The oppressive class Think that their power will always last And they’re always doing it for a reason Til their punishment is open season And the subordinates get even With people they don’t want to be believing And you could say that kindness kills And good intentions and foreign wills Mask the wound as the blood spills Out onto my shirt It may have hurt When they struck me down But I’m not giving up on this down And it is for my own health They say they must steal my wealth From me But there is something that will always be free In the green, green grass of home There is something that you have never known As you paint a beach of waifs But I am not trying to escape The cup that’s been handed to me I’m just trying to reflect the free In the prism that casts it’s hues And he people who pay their dues In the mindfulness class It is not part of the past But of the Now And I know you will realise somehow What I’ve been trying to express In my state of undress As I spell it out in monotones What I couldn’t hide from iPhones As they responded to my touch And scared away what I loved so much Into the fold of open season Have you ever loved someone without reason?
There were times I thought; Things like that only happen in America But now an Irish flag is flying On hills I don’t agree with Declaring the ruination of all that used to be And how it was empty and vapid Relentless in its desire to control all of us I look at the clock again It’s half past six But time is moving and never sticks To the floor like the day I heard And you could shoot every single bird I wouldn’t notice Coz you’re gone The only place that I belong Standing by your side Now I hear your name and I run and hide Because it brings up convulsions I cannot repair One minute you’re standing there The next air That I breathe in And even thoughts of him Can’t take away the ashes of my loneliness Written in biro like an address As I scribble my name I love you so I won’t be the same But are the hackles drawn on my wilderness That I would ever confess A taut string like grief And my belief Is to hide it from everyone Shine like I’m the fucking sun Collapsing in on itself A black hole to eat the life that is its wealth And welcome any stragglers into its dusky fold I’m getting old You can measure it by how you perceive the years They move so fast there’s no time for tears Coz the ebbing will flow And what came down must let go Of its hold on this misty night Is it okay if I am alright?
The Poetry Book 