May Your Longing Be Done

In remembrance of Leonard Cohen. A thank you for the music. Gone but not forgotten.


Take this longing from my tongue,

in all the songs he ever sung.

All the faiths he had succumb,

and the women’s arms he had run.

Sweet gypsy son,

may your longing be done.


Aftermath November 2016

Yesterday Donald Trump officially became the president elect of the United States of America. As terrifying a prospect as this is it is not the time to assign blame on white people (where it belongs) as that wastes precious time and energy which will be needed in the coming years… and I would also like to put some of the blame the Maya for getting lazy and leaving their calendar at 2012, a little heads up would’ve been nice guys (end of the world’s looking pretty good right about now eh?). Now is the time to think about what can be done to improve people’s lives both in the US and the rest of the world while hampered with a giant man-baby POTUS and a fundamentalist christian VP who looks like repressed sexuality turned human.


We’ve been shaken from our sleep,

to find ourselves in a garbage heap.

It is one entirely of our own making,

piled high as we strayed from waking.

Now it is up to us to decide,

whether to take action or to hide.

Hide beneath discarded-

washing machines and household waste,

and other flotsam of our society’s haste.

Or gather-

discarded metals to form the girders of our schools,

take from old devices their useful tools,

clear the land by reusing discarded plastic,

and find new uses for forsaken elastic.

Just as recycling can find for trash its new uses,

we can find new purposes for politics’ abuses.

Do We Dare Take A Bite Of The Apple?

Apple have been caught with both hands and even a foot in the cookie jar. Michael Noonan, ever ready to hand over as much of the Irish economy as he can to american private interests, has been giving Apple a tax deal that goes beyond taking the piss. A tax rate of 0.005% is of such a ridiculous order that one can only presume that Tim Cook has cast some kind of Draculaesque enthralling spell on our slapheaded minister for finance. There are worries that without these deals they will up and run taking jobs with them, but let’s face the fact they are still better off here than anywhere else. Our standard rate of corporate tax is lower than any other OECD country by a long shot. Their threats to leave are threats, it’s time we all admit that we can’t see the Emperors new cloths but we can see an arsehole.


Listen to international companies,

they boast of such great power.

The ability to move jobs-

across national boundaries

and make governments cower.

Be thankful that we’ve come here,

that we’ve blessed you with these jobs.

But to our demands you must adhere,

no matter how much from the exchequer-

our sweetheart tax deal robs.

But what they never tell you,

and this his stone carved fact,

they are all bound to do,

whatever keeps profits intact.

Whether one-hundred-million,

or a single measly cent,

unlike the moral civilian,

profits dictate their bent.

Listen to Tim Cook,

how he softens his tune,

listen to the cheeky fuck,

he knows moving elsewhere-

would make for his profit’s ruin.


Has Black Lives Matter Made Progress?

It was depressing to see Charles Kinsey, a therapist trying to calm and console a patient with autism getting shot. It’s just so revealing of where things are at that it was a more a relief than anything else. It was just nice to see a story where a black man gets shot by police and lives to tell the tale. Still there was no reason why Charles Kinsey should’ve been shot. A man lying on his back, hands in the air, looking a lot like uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and explaining that he’s a behaviour therapist, is not a threat. The circumstances are almost farcical. What does a black man have to do to not get shot in america?


Charles Kinsey’s rather lucky…

not to have been shot of course.

By sharp shooting officer Plucky,

and his excessive show of force.

Following apparent police guidelines,

Pointing a gun at a suicidal man,

as phones point from the sidelines,

capturing the moments of this “master plan”.

“Don’t shoot yourself or I’ll shoot you”,

the message from Miami’s elite.

Probably haven’t thought this through,

is it too hot to think in that Florida heat?

Still one must admire those Southern Manners,

aiming for the leg, not chest or head.

I’m just glad to see the newspaper banners,

saying black man shot, but not dead.



Wishing Charles Kinsey a full and speedy recovery.

Black Lives Matter

After the Michael Brown and Eric Garner were killed by police there were reprisals in New York. Now it’s happened again, and it will happen again and again until the root problems are addressed. Oppressive, racially biased policing is killing people and it has to stop. Justice must not only be done but seen to be done. Officers who kill innocent people need to face justice. Otherwise like what happened in Dallas last night, men will take justice into their own hands, and that justice will be flawed, full of hate and anger, and invariably visited on the wrong person.


For blue lives to matter black must too,

for all lives matter even black or blue.

But when black lives fall to police violence,

from lady justice all that is heard is silence.

