I am a Leaving Cert student this year.
My life's work rides on this set of exams
So they say...
Currently, I'm trying to get my history notes on the Eucharistic Congress
(I've an essay due)
They're on the floor
And I can't get them
My fingers are being ******
And my chair can't go any further
I need to get them
So I can do the essay
So I can study.
So I can get out of this... hole!
But I can't get them
I need to ask for help
My father will sigh, get up and ask in a weary voice
'Anything else?'
He stops short of prostration
(Like Alexander ordered)
It kills me.
But what can I do?
Everywhere there are obstacles
Stuff in the way
And I can't reach my books
I can't do anything
Everywhere is stuff
mountains of mountains
of Stuff.
An immutable, immovable foe
That blocks the table
I wish to study.
I wish to do well
But I drown in Stuff
It suffocates me and leaves
No room for anything
My brother took less subjects
And studied so in school
He didn't care as much
Did not see his luxury
It pains me that I have the know-how
But cannot coerce the Congress from the floor .
It pains me so much
To feel that little Johnny never studies in the fresh, open, air,
And my desire to do so in my hole that is abyss
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
I could write.
Boy could I write...
And I really should
after going on Facebook.
(I need a band-aid)
But my thoughts are stuck in my head
I end up wheeling up and down....
up and down.
Up.
And.
Down.
But my thoughts remain stuck.
And I end up writing this shit.
That seems to come to light .
I wish I could write.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
Can men please stop being *****
So Taylor cannot write her hits?
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
An saol na hóige
Deirtear go bhfúil se go hiontach
Go hállain, fiú.
Agus tá sé easca, an-easca dúinn
Á... na bréaga
Dearmadtar iad.
An brú, an strús
Na oícheanta nach bhídis ablata titeann ina chloadh
Agus an craoí-bhriste
Tá a lán uaillmhian ann.
Smaoite, aislingí, mianta
Ach táimid coisuil leis an ngarsúir beaga
Lan d'aisling ach nil linn fédir...
Nuair a fágaimid an deagorí
Deirimid go iniseoidh an fírinne dúinn
Ach tiocfaidh siad
Agus dearmadfar arís agus arís
Tá na glúnta milte
Agus ní thugimid faoi deara.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Shantaigh siad a bheith
Chomth grámhar is Méidé agus a hIonsáin
Shantaigh siad a bheith chomth cáilúla is Didió agus Aeinéas.
Chomth torthúil is Iocasta agus Éideapús
Bhog siad le chéile
Ach ansin tháinig na troideanna
Agus bhi siad chomth trodach is Alastair agus a namhaid Dáirias.
Scar siad.
Agus nil aon chór thart.
Bhuel, sin é an scéal, nach ea?
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I
Having decided to return home after seeing my friends
Victorious in battle
I launched Lucifer away from the gate.
The weather permitted my swift travel
And I was off!
Galloping across the tarmac.
II
The opening naughts were easy
I glided along like a swift, if unruly dragon
I knew something would be wrong: the weather was still nice
And, if you know Éire you know you're in trouble
I met fellow travelers who seemed to agree with me.
They brought their dogs in: wise move.
My muscles began to tire; but then again
They were always weak (pathetic ********
Hills grew steep and Lucifer rebelled *******
I found myself swallowed by mud; drowning, drowning in muck.
The journey goes on.
Continuing on my voyage, I saw several other travelers.
(They owned neither dogs nor Lucifer)
We detoured, talked and I gave my muscles rest
An labhríonn tú Gaeilge I asked.
They affirmed; I procrastinated.
The journey still went on.
I finished that stretch within a short space of time
I was tired and Lucifer was grumbling.
Went through the gate
Unto the estate!
III
The opening hills were grueling
Long unending, unforgiving mounds
My hands ached.
I reached the top of the hill,
Rocketing down the gravel,
The wheels compounding the stones
I was doing it! I was doing it!
I got stuck in the grass.
Oi Vey
I eventually got myself free
And there were only a few more hills
To wage war with.
II turned the corner after the last
And saw the ramp.
In my head, a variant of Chariots of Fire thundered in my brain.
(Greek composers are the best to give one inspiration)
I reached the ramp
Turned the key
And was home!
VICTORY!
VICTORY!
VICTORY!
P.S. The journey took me 10minutes.
CP's a *****
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Bhíomar ag imirt haca an lá sin
Agus bhí tu ina bhall de mo fhoirenn
B' uimir a dó tú: mise, uimhir a trí
Thog an fhoireann sealanna chun mo chathoir a bhrúite.
An 'carbad na tine ' mar a dúirt mé
Ba naíchóiste é i ndáiríre.
Bhí tú ag tiomáint
Agus bhí tú ag rá rudaí
Chun an leanamh a cuireadh isteach air
Coisúil le 'Nil aon seanc agat' nó 'Iontach! Fior-iontach!'
Níor dhúirt tú aon rud nuar a luaigh mé gurb inís Hamlet breacht dom.
B'fhedír 'dáiríre?' ach sin é.
Tar éis ár gcluiche
Ghabh mé búiochas duit
Bhí tú ina sheasamh ar an staighre
Bhí mise ag strechaint le mo bhúiochas
Mo mhaoltheanga: tá fhios agat
Chonaic mé an trua i do shúile
Bhí mé lag agus bhí fhios agat
Chuaigh tú sios staighre gan fhocal
Fádo, duirt tú go leor...
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
My new CD case is broken
It happened on Friday; post maths
I opened the case, reached for the disk and...
It broke.
I wept for seconds.
It was not even a month old
(Got at Christmas)
And yet, before my eyes,
It was destroyed
I was only allowed weep for a bit
After all, there was Stuff to do: Maths Irish French
And the cd was still there, right ?
Why do things break?
They need to, sure but why not
Slowly..
So that we may have time
Before the Brush Up
of our
Present Days
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC