's from the country, 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, I wonder if she knew I loved her, If she cared why my love so I hid?

Glass in hand, staring into space, As the night is old, the brain is confused, Swaying as he staggers forward, The fool who his alchol abused. He falls against a stool by the counter Someone lends a steadying hand, To be thanked by a torrent of abuse 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!

Maybe she's in the arms of another, Some lucky man darling she does call, I wonder if ever I met her, Would she even know me at all?

I Often Think... If God is Islamic

The Ballad of Old Clonbroney

In death Il;l face God as a sinner As each in our time we will do, And if for now of my sins I don't worry At that time each one I'll heartily rue! But I'm hoping he'll be judging me kindly, When me to account He does call, For I as a sinner have failings... And sure I'm Irish and all!

One night dark walking along A lane onto its end, A neighbour walked up to a house To call upon a friend. The neighbour was new, his friends wife too Had arrived not long ago, And friendship new as neighbours do They called on one another each other to know.

I often think... if God is Islamic! And as Im cast to Hell as I don't believe In things like the Koran and Mohammed Because circumstances me did deceive... The opportunities for sin I'd have missed The excesses in life I could've enjoyed, The bills I'd never have bothered paying, And the devious schemes I could've employed!

And as he approached the house, He wondered at how strange shadows moves, It looked as if it were a hearse, And all of a sudden a sound of hooves, And a wall through at terrific speed, Driven by a horseman with no head, A hearse up through the fields fleed 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, Slammed behind him the door, Dancers Move Upon the Stage Told how the hearse before him passed, And where it came from before... The Dancer moves upon the stage All eyes on her look down That it went up to Old Clonbroney, Some with joy at her movement After driving through a wall, Others over technicalities frown. But it was not real: twas but a ghost, For the wall was not damaged at all. The crippled walks ungainly down the street And drinking whiskey strong his nerves settled down, Having being crippled as a boy Though still great in him was fear, Some look in disapproving pity Though you may mock and you may frown, None share his mothers pride and joy. You too’d shake if the headless horseman did appear... For every step ungainly that allows him progress And in time the husband returned, Is another step in life as his own he stakes, A miller he was by trade, Not pretty to the eye is his step He came to see his wife terrified, But to many ugly even a limp a walk makes... And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid, They told him of the horseman, Let us not pity the cripple, Of the hearse, that the man had no head, Rejoice he walks, as he is glad of the chance, He shrugged his shoulder with a sigh, Enjoy the movements of the dancer on the stage, Declared one of the neighbours dead. See not the faults in her dance!

A Prayer Tonight Let Me Say A prayer tonight let me say Though great my belief may not be For in times of need I pray And ask God to help me. Though believe in him greatly I do not I don’t hesitate to plead To him for assistance When great is my need.

It was like the banshee, The miller said of the apparition, When these neighbours died, the spectre you'd see, So was local superstition, And so all a prayer they said, For their own and the deceased sake, Its not told the name of who was dead, Or if the miller and his neighbour slept or stayed awake!

In Darkness Crept Shadows Dark

Days Gone And To Come

In darkness crept shadows dark, Of forms that could not be seen It seemed as if I was awake But it was just a dream... Though knew it not I at the time When among these shadows I walked, And though I heard not what they said, I understood when they talked.

Of days that are gone some try to remember Days that are gone more try to forget Of days to come some wait in wonder As others in dread pray “Don’t bring them yet@!” Life for different people brings different things Different people different ways to the same thing feel 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 little cold breeze of a moments life, That says something has moved that once was there. And a shiver went through my spine, Though I knew it was not bad, Still I shiver as if in fear Of a soul distressed and sad. I knew not of the shapes Their kind, origin or name, But knew they grieved a wrong to them done, Or mourned an unrightable shame. And the tears of these silent shapes Splashed onto cold cold stone, I stood, with no-one near me, And yet I was not alone. The very fact that I was there Brought to these souls some ease, I though scared, I was glad These distressed souls I could please. And as around me the faded, One to me he spoke, Reached out and took my hand, And in a cold sweat I awoke!

The Crying Sky The rain is falling as I lie awake Beats a soundtrack to my wakeful night And I the dreamer who cannot sleep to dream Those raindrops are music to me as I write. Yet footsteps neath my window move quickly I hear As someone is soaking and quickly moves by The darkness covers all so none can see Under the blanket of the crying sky.

Shall Another Read My Words Shall another read my words In a far off distant da I hope that they enjoy the rhymes That I on paper lay. And if they look in wonder At the world that through my eyes is seen Then, I the writer will have known My life as a writer: a waste has not been.

All Are Dead

Stars Twinkling, Unseen, Behind Cloud “For Lords or Kings I dinnae mourn Stars twinkling, behind cloud, As if they were not there, to my eye, A night dark, as around I walk, To keep myself warm I try... Among the ranks of the lost and the poor, Are burdens great we never see, As the clouds of poverty keep them so Should we do nothing, this will forever be.

