Good Morning Britain!

An Islamophobic prick

Talking Testicles.

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The Berlin Holocaust Memorial is stark.

For the Tool though, those Stelae made a brilliant backdrop

to his ‘Twenty-Two election publicity lark;

The Shoa, he reduced to a pantomime prop,

Behind you, behind you! Look, Sir, it’s the …!

At Auschwitz yer man is on ‘Twenty-Five’s photo-shoot,

The strain in his face, act studiously honed

to show that he cares, oh, look at him, ...

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the world weeps: enough!

set Palestine’s people free

 love’s the only way

❤

stokers of hate’s fire

tried to bury love’s dissent

but buried good seed

❤

we’re now growing strong

our shoots dance in winds of change

love, bring Spring’s revolt!

❤

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh 25th January 2025

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don’t speak in my name!

murdered in incubators,

they won’t see this Spring

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On London’s streets there’s

trouble for Jews with flowers.

Peacemakers aren’t blessed.

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Auschwitz? forgotten!

Objectors to Genocide

repressed in Britain.

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Here's The Last Supper,

Just Stop Oil’s doing porridge,

“Sunflowers, darling?”

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Seek truth and justice.

Absence of war’s mere pretence!

True peace, not pieces.

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qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm is not allowed,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm enjoy cheap thrills,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm, I’m well-endowed,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm, a bottle of Pils,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm, upon my knees,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm, the seven seas.

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm, my boots did shine,

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm the milky way,

qwertyuiop...

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I'm recording with my Yeti,

but nothing rhymes with Beano,

now, sing along with me and Betty,

'Green grow the rushes-o'.

😁😁😁 (or for the sake of the literati who take their humour seriously: "the rushes grow green-o")

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Don’t mention the war, when chez Basil,

one mentions the war at one’s peril:

it's the war Jerry started,

in Tom’s face he had farted:

yes, sauerkraut’s bouqet's far from floral!

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With corrections.

Is é an sruthan éadomhain a labhraíonn go dána,

his glass, now empty’s loudly ringing,

from shallow source, his water’s springing,

with fewer lines, his song would be finer.

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh 9th January 2025

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Congrat’s due to you, Sir Sadiq,

The fascists’ New Year’s looking bleak,

A brown man’s been honoured,

He’s top of his manor.

Who's having a right fit of pique?

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh 5th January 2025

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I once had a whirlwind romance,

with a snowman I’d met at a dance:

though his name, it was Dick,

he’d less carrot than stick,

and sweet bugger all in his pants.

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Government snow: lies,

shallow as their promises,

newly-fallen, melts.

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My mother had a habit, when times were bad, for example when dad had lost his job, of uttering the phrase: “God is good!”, an expression of her Christian faith and hope. The expression: “Thank God for that!”, is an everyday one of gratitude, as of course is “goodbye”, derived from “God be with you”; a similarly used Arabic phrase forms the title of my sonnet.

My republican instincts lead me to ...

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