Fatma Hossana,

her truth, in photos at Cannes,

murdered in Gaza.

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Saoirse don Phalaistín!

Justice must win!

Freedom for Palestine!

Their freedom’s thine,

Their freedom’s mine.

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NB. My original intention, somewhat clumsily expressed, was to voice the thoughts of 

A. someone benignly called a "settler", who, in any other context would be a considered a terrorist and a thief.

B. the so-called "Christian" mercenaries who, based in RAF Akrotiri, enable that genocide and ethnic cleansing.

I consider a re-post of “Land and Freedom” to be highly appropriate, in view of ...

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Easter Tuesday,

April the twenty-second,

in the Year of Our Lord

Twenty-Twenty Five,

Speak Truth to Power,

on a Global Day

of Civil Disobedience

in support of the people

(yes, they are people,

yes, they are human),

of Palestine,

a Global Day, chosen

to be around Easter-time,

an Easter time for Palestine,

in an effort to shame

those “Christian” by nam...

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N.B. I suppose I should make allowances for the Tommy Ten Names of this world, and admit that in the white heat of fascistic fervour, it is possible to confuse hamas with hummus…and gooodness knows what horrors might be inflicted by a beardy, muesli- eating sandal-wearing, Guardian-reading pacifist waving a bread stick around!

The Arabic يُكافِح means to struggle, and حُمُّص means hummus - not ...

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Auschwitz, now Gaza.

Broken hearts cannot weep, so

rain feeds our snowdrops.

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh, 27th March 2025

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Nature or nurture?

where she was concerned

there was never any doubt

about either,

but ranks will close

as and when needs must.

Light by name, and light by nature,

A smile to light up every room,

she had always been that way,

instinctively loving and caring,

ever gratefully aware

of the precarity of

her own origins,

but the patriarchy looks

after its ...

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Oh, what a joy for me on World Book Day

to sit beside our five-year-old in school:

our little lass read Frozen to her Granddad,

as long and short words, sure and steady, flowed:

I read a little while to let her rest:

then, ended thirty minutes of delight,

when teacher summoned in another class. 

A forty-minute drive, then forty back;

all worth it! Granddad’s proud he’s don...

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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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Be thou my vision,

All that is most beautiful,

Most life affirming.

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The Irish proverb:

Capall na beatha an grá,

/koh-pul nuh baa-ha un gra/

literally means Love is the horse of life:

the English equivalent is Love makes the world go round.

it’s an example of the historical importance of the horse in Irish life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love’s revolution,

Capall na beatha a...

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For several weeks now, WOL website has, on occassions, been extremely slow.

I can only assume that my browser is not at fault, because other websites (not connected with WOL) which I use, appear to be working perfectly OK.

 

 

 

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They laughingly know it as: “Mowing the Lawn”,

that callously racist colonial project,

in the name of the land in which I was born,

British values, you call them? well I’ve pressed “reject”!

for too long, being murdered and beaten, Palestinians

now rise to proclaim: “No More of the Nakba”,

so, shame on your silence, their freedom’s my freedom,

it’s my fight ‘til I’m called to ...

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I’m your smooth - talking

free speech warrior,

I like posing in military gear

in helmets and flack-jackets

that say 'PRESS',

(not that I’d need one)

‘cos these are my mates,

yes, I’m here in the Middle East

‘cos I am defending THE WEST,

in the war THEY’ve declared,

‘cos they’re jealous that we’re the best,

well, that’s what I’ve heard!

know - what - I – mean?

...

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*

see!

poet,

listen, look!

now here she is,

dispelling the gloom,  

love the magician’s spells

make those angel voices heard.

the word made flesh, amongst us dwells,

love conquers all, she’s claimed the last word.

*

*

*

*

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh, 2nd December, 2024.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////...

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Small boats! small boats!

my power’s in small boats!

for goodness’ sake,

don’t stop the boats,

small boats are all

that I have left,

for hate we trawl

with those small boats,

don’t stop the boats!

the power of hate

must keep our cause

afloat!

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performing exquisite arabesques,

adorably, beautifully,

her arms and hands form a curve,

she steps right, then steps left,

legs flexed, she’s en pointe,

soars up on high,

et voilà!

my heart’s

hers.

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My friend and I have just been reduced to tears by this scene in a video.

 

A charming girl of three years old,

makes a beautiful request,

a scene of wonder then unfolds,

in which the world by her’s then blessed,

‘please can you play Imagine’;

how like a nightingale she sings

with words of charity, compassion,

hope to a suffering world she brings.

The world and I beh...

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My spirit’s faint, of joy and beauty starved,

Of late, this grieving heart has known but gloom,

So, prayers I’ll say on ancient Anglezarke,

And dance with Gaia, to a brighter tune,

Where soars my soul, between earth sea and sky:

Fear’s put to flight, in nature is true strength.

A lark’s song celebrates up there on high

The beauty of our vast horizon’s length,

The grandeur o...

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Flag-shaggers claim The Silence is their own:

one such, in ignorance, presumed my guilt,

and sneered: “he is alone”, but knew not why;

“He’s running free”, sez he, “why’s that allowed?”