What I See Before Me What I see before me as I look around At where there is nobody or nothing I see peace, I see heaven and tranquility As a chorus of songbirds start to sing. 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.

E’en let them die, for that they’re born” - Robert Burns “Elegy on the Year 1798”

All are dead, both great and small men Never to be known or heard of again And all shall rise in turn when The time it comes for man to be judged. Then: see the King in fear shake His turn before the Judge take His case for clemency for to make As to his fate he's nudged… Behind him stands the man that’s poor Who always of Gods love was sure With prayer, not complaint, he his cross did endure To his Salvation he has trudged!

Your Pardon Sir (First Address to Robert Burns) “Your pardon sir for this disgression I maist forgot my dedication But when Divinity comes cross me My readers are sure to lose me - Robert Burns - “A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton Esq.” Lines 78/81

Your pardon sir, as a writer I beg I am not joking or pulling a leg Though I live and love not your lifestyle I find I enjoy your poems… they make me smile!

A World Without Dreamers Cannot Be A world without dreamers cannot be Or a way forward we could not see, For without visionaries, ourselves we would find, Lost in despair, without dreams we are blind. Crazy dreamers should be allowed To be so crazy: and of it be proud, For in time, I think, maybe, They're crazy dreams become reality.

On Times Passing, My Mind I've Cast

On times passing my mind I've cast And brought back memories of the past, Though indeed yet young am I, Too many today share your outlook Sometimes I sit and think of times gone by... Scorn piety to party: scorn the Good Book And, remembering, sit for a while, And to answer their responsibilities they fail Something to my face brings a smile, Leave worried minds and broken hearts in their trail. Only for then my eyes to cast down, As something unpleasant brings to my face a frown... Though you are dead, this day I bet You are for your sins unrepentant yet But, soon is passing the times when I am sad, And God knowing you were honest and true For my life so far I am glad, Probably made in His rules an exception for you And should I good one day be, I'll be contented with such a reverie. Time took you from your paper and quill For life, I've come to expect, But did not strike your form until Every so often needs us to stop and reflect, Enough of note and humour you had wrote down Be we advanced or young in age, To ensure for ever your renown! We look back on life as if it were a stage...

As I Slouch Upon my Chair As I slouch upon my chair, And into the space before me I stare As if what before me was not there I slowly pass the night. Slowly from my reverie, Something outside I see Its nothing that bothers me, But a stray dog is the sight.

And but a play is the life we had, As if actors say the words we've said, And we are, in some strange way, The audience, looking back at our lives here today... Then reality strikes reflections broken... And of my thoughts nothing is spoken, But later, as at my desk I write Of my thoughts, as I do tonight.

Let Hate In My Heart Not Be

And as I fulfill my protectors roll, I feel as if empty is my soul, For such is the poets toll, In such emotion, I start to write.

Let not hate in my heart be, When I think of a foe, Or tell of a wrong that to me was done, 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, And an open wound will only hurt, A wound kept open will not heal.

It is but folly to seek That upon your passing That others of what you've done speak In awe and be amassing... Should you talent have... use it Be you tidy or rough and tumble To be proud you are allowed, As long as you are humble.

So let not in my heart let hatred be, It is the prayer I've said, Though too often, there it is, Where there should be forgiveness instead.

Should You An Idea Hold

Of An Angels Grace, Are We Worthy?

Should you an idea hold, Cherish it, to spite being told That the dream that you hold dear Impossible, it does appear.

Of an angels grace, are we worthy, We who bathe in sin And wallow in the baths of selfishness Never letting God in Never admitting God to our hearts, Where for Himself He made a place But we block Him from His home, And in our sin see no disgrace.

Yes, so it may seem But man is nothing who has no dream...

On Open Hills I Have Walked On open hills I have walked And from their summits to view I stood All that nature before me spread As many others often would. But I. not looking, often saw, Only what was physically there, Not the hopes and dreams and fears, Of those that there dwelt, and did not care...

And so He sends us His angels To guide us in our errant way, To be there, in times of trouble, To guide us, should we need God, one day. Surely of this angel we are not worthy Yet God deems it to be so, That even in sin, when in trouble, To our aid, our Angel will go!

On Suns Setting at the End of The Day I cared not for the farmer in the tractor Whose harvest was another battle won To build a farm and a family To hand one day to his son. Nor the lady in the cottage Passing the last of her days, Who by others was despised for her frequent scorn For she was too set in her ways. I saw not the joys and the disappointments, Of those building the future or reflecting on the past, All i saw was a tractor and old woman As across the scene my eyes I cast. For those not looking will not see The truth before their eyes that's placed, For they don't look, and they don't care, As through their lives they've raced.

To Be, Or Not To Be A Bee What a horrid life it seems to me, To be the drone, a male bee, Who lives for love and lust alone For it he's bred, fed and grown.

On suns setting at the end of the day, The night we trust to us safe keep, And all in bed to slumber lay, And slip to blissful sleep. And in slumbers start to dream Images disjointed, varied, pleasant... Causing us to make in sweats and screams, If such a dream wasn't. Mostly on waking we forget The reveries tapestry, And to more its as if not Asleep were they, but in reality. For a strange thing is the mind, Tricked by our slumber embraced brain, And when so confused ourselves we find, We question are we sane? So as you to your slumbers settle, I hope that you sleep well, And at the mornings breakfast kettle, Of no nightmares you have to tell!

I Too Am Human But the bee to woo the Queen, Is among many who scorned have been He who tried and failed has flown away, To chase and woo another day. But cruel is fate to the bee, Who finds that successful is he, For though he gets to love, and do so well, He ties from it, and so of it never gets to tell!

I too am human, I know, That's such is true I often show, Let me in love grow, Let me in God trust. For, though human, I can pray, That I need help, I can say, 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 When the angels of the Lord beckon, we all must obey Happier you will be, back where you are from Now is your time, someday mine will come. And when my day does arrive, and my time is near, I hope I can face the Lord without a hint of fear Admit the sins I've committed, and with them was content But I knew I was wrong, was sorry, and for them did repent, Just like you did, as now your crop you reap, Beside you and the Lord, a place for me keep, For if I am good enough, I will get my reward And then I will join you, in the house of the Lord, Though large in number, not great was any sin And I feel, the Lord been good, eventually will let me in!

Once there lived a Scotsman Whose years nobody knew Who was seen by all in town And known by very few. For men, for loners such as he Were left that way... alone... Scorn and pity and indifference By the townspeople to him was shown.

Too Many Chocolates ************************** This poem is inspired by the words of Bono as recounted by Mick Wall in his book "Bono". who was tired of churning out more of the same music, while it was good it still was boring for him. "... we (U2) were growing disillusioned with the pap, the wallpaper (music) and the gloss. Its as if someone has eat too many chocolates ... suddenly they're beginning to feel ill as they look at all the papers around the room." The lesson I see from this is that over indulgence in life or a part of it, leads us to feel sick of life, or tired of it, and it may be this that leads us to be so unhappy causing our social problems, while those who really have life hard appreciate it when things become good if only for a while, and so are happy and smiling

Too many chocolates have been enjoyed, As you look at their wrappers around the room scattered, As nothing in life seems important right now, At this moment nothing else mattered... For living for now is the new way, Live only for now and to excess, Think not of tomorrow or yesterday, Forget it, and care about less. 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, For of all that there was he was tired.

This Scotsman was nobody None knew from where he came Bar the obvious. from Scotland... Few even knew his name. And the children in the dusty streets Making song of him... the sang For he was also a simple sort Who spoke in Scottish slang. And all unknowing of him went About their business from day to day None spoke of him when he was not seen Bar the children when at play "Where is Mad Jock, the Scotsman: By this way he has not walked, So we get to mock no more" So of him the children talked. Some months passed until one day A burglar an open door spied It looked an easy job, he thought As an escape route he eyed. But upon entering the house He did not rob, but instead, Stopped to mouth a silent prayer As he found Mad Jock rotted and dead.

And though long passed to the other side God to love him never ceased To pray for the passing of his mortal soul, God sent the burglar... not the priest. "For God was with him at his end, As through his life" the church bells to ring began... As the cortege passed by the a house... Once there lived a Scotsman.

Too much of a good thing is not good at all, After a while it all seems the same, Like the kid in the kitchen who too many chocolates ate, That we cant enjoy them now: we are too blame.

The Apple of Eden Fruit of a tree that begot sin And led poor Adam astray, When misled by a lusty Eve In Eden's garden one day. 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, There's so much of it to see, And life, it never eases up, We're always so busy.

So when you today do something, Go somewhere and meet someone, Look on it as another part of the world, You got to see as you passed on...

To have again the days of youth, When everything was honest truth And possible: yes we could do Anything we wanted to. But alas, we are shamed, Our ambitions by time were tamed, And though not of an age great, I am tamed, I sadly state. Those times of youth when all was new, Little was false in a world so true, A heart large from lack of strife, To be hammered and reduced by life. And if thinking so I am its to be told... 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, As if on the eve of doom, In other lands things happen bad, And war it seems to loom, It looks so bad as its at our door, Other times was far away, It could be ignored before It cannot be today.

Crazed beats echo into the night A couple passing shake their heads: say its not right Crazy music, adored by crazy kids Lets, keep moving... one to the other bids.

But, should we find the time, To see the world in what we do, We would never see it all, But we'd see a lot against with life we were through.

The world has always been fighting It seems was is like a need, And man is like an animal sighting As he striked to quell his greed, A greed for gold and power A bloodlust from the smell of oil God protect us in this hour: And Satan's Folly foil!

From Another World From another world they look on us, To visit us they wont try, For they all fear disaster, And that they will die. For mankind is a hopeless case, Even if one had the will, But they, being wiser, effort will not waste, Saving us from each other trying to kill. Benign strangers who view our world, With dismay - will our fighting ever cease? Why cant we like them be: Many - and at peace? They're afraid that we will kill them, Because of all our wars that have been, Over whether man is black or white: Imagine what we'd do to green!

Once on TV, a dance I saw A dance of emotion, wild and raw, Strangely graceful, I must presume I thought so because of age and costume. Clothes worn by the dancers, shown in black and white Dancing the Charleston somewhere one night What now seems quaint because it is old Was in its time both daring and bold. Crazier music will come to be The one tut tutting will be me Remembering respectable nights spent Dancing to Eminem and 50 cent!

We, Ungrateful Sinners, Thank Our Lord We, ungrateful sinners thank our Lord Not because we must, But because in our hearts we know That He is fair and just. Often even his presence we deny In range of anothers ear, But we, the pagan, of most believe, Tho not so it may appear. We ungrateful sinners thank our God Unlike the pious, who often dont give a toss, For we know it was for our souls, He died upon that cross.

Let There Be Joy

Crying Spirit of the Night

This is a small hymn calling on people to rejoice in their troubles and in the name of God, as He is there to help us through our troubles.

The crying in the bight grew faint As to listen for it I slow, And there looks to be nothing now Where there was a woman a while ago. But then upon again walking Beneath a window stands Crying, as she brushes her hair, With a comb in age gnarled hands...

Inspired by a piece on one of those American God channels I've got on the satellite television!!

******************************* Let there be Joy when you say the name of the Lord, On hearing his name, let there rejoicing be, For those fortunate to know or have heard of our God Will know or have heard that merciful is He.

And I, though I have heard her And before my eyes her vision did appear Of the Banshee, Crier of the Dead, I, passing, have no fear. And there's some inside who've heard her, And prayed as outside, she cried, And another within, who heard her not, Who later that night died.

He sent His Son to die on a cross for our sins, But we still sin as if He never was, Still He loves us for what we are, just wants us to repent, Why he loves us? just because... He is our God, and we're what He did create, So like apparent with a child unconditional is the love and grace Bestowed on us by God, who loves us sinners all, All he asks is for us to our sins repent and face. Let there be hope when you call on the name of the Lord, Though the time and reason may be of despair, Rejoice in your burden, though great be its load, For to ease it on your shoulders the Lord is there.

Oh, to be born of noble blood Followed by the Banshee to be, I wish that in my final hour One as devoted prays for me.

Adored by All Adored by all, despised by none, A goddess in all but name, To soon passed while in her prime, Too great, it was, the shame.

Care Not or For Your Brother Care not or for your brother To all, your heart let you close, Ignore the pleas of all, And care not who knows, That of and for all nothing you care, For that is how and what you are, If you honest be Your better by far. Too many give too much And want all to see and know, But false is the spirit in which they give What they give, the give for show. To Grow In Love Is What God Asks To grow in love is what God asks... Or lest not grow at all, And let happy being small be... Should be when large not be good at all. For theirs nothing wrong with being small Though large all other things appear, And we strong to ourselves may not seem, Which causes us to have fear, For it is good to be small: Its decreed by God above, To be small is a blessing If your filled with love!

One angel among millions, Without working to get their reward, A baby, died in childbirth, Called home to the bosom of the Lord

The World Is Dying The world is dying, they wail, and we don't listen... Its the ozone layer... we’ll have none in twenty years, We watch in wonder as they foretell our doom, And our leaders seem to cry crocodile tears. We know not is it true or is it false, Or is it as bad as they say it will be, Oh, the fanaticism and fury of the ecologists, Though it may be to late... lets wait and see...

Be There Peace Be there peace and no more fighting, Let there no more conflict to be, May all men live in merriment, And of our wars be free... We may never change the world as we desire Our dreams in our hearts we may keep, They will never be reality, They’ll only exist ever in our sleep...

Eve I

VI

In the eyes of Eve was not Evil But a desire of love for to know, And the act of Adam was not bad The act of Love to show. Nor was the eyes of woman evil That hold love in their hearts within, Nor evil are the lusts of men: Evil are those who call it sin.

And those who love have never known And to never know it, have planned Live not in the world of men And so cannot understand. For he he who to love has closed his heart, Never love will know, And he who has never known love Never love can show.

II

VII

In the arms of Eve was not evil For how can it evil be Regardless of state of undress, your love to caress The reasoning I cannot see. To have the arms of a lady Around you in sweet embrace Is no sin when she don't belong to another, No evil is within her face.

So, was there Evil in Eden? Does the Good Book deceive? Tell us a lie and not why, As the Gnostics believe? The Bible is but a book With any opinions within Hearts of good and evil find their kind, And mark out what they call sin.

III

VIII

The serpent that spoke, spoke not of evil As he dangled from the tree Oh no, for love would have found its way, And so, not evil was he. And the heel that stamps him to the dust And said that all others likewise should, Knows only evil in his heart, As to know love he never could.

For a man or woman who truly loves And their love they share Are loved by God on his own For He knows what's truly there, In the deepest cavern of their hearts, From all the world hid It matters not the ceremonies of man, To heaven, on death, they'll be bid.

IV

Where There's an If

Desecrate the act of the showing of love By denying and condemning a need To be loved, and to give love Gave rise to indulgence of greed. And so the act of love came not of the heart, But purely of sensation to feel, Which without love is empty, And without love is not real.

If I were a rich man I would do good And the world a better place make, Not to seek glory to say I am great, But for doing goods sake. If I were a strong man I’d do many things, And everything correct make others do, But alas I am but one and of no power, And this every day I rue.

V And the loudest voice kept shouting Their version of the story to tell, So that now it is the only one Of how out of favour Adam fell. When hearts grow cold and love no more, And love is but a historical fact When we use each other for lust alone... Then sinful is the act.

If only I had, then I would do, Why can I not do today, The little Im capable of I can do, Rather than looking away. Theres a hell of a want where theres an "if", No matter how well it you mean, Two walls will not a roof make, Unless theres a cover between!

Snakes All Around Us Readers of these pages from Ireland will be familiar with Fr Brian D'Arcy's "A Little Bit of Faith" column in the Sunday Word, and Irish Sunday newspaper. In the October 1 2006 edition, Fr Brian quotes a tale told by Native American actor Iron Eyes Cody. 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 or business relationships that are dodgy from the start with their eyes open. In summary, be wary of all who offer false promises be aware of the reality behind them. ****************************

And at the floor of the mountain tall, The boy set the rattle snake free, Upon touching the ground it rattled and hissed, Rose... to strike the boy on the knee. But you promised you wouldn't pleaded the boy, As to the ground in pain he fell, "You knew what I was when you picked me up" The snake to him did tell. So should you meet a snake in the snow, Or in the lushest of grass, Believe not the promises they speak, Back off! And by them pass...

What Ails Ye Now? (First Ode to Robert Burns)

Each native youth on reaching age, Before declaring himself a man, Goes in solitude like Christ himself, To prepare for life as best he can. One native youth a mountain he saw, Decided to climb it as a test, And upon reaching its summit cold, Congratulated himself fro his conquest.

"What ails ye now?" Words from your pen, When you in the heat of anger basked And boiled as you in retort wrote And the lousy bitches you asked: Those who about others things say, And down upon who look Would well be told the story Of "Throw the First Stone" from the Good Book.

And then... a rattlesnake he saw, Backed away he did with a start, Though aged it was... and stiff with cold, And looked to have faint heart. It looked as it was nearing its dying days, No, rather was in its dying throes, And to the boy, the snake it spoke... Or so the story goes.

Aye, Burns the sinner who loved the ladies And in sin indulged, enjoyed and was content, But to your God your peace you made In privacy prayed and did repent. Aye, with faults and all God made you, As he did the ladies who caught your eye, With a conscience clear and without fear, I hope to be as you when I die.

Aye, the same as to Eve in Eden, Who was to by a serpent spoken The apple to eat was tempted, And so the promise to God was broken. This rattlesnake spoke to the boy, And with its roguish charm, Pleaded to be brought down the mountain, And it would do him no harm.

If I, who live by others rules, Of godliness and purity, Shall I find upon my passing Heavens not a surety? And those whose lifes appeared less pure In heaven shall they be? For their efforts futile at being good Were more in earnest than the successful ones of me?

After stalling for a while, So the story's told, The boy, or good heart or bad sense, Lifted the snake from the ground cold. And so safe the rattlesnakes life, Or try to at least he might, And in return he'd save his own As the rattler promised not to bite.

What ails me now? I am the fool Or at least I play the part, I live my life, maybe don't live at all, Live by what others say, not my heart. Those lousy bitches who declare, To me how to lead my life, May God cast you to the eternal fire, 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 It was as if my mind was blank, For a writer that's hard to understand, Excess work for it I thank. And in those non-idle non-productive days, When paper was not touched by pen, I found that overwork never pays, I decreed solemnly then: That written greats of times gone by Were great though they were poor, Though great may never be humble I, Of not being rich Im sure! And so to write, time I vow to make For work is the folly of fools, Whop work not for need but for works own sake, And they’re never known in schools, Or their books, as so never be known I may be, From such pages never be read, My words explored, the meaning or them to see, By students, when I am dead... But twill be worth it one day... If only for a while... One reads these words with which I play, And it causes them to smile!

