Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Biography

I think, therefore I am; therefore I write, or, as Poet John Clare (1793 –1864) wrote: “I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,”

Samples

Socialist my Arse! --- 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 standing prick, who’s cheering on the killing klan! --------------------- Land and Freedom For Land and Freedom, some profess great love; No place though, in my heart for blood-drenched stones; A charnel-house, where grew an olive grove; My new-born’s crèche, built on crushed babies’ bones? What’s Freedom for? to build Apartheid’s walls? That’s good for nought, but sowing death and hate; Its harvest, cruel, to evil it’s in thrall, Brute arrogance spits in the Prophet’s face, But Onward Christian Soldiers march and sing; Remembrance Sunday sees no lessons learned, Po-faced, the cleric drones: where is death’s sting? Their silent night cloaks Truth they all have spurned. Efficiency ensures that coffins filled Mean coffers full, more blessings for those killed. -------------------- A Brahmsian Liszt How do you do, I'm Mick Adoo, I’m captain of thissh sship, Of ale, I've had a sssshhhip or two, Yes, I've got a little lizszszt, I always walk and talk like thissh When I'm Brahms and Liszt. -------------------------------------- He’s fine with the murder of babies, All hail to that regime from Hades, His morals, urinal, His solution, final, That’s why he’s as popular as rabies. -------------------- Two-Tier Racists 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, it makes Two-Tiers pissed, and cry into his ale. ------------------------------------------- Sunday Prayers Yesterday was Sunday; which was our Sabbath; a walk in the park in the autumn sun. That was the day right after Shabbat, and that was the day after their Jumu’ah; Three days of prayer, of reflection and quiet. We walked in the park with family and friends in the autumn sun, then sat in the riotous children’s playground, which wasn’t so quiet for they were reciting at top decibels the age-old song, the ode to pure joy straight from pure hearts. Gran and I sat down right next to a couple with a babe in a pram whose brother and daddy were wearing a kippah. I’d a lump in my throat, a mind full of bad news, and I thought to myself: should I just say “hello, it’s a nice day isn’t it!”, but didn’t. Was it me not being British, -for once? So I held my tongue, perhaps through fear of saying something stupid such as: “isn’t it awful what’s happening over there”. There was a hole in my heart then where joy should have been; so I filled it with love, and saved it for them, and anyone else, who needed a hug. -------------------------------------- Thanksgiving for Sunday 23rd April 2023 It was an ordinary Sunday, ‘Til you turned up, then it was Fuuunday! We took along bread for feeding the birds, God’s creatures need love, both feathered and furred, We settled for the path with the steepest rake, Which leads directly down to the lake, Exercise for the legs, the heart and the mind, But to granddads’s old knees, not quite so kind! With your tiny hands, you held us both tight, Your right in gran’s left, and your left in my right, Gladly I paid for ice creams all round, I’d promised your mum, I was duty bound! We fed Canada Geese and ducks and swans, Sauntering and smiling, amongst the birdsong, Our blessings recieved in nature’s kingdom, Pure joy that we shared with our little Cherry Blossom!

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Help- Slow Wol Site! (23/12/2024)

Mowing the Lawn with Larkin (10/12/2024)

The War on the West (06/12/2024)

The Word Made Flesh (02/12/2024)

A Boat! A Boat! (01/12/2024)

Arabesques (29/11/2024)

Imagine…! (27/11/2024)

Song of the Earth (19/11/2024)

Whited Sepulchres (14/11/2024)

Remembrance? Forget It! (09/11/2024)

Read more entries by Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh…

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/uilleamÓceallaigh

Audio entries by Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Song of the Earth (19/11/2024)

Whited Sepulchres (14/11/2024)

Land and Freedom (07/10/2024)

Them uz ‘ave, will ‘ave (14/09/2024)

Nil Carborundum Sanguine Desperandum (03/09/2024)