For police can treat black skin with impunity,

as they oppress and murder black communities.

You can’t stand on people without them fighting back,

If this is true for you imagine if your skin was black.

Faces of the dead; like yours, like that of your family’s,

while news anchors report on alternate realities.

Being stopped and searched, and being realistic,

you have to prepare yourself to be a statistic.

Black and blue are caught in a circle of hate,

a circle which only more blood will sate.

Breaking this cycle is simple math,

police must fear justice’s wrath.

Police must serve and protect the truth,

and not continue to act as the oppressors boot.

Marriage Equality May 23rd

On the 22nd of may last year I and a large majority of Irish people voted for everyone in Ireland to be able to marry whoever the hell they wanted. On the 23rd of may my eyes swelled with tears and my breast with pride for what we had done. If it wasn’t for the  2009 Grand Slam win in the Six Nations, I would never have been more proud to be Irish. So to celebrate that, here’s a few thoughts on marriage, love and love’s transcendence of gender.


What is a wedding?

A word? An event?

A holy ceremony full of feeling?

A tab of monies spent?




As I see,

to friends, to family,

to all below or above,

it’s nothing more than an announcement of love.


What is a marriage?

A contract?

A gilded carriage?

A constant reminder of freedom lacked?




As I see,

It’s work.

It’s hardship.

It’s not I, but we.

It’s joy.

It’s sadness.

It’s friendship.

It’s love.

It’s togetherness.


It’s love between two.

Regardless of any other adjective.

Not the agenda of the few.

Love and happiness is the only objective.

Love belongs to all,

and marriage the expression

of this emotion beyond oppression,

the most beautiful of all emotions

wider and deeper than all oceans,

belongs to all who it touches.


All who feel love,

all who give love.


On the 23rd of May 2015,

we gave love freedom,

to no longer demean,

with shapes strict and numb.

All love freed and celebrated,

no singular form sacred or elevated.

Love in it’s purest form

free to transform,

fear into joy,

sadness into contentment,

not for the few but for all.

For as we ditch old resentment,

we can allow another’s joy to enthrall,

and share in their happiness.

As one person’s joy adds to the whole,

makes us all better and fulfills the soul.

For to cheapen one love, cheapens them all,

and in place of joy will sadness install.

Though trough recognition

of loves many guises,

we allow success to its mission,

love for all, with no compromises.



Just Do It Already

Sick of this will-they-won’t-they bullshit. The Ross and Rachel of Irish politics need to just get it on already! You may also notice a certain disdain for how much of Irish government is conducted in a pub. Not saying a couple of sneaky pints at lunch time is the worst thing in the world, just don’t do it when you’re  making decisions that directly impact upon the lives of millions.


Tuesday afternoon

even those from afar,

sit in the Dáil bar.

Glasses clinking,

politicians drinking,

plenty of noisy,

and very little thinking.

Kenny and Martin,

sit across the room,

blushing as love starts to bloom.

Eyelashes flutter,

faces fluster,

Noonan grabs Enda’s knee

and grumbles “maith an fear.”

The Healy-Raes briefly stutter,

mid two hour long sermon,

on why Kerrymaid is the best butter,

and determine,

“tsch! Would they ever get it over with?”

The barman sighs,

as Mick and Danny their speech reprise.

Off to the corner,

Eamonn Ryan’s brow furrows,

as he burrows,

through the jukebox’s goods,

for Back In The High Life Again by Steve Winwood,


and settles for Get Lucky,

as Catherine Martin gets plucky,

taps Stephen Donnelly’s shoulder,

slips behind and saddles at the bar,

as the fooled Donnelly begins to smolder.

The barman leaves the Healy-Raes,

gets her soda and lime,

relief on his face could be seen,

all the way from Ardamine.

Micháel and Enda,

circle now,

whispering sweet nothings,

of government agenda.

Micháel sweetly whispers,

“combine property tax and water charges,”

Enda coos “and cuts to social welfare,”

a jealous Joan storms to impair,

but gets caught by an angry Mary Lou,

who drags her back with a yank of the hair.

Shane Ross steers to interfere,

resulting in the loss of his beer.

Wallace and Daly take bets,

as the ladies shout threats,

and Adams reminds everyone,

that Sinn Féin is not linked to the IRA,

or even the army cadets.

The boys giggle and flush,

Enda toys with his hair,

Micháel regrets the lack of any up there.

With a whisper and a hush

the two exit in a rush.


And that’s how governments are formed in Ireland.