Can I see if I look in the distance All that I wish to see... And is I could, I wonder would What was seen be good for me?

At the Turning of the Year 2007 As a year dies another is born, With the breaking of the morn, And twill be just like the old, To spite what we say or we are told, Sure, Saddam may be dead, Now open terror rules instead, Still Kurdistan’s not free, This is liberation you tell me? Corporations still rule supreme, Workers rights is but a dream, And the freedom for which we fought, From our hands by Brussels is being wrought And with America will must side, Or they make our economy slide, And they call this heaven, As is born 2007!

As If Pearls, Below Me Lights Are Spread As if pearls, below me lights are spread Like jewels of the satin of the night As I from high on them look down From my descending flight. All the other passengers as they look down 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!

For all want to see and all want to know Everything everywhere about everyone But we need not to know, and so life will not show Everything that around us has gone on.

Be a Bard Like a Bird Natures song is one of joy, Each singing birds a bard, He celebrates each and every day, Be it of ease or hard. Let us men be like the bird, On days both short and long, Hard and easy, pleasant or cold, Let us greet it with a song!

A Thought for Israel I wish that when my eyes I open, A better day sometime will see, Through my actions or those of others, A better time for all will be. For as around at this world I look, Either in Europe, or the Holy Land there, I see hatred and bigotry, I see people who don't really care. Why is it that throughout time, When one suffers pain they once knew, That their more evil that those who opposed them, Is known by all but said by few.

An Angel Over Me Keeps Watch An angel over me keeps watch On my errant ways keeps an eye And tries the right way to guide me Until the day I die. For God knows I’m a sinner And when put to the test My faith, and so my judgment Can be shown not to be the best. So my God given guardian That no one can ever see Is always there guiding, And watching over me.

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", and while in times of dark moods indeed creativity can be a release... it is not the only time of creativity. 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... ?

Born of loneliness are the arts... Spewing forth from depressed minds, Who, from solitude of isolation... Inspiration they can find... So it is said: I say is not so... For I love to life... Find inspiration through life joys As much as from its strife... And in the solitude of slumbers Just before I go to sleep... Ideas formulate in my mind... Many are lost.. a few I keep... And upon the mornings waking... I find paper, and then, My thoughts and dreams in verse I commit to paper with my pen. ‘Tis true the lonely can use the arts As a way to null their pain, And we, who are the receivers, Know not the agonies behind our gain... To say all artists are lonely is not true, To say their blessed is true indeed, Whether lonely or enjoying life... To create is the artist need!

All Is Lost, When Lost Is Hope All is lost when lost is hope, For no future can be seen The caverns of despair that's there Is the darkest there has ever been, For without hope, we cannot try A way forward to find And so we languish in the despondency Of the world and of our mind. But those who try to find hope again 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!

A dream is held close to the heart, And sometimes never shown, How great a waste when that dream, Is never acted on or known... So we think when of the think Of someone's broken dream... But before those words you say... See if its what it may seem... A man had a dream to rule the world, As indeed had many, Thankfully due to folly of man, In total come true did not any... For he who dreamt or the world to rule, A thousand years until, Was Hitler, to rule for the German race, And the unclean ones to kill... That was his dream that failed, But it nearly did succeed, Let only the dreams of men that are good Fail to fail... let the dreams of evil not succeed!

An Ear Always Listening For A Prayer An ear always listening for a prayer Or a thanks, or a thought that is good, Often found too little to be there, With swears and blasphemies where there should A prayer to god for help on our lips be For God listens for our cry And should we not pray, how can we Who have not for help asked: for lack of it wonder why?

Carry On In Love Carry on in love the work of your God Though all around doubt your faith By your deeds may you preach, your sermon is seen And your beliefs are shown to be great. But he who condemns and shouts scripture And as sinner a non believer he deems Shall inspire no faith, no: but hatred, And often be found to be not what he seems.

Info on “King Billy and The Pope” “It sits in a side room at the back of the disused Senate Chamber inside Stormont’s Parliament Buildings. The painting depicts King William III’s arrival in Ireland A monumental canvas apparently depicting the arrival of King William III in Ireland in the 1690s, it was purchased by the old Northern Ireland government back in March 1933. 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 Orange’s court artist Pieter van der Muelen, cost the old Stormont government £209 and four shillings. Unionist MPs cheered when they heard of its acquisition. But those 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 him on a cloud is someone who appears to be Pope Innocent XI, apparently blessing his ally as he makes his way towards the Battle of the Boyne. A figure believed to be Pope Innocent XI appears to bless William III For those who celebrate the victory of the Protestant King William over the Catholic King 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 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". "As Stalin would have said, they were objective allies in the 1690s against the Sun King Louis XIV who was at that time the most dominant authority in power in Europe," he 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 they came face to face with King Billy and the Pope. Art attack An enraged Glasgow councillor, Charles Forester, threw red paint over Innocent XI. His companion Mary Ratcliffe slashed the canvas with a knife. Both were arrested and fined £65 when they appeared in court in Downpatrick. The painting was restored for a cost of £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 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 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. Public display But the attack on the canvas has made it part of Stormont folklore. 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". "Whenever you first encounter the painting you are awe struck by the size of this epic tale unfolding in front of you," he said. "So in a visual sense it deserves to be displayed. "But I believe the story behind it will capture the imagination of a lot of people as well. "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 and now we’re coming to a more tolerant period in history now is the time for it to be restored to its rightful place in the southern corridors of the Stormont assembly.“