 

I say to him: “Mate, you know bugger-all:

five comrades, blown to bits of blood and bone,

must keep their silence now, that of the grave;

the silence that I keep has been dear bought,

...

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Notes on Remembrance? Forget It!

 

My use of the word Pogrom in my poem is deliberate, not flippant. I used it to draw attention to its use by lying news / propaganda outlets with reference to the recent situation in Amsterdam, a deliberately emotive and offensive trivialisation of the horrific reality of pogroms in Russia, and of events such as Kristallnacht. Its use there, was a cynical...

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Dear God, help the people

of Clacton-on-Sea,

who, thinking that things

were as bad as could be,

imagined their saviour,

that frog with a gob,

with a laugh and a smoke,

and a pint in his hand,

the working-man’s bloke,

might change his behaviour,

might just do his job,

keeping shit from their rivers

and shit from their shores?

but his amour now is orange,

s...

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Thought I'd get it in early, as I'll be out tommorrow.

A greeting in Irish

Beannacht i nGaeilge

 

Oíche Shamhna Shona Daibh!

/Ee-ha How-na hunna ghweev/ (In Phonetics)

Happy Halloween!

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Many a pint,

many a laugh,

many a smile,

and many the tears

over the months

and over the years.

Where now, though’s, love,

amongst these not-so-young lads,

and not-so-young girls?

Distant now,

perhaps a year ago?

the memory persists,

it’s vivid still,

the time yon mon,

distraught and close to tears,

burst through those welcoming

double doors,

...

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Acknowledment to Branwell -

his poem on cliches bump-started my grey matter into action:

"just get something on page - anything, I thought...."

 

Poor Anne of the Thousand Days,

wouldn’t stick to King Henry like glue,

the second of eight old clichés,

that fat git she just would not woo,

to his will, feisty Anne wouldn’t bend,

well, all the world’s a stage,

cut a long ...

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The starver hears but must ignore,

being answerable, not to the many,

but the few’s blood-lusting roar,

strings pulled with many a pretty penny.

lover he, of fascist shores,

solution final, they’ve demanded,

in hock to genocidal boors,

with filthy lucre he’s red-handed.

is there no arse he will not lick?

needs must that he stand by his man;

no conscience has that stan...

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A chap wanted less of Wokeness,

Being nice there, caused him lots of stress,

So he moved to Seattle,

Which tested his mettle,

‘Cos then, he was truly Sleepless.

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The title of my sonnet is inspired by that of the excellent 1995 film, Land and Freedom, directed by eminent film director, Ken Loach, persecuted in the UK and elsewhere for his compassionate socialist views.

With reference to my last six lines: the terrorist murder in 1946 of British soldiers, of Jews and others should not be forgotten in the rush to attempt to justify the seven-decades-long ...

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It’s time to say NO!

It’s time to turn left,

To staunch the blood flow,

Of truth they’re bereft,

 

It’s time for the many,

To stand up to the few,

To liars ten-a-penny,

To red ties turned blue,

 

You’re a friend of apartheid

You’ve just lied to this nation,

You enabler of genocide,

And illegal occupation,

 

The targets weren’t civilian,

Your pants ar...

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I’m late, I’m late,

For a very important date,

Yesterday has bin n’ gonee,

Poetry Day went up the Swanee,

Did it float up?…or float right down?

Yes, I was in my favourite pub, in town,

I ducked into the Dog n’ Duck,

(Where t’ pavements are not full o’ muck)

Memory on a great meander,

Leakin’ like a collander,

But at least I’ve read that poem about doggy do,

Thanks...

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Twittering twattery

Katey-Click-Baitery

Pissed up on winery

Our Hatey Katery,

Twittering blithely,

is Hatey-Katery,

Twattering, spluttering,

Katey-hate-mongering,

Twattering splattering,

Odiously shittering,

Hatefully mongering,

Twattering blithely,

Is that chap gaytery?

Asks Hatey Katery

He must be gay-ery!

Says Hatey Katery,

Yes he seems gay-ery,

...

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He’s fine with the murder of babies,

All hail to that regime from Hades,

His morals are urinal,

His solution is final,

That’s made him as popular as rabies.

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Thus spake the left cheek of le grand derrière,

“Every child, every person, deserves to be respected”;

No respect though was shown to a fearless dissenter,

With scorn, every word from that cheek was inflected,

When questioned about killing those children in Gaza,

Their gallant defender was manhandled, ejected,

Then slammed in a van by democracy’s rozzers,

That, fellow citizens...

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Belated thanks to John Gilbert Ellis for the last line.

https://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/johngilbertellis

 

Who needs rhetorical devices!

asked the philosopher from Devizes,

as his latest theory crystalises!

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She’s persona non grata

to the two-tier mob,

she just doesn’t matter;

yes, “She should be shot”,

is what that man said,

but that’s mighty fine

in Two-Tier’s head;

no, justice ain’t blind

for those two-tier racists,

see, she’s the wrong colour,

her face just ain’t English;

and her friendship with that fellow

called J.C, a socialist,

is quite beyond the pale,

...

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