Tag Archives: . poem


Apollo House

There’s a temple to the sun god
On Dublin’s darkest street
We cleared it out, we’re knocking it
And building something sleek

But they came from the shadows
On Dublin’s darkest street
And opened empty chambers
So they could bless the meek

I wake up in Rathfarnham
The light blows cold from Wicklow hills
And no one chokes and vomits
In doorways during winter chills

I’m not a social worker
I don’t understand the facts
I don’t know if this will work
But I’ll salute the acts

Of those who clear the temples
Of rotting gods and greed
And in that place put beds and books
Give people what they need.

There’s a temple to the future
Where a sun begins to rise
As fine a gesture of this clan
As Dublin could devise.

 John Moynes

Earlier: Chain Reaction

Thanks Frankie

Sam Boal/Rollingnews



Whingers of the State unite,
Now is the time to put it right,
Let’s get out and cast our votes,
And see if we can get this country afloat.

While Ireland was sinking, under the floods,
And Irish Water, that shower of hoods,
Were going around spending money like water,
Digging holes in the ground, and giving no quarter.

Some years ago we heard it said,
“That the rising tide would raise all boats”,
But we’ve seen what that group did,
And how and why they turned their coats.

Now that other shower have done no better,
In fact they follow things to the letter.
So now it’s time to change the team,
And hope that they don’t run out of steam.

Because hope is all that we seem to have left,
When of all our entitlements, we are bereft.
Hope that there is a different solution,
And an end to all this verbal pollution.

Frank Cronin

Presumably: Why Didn’t They Exhume?

The Thin Blue Timeline

Screen Shot 2016-02-21 at 20.29.50


February 2016 (A Dubliner’s Protest)

What need you, other more than cents,
Why fumble in the streets and moan?
You value halfwit over wit,
Tick ‘none of the above‘ to groan
and make a powerhouse void of power,
Yet no Plan B have you to claim;
Pro-Active Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s now with Lenihan, in the grave.

Yet we are now a different kind
To those old names who made us free.
What right have we to claim ’16,
When Mother Erin’s daughters bleed?
But only out of sight, of course –
Keep the provinces holy, save!
A woman’s Ireland was never born,
While Markievicz spins in her grave.

Was it for this our children fled,
With grey steel wings over every tide?
For this that citizens’ blood has shed,
For this Veronica Guerin died,
And Declan Flynn, Savita too?

Did your grumbling avenge their souls some way?
An innocent Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with Shane Geoghegan, in the grave.

Yet you could claim freedom again,
Remember heroes for as they were,
In their sacrifice and pain,
You’d cry ‘Some drag queen’s yellow hair
Has maddened every voter’s son,
But then, that May, we saw the power
Of what hopes and aspirations made;
So go, take action, of hope lose none,
And leave the past within the grave.

Scott De Buitléir


Top Pic via Kirkbadaz, who writes:

Homeless man beneath bridge before Boland’s Mills where Dev saw no action for a week 100 years back.

Scott De Buitléir

September 1913 (WB Yeats)