Archive for July, 2019


Sunday, July 14th, 2019

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling

There’ll not be a statue, but maybe a plaque.
A reminder to us, when time seemed to go back,
To an earlier Ireland, a Derry long gone,
An Ulster of which is in poem and song.

Her voice for now silenced, her visions live on,
Ideas, the stories, she’d worked on not long,
All crushed in a second, a coward’s attempt,
At an unknown glory, who knows what was meant.

Give a gun to a boy, make him feel like a man,
He’ll aim it at random, and shoot what he can,
He’ll ignore the murals from a stolen car,
Twenty Good Fridays, we’d really come far.

A mother’s child, a campaigner, a writer,
A partners lost love, now a legend, a fighter.
She’d stood up and won, versus enemies stronger,
Than a child with a pistol, time should’ve been longer.

Her name will go down, with writers on lists,
Whose lives ended early, eternally missed,
Lived with the words, and worked with the pen,
Murdered by cowards, not heroes, not men.


Sunday, July 14th, 2019

When Mothers are lucky, their boys become men.
But some don’t quite make it, no why, how or when.
With fortunate fathers, of daughters with dreams,
They’ll think of the wonders, not horrors or screams.

It happens in cities, in London, New York.
Not our little suburbs, of Dublin and Cork.
Never our doorstep, this terror unseen.
It’s not what we’re used to, this ungodly scene.

The whispers that follow the police sirens blare.
Her family, forever, stuck with this nightmare.
A beauty no longer, if just in our thoughts,
A life barely lived, a battle long fought.

They’re out there, among us, these monsters, our hell,
But what do they look like, there’s no way to tell,
Just brothers of sisters, sons of good folk,
No way of knowing, their fire, our smoke.

A baby, a beauty, a daughter, in school,
An object, a victim, reminder life’s cruel.
Some parents aren’t lucky, they don’t have a choice,
It’s so hard to whisper, to call with no voice,

A blessing, a wonder, a miracle child,
A nation awakens, forgets for a while,
She’ll not be returning, not now, or again,
To a world filled with beauty, and the evils of men.