The Preacher

There is an awful tendency amongst holy men to profit from the piety of their followers. Whether it be the farcical extremes of wealth preachers like Joel Osteen, the vulgarly opulent lifestyles which Catholic Bishops are repeatedly caught indulging in, or the more moderate Mercedes-Benz and townhouse lifestyles of inner city pastors. There is a lot more to be said on the mechanics of this, being a phenomenon filled with patchy greys of every shade, but in it’s most simple this is deplorable.

 

The Preacher went from town to town,

offering salvation to all who drown.

Taking from all who rue their fate,

but their offerings could never sate.

Every Sunday their tithes he weighed,

and demanded more to him was paid.

More and more his greed knew no end,

the poor for themselves were left to fend.

They laboured sweating and broken backed,

struggling to make up for what they lacked.

While he stood and preached salvation,

offering the gathered their emancipation,

from the ebb and flow of earthly woes,

and to deliver them at Heaven’s toes.

But with cold heart he ignored their suffers,

and turned to count the silver in his coffers.

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You’ve Got To Make Money Before You Can Share It Around

Earlier in the year I got in an argument with one of my father’s friends about politics after he used to phrase “you’ve got to make money before you can share it around.” Now if you’re imagining that this utterance was something as cliche as being from a Fine Gael supporting former bank manager in conversation after a rugby match, well you’re pretty much on the mark.

He was a kindly man,

but oh so pragmatic.

He would help the poor,

of that he was emphatic.

You’ve got to make money

before you can share it around.

If you know about finance,

you’ll know his reasoning’s sound.

So he counts all his pennies,

as they flow in and flow out,

waiting until he has enough,

to end his charitable drought.

This year he has a surplus,

but could do with a new car,

a new deck in the garden,

and in the basement a bar.

So he’ll wait until next year,

when he has money again,

when he’ll want a kitchen extension

and truffles in Ardennes.

On it goes year upon year,

he falls into these traps.

While the poor remain ignored,

and left to his scraps.

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.

Repeal The Eighth

This Saturday the 24th of September I will be attending the fifth annual march for choice in Dublin. I encourage anyone able to go to join me in demanding a referendum on abortion in Ireland.  The referendum which  banned abortion took place in 1983, four years before I was born, and I’m getting on. Since then a large part of the current electorate was born and a large part of those who voted in 1983 have become ineligible to vote due to being very much dead. This generation needs to get its say.

 

This country’s not what it was in the eighties,

Mother Mary’s stopped wandering,

Priests have gotten caught fondling,

and single mothers walk the streets as they please.

Our opinions and ideals have progressed,

Church power has been repressed

and gays can marry with relative ease.

We’re a country in need of a referendum,

on abortion rights without addendum,

for those living to decide their own decrees.

This is our country as much as the older’s,

yet their replies are so much bolder,

that the decision’s long since made.

But not with my voice,

my mind, my heart, my choice,

my opinion has not been weighed.

It’s time to bring an end to this debate,

Repeal the  eighth .

 

 

 

Trump Knew Something?

I wrote this a few days ago after reading an article about Trump’s campaign acknowledging Obama was born in the US. It’s just a quick crack at Trump’s ignorance. I really don’t have the energy to go into this “Hillary started it” nonsense. If you have a petulant child with crumbs on its face it’s fairly obvious the dog isn’t the reason the cookie jar’s empty.

 

So Trump knew Obama was American,

now that comes as a surprise,

not that he was ready and willing,

to spread his many lies,

But that he knew anything at all,

who thought that would arise?

Social Media Is Egotistical

So I saw this article a few days ago People who post their fitness routine to Facebook have psychological problems, study claims. It claims that people who post updates on their fitness regime are narcissists. This irked me, not because I think it’s wrong but more because it misses the entire point of social media. Everything you post on social media is narcissistic. Those pictures of your lunch, drinks in the airport, your lovely baby, your car, that highly interesting piece from the Economist, that pseudo-intellectual, quasi-political poetry… ahem.. all of it.

 

So sharing about your fitness is a sign of an unhealthy ego,

that maybe all too often your mother hugged you,

all those years ago.

 

It’s really not all that different

-from the rest of my Facebook wall.

Sunday brunch photographs, and diatribes on football.

Weekday holiday check-ins and cocktails by the pool.

and those club bathroom selfies grinning like a fool,

Boasts of doing Yoga and finding inner light,

and pictures of brand new cars, effusing in delight.

The “look at my cute baby, cuter than you know whose,”

and the “look at me I’m so fun, last night I drank this much booze.”

Couples showering each other with public displays of affection,

and attention grabbing statements begging for interjection.

 

You can’t separate ego and social media, they are one and the same.

So get back to sharing cat pics and quit with all the shame.