==oOo== Nothing to Write Upon Today. Nothing to write upon today, I mope around with little to do, How come when a writer has the time, The ideas to write are few? 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.

King Billy and the Pope For info on the inspiration of this poem to show the irony of the anti-Catholic usage of the Boyne commemorations (the Pope actually supported King Billy) read the article below which I reproduce from Mark Davenport of ( and apologies to) the BBC.

The touring Orangemen in Stormont, To see the picture came, The victor of the Boyne, Who banished Popery to shame, But when they came upon it, The asked how could it be: For the pope blessing King Billy Was what they all could see. An outrage and an insult: With this they could not cope, An unholy alliance Of King Billy and the Pope, And so they vandalised it, And turned in dismay, Only to be arrested £65 they had to pay. To next time you meet an Orangemen And about the defeating Pope he start to coin, Remind him both he and King Billy, Beat King James at the Boyne!

Some Things Never Change With a wicked eye, a short sharp glance Disapproval at once was seen, And quickly apart they did move, The lovers who together had been. The knowing nods of an opinion shared, Gesture to each other who think the same, It is not right, either in day or night In white with coloured, there is shame... Sure today there is no slavery, As once upon a time there was blacks in chains, Buy the look of an eye shows opinions don't die And , as if bound, the heart suffers times immortal pains... A gamble on future that may not be And fight against all she's shown... A jump in the dark with the man she loves, Or the comfort of what she has known...

.Let

Us, As Friends, Not Be Silent

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” - Martin Luther King Jr

Our silence is worse than others shouts, For when our friends they assail, By word or by deed our friends are assaulted We aid the attackers when to speak out we fail. For our enemies words will be forgotten, As will the evil they’ve done, But our silence and lack of action will be remembered, Long after the assault has gone... We are not friends who are silent... We are as bad as the foe, We who have voice we should use it, Let us as friends be vocal and always be so!

In a Bog of Brown, A Message From God? While myself sympathetic to the Palestinian cause, the recent 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... ::: "Book found open… Painstakingly copied in Latin script, it was found open to a page describing Psalm 83, in which God hears complaints of other nations’ attempts to wipe out the name of Israel. Wallace described the book’s binding and cover as "leather velum, very thick wallet in appearance." It could take months of study just to identify the safest way to pry open the pages without damaging them, he said.

In a bog of brown... a message from God? What else could this find be... A plea to their lord to defend from those Who the death of Israel would like to see? A wonder from a thousand years Never before known to exist And a man with a slane, like Christ, so humble, So easily could have destroyed it, or missed... 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?

Equally Wise and Foolish Are We Before God we are all equally wise - and equally foolish. - Albert Einstein

Equally wise and foolish are we, No matter what we think we know, In the presence of the almighty, Our ignorance of all we’ll show... Those who doubted that our God, Was real and does exist, Shall be selected and separated, Directed, and dismissed. Those who tried like God to be, With what they did invent, Like to, selected their quantity, And to Hells flames be sent. And the fool who simple of sort he was, Tried his neighbour not to deceive, Knew little but his knowledge and love of God Will be admitted, for he did believe.

Begin in Delight, and End in Wisdom A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. - Robert Frost

This quotation from Frost, while about an ideal template for a poem, struck me as an ideal template for life. Often those despised at birth, die in folly, in youth, their lives not making a metaphorical poem. To begin in delight and end in wisdom, Is the aim of every man, So it was throughout the years Right from when time began. Begin in delight when you are born, End in death at age when wise, Alas, too many die young and stupid, And more their birth others despise! Such is the tragedy of our world... Makes it look as if all is lost, If only all in our world could live The truth in the words of Frost.

On Suns Setting at the End of The Day

Natures Great and Natures Kind

On suns setting at the end of the day, The night we trust to us safe keep, And all in bed to slumber lay, And slip to blissful sleep. And in slumbers start to dream Images disjointed, varied, pleasant... Causing us to make in sweats and screams, If such a dream wasn’t.

Natures great and natures kind Though cruel by many it is called For survival of the toughest Leaves the weaker dead or mauled.

Mostly on waking we forget The reveries tapestry, And to more its as if not Asleep were they, but in reality. For a strange thing is the mind, Tricked by our slumber embraced brain, And when so confused ourselves we find, We question are we sane? So as you to your slumbers settle, I hope that you sleep well, And at the mornings breakfast kettle, Of no nightmares you have to tell!

I, A Sinner, Preach Of God I, a sinner, preach of God And what of us he asks And give judgment of clergies guidance And attempt to do their tasks And the word of God himself I commit the heretic crime To interpret scripture to you, And to do so in rhyme. I, a sinner, preach of God, As to me He is known, As I believe, as I understand, As life to me has shown. And for all their education, The men of cloth: they do Though not in verse: preach of God As they understand and believe Him too.

But those of us who call ourselves civilized Can rise above this natural rule Should we help each other not we shall see We are not clever: no, but the fool. For nature in its kindness to us it gave The ability each other to assist, Through the trials for the toughest: To bad if we let this opportunity be missed!

Gods Love For All Knows No Bounds Gods love for all knows no bounds, Like the universe has no walls, The greatest sinner, and the greatest saint, Both, as his sons, he calls. For he who made them as they are, Are a reflection of how they are made, And as so, are a reflection of God himself, And to be themselves, are not afraid. For he who repents to his God above, He shall forgiveness know, And he who sins little is condemned Should he, repentance, not show!

Is God one or Three? Is God one being or three, Is it true, the trinity? If so, how can it be: For science it confounds. To answer same many hours were spent, And with the answers none were content, Till an explosion of anger heretofore kept pent, Spread and knew no bounds.

From A Tomb He Has Risen From a tomb he has risen After dying for all men Some for him are still waiting And for him to come again. He's done his time on this cruel earth And many don't believe That He or God exists at all Or by twisted scriptures they deceive 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.

And for beliefs blood was shed, And far too many ended up dead, All because of an opinion said, That caused others offence. God, be he one or be he three, God loves you as well as be, Who cannot see, such fools are we Not this to know and have better sense!

Calm As The Sea Unstirred By Wind

I Cant Remember What I Chose to Forget

Calm as the sea unstirred by wind, The tree stands, not swaying, but proud and tall As it has done through gale and storm For hundreds of years: never to fall.

I cant remember what I chose to forget, No matter how I try, no matter how yet, For the mind blocks out so the eyes cannot see, For if it cant be seen, than it cannot be.

Leaves rustle in the breeze By its trunk I rest as ease In the summers suns kind heat I, the walker stop to rest my feet.

We will only see if we open our eyes, Allow ourselves to remember to our great surprise, Lift the cloak of guilt overlaid to disguise, 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" To loss of limbs the snake was condemned He, who possessed legs at Birth Was to wiggle in the dust until his end.

City of ships of the seven seas: On your banks gallant galleys were made The carpenter and the engineer On their ships plied their trade. And the seven seas of the earth they saw, Great wonders by them were spied, The gallant galleys Glasgow made By the banks of the Clyde.

Give not bad advice, as he gave If not for your victims, at least for your own sake, For God shall smite you, cut off your limbs, And make you crawl in dust for all time, like the snake!

In Times of Despair I Ask My God In times of despair I ask my God, "Lord what will I do?" And thee my God, though nothing you say, Reply: "I’ll look after you." And I, the sinner, when times are good, Ask not "What will I do" Proceed to go my sinful way, And though my sins anger you. I wish that I to my friends Could so patient be, When they do not as I want As you are with me When I proceed to sin again I know you still have love I the sinner have to repent And ask forgiveness from above.

Of the End, We Shall Be Spared Of the end, we shall be spared, The horror for to see, For seven years before, No longer will Erin be. A promise made to Malachi In prayer one day, to God That the horrors of Armageddon Would be spared our native sod. So look, all of you sinners When Ireland is taken by the sea, Prepare in seven years to meet your doom And repentant let you be!

But some to other lands brought misery And more cargoes of despair, But that was the fault of the captains Not of the shipbuilders there. Let us hope that what in life we make Does good, and God does not displease And let us be allowed to be as proud As the city of the ships of the seven seas.

Open All Windows and Let the Gales Through Open all windows and let the gales through Be transparent in what you say and do, Complain not of the cold: be glad for the air All all to see your heart: that its good what's there. A spirit pure should by all be seen, Hidden souls not decent have been But with lies and deceit, good from them was wrung Let your spirit not be stained by an evil tongue.

Smiling We Cannot Always Be Looking into the sunset, I see little But the death of the day I today am not a dreamer... And I cannot think any other way. For on my mind the day already has ended And the darkness of the night has begun I think not of things of beauty as splendid I see little joy in another's fun. But on sleeping, lighten will my mood And joy again in things Ill see Our humour cannot always be good, Smiling we cannot always be.