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Humans  engrossed in making missiles,
Signing deals for showing skills
Forgot masks while designing wheels.

And now its real, without ventilators
Reveals all the feel
And Make us repeal,

It isn’t the first time, of ordeal
and yet we don’t appeal
for the freel.
freel=(land of the free )
Adam Lawler May 2018
Spring-fresh portent
Drowning broods
Eight droplets
Valued over an ocean

Sky, painting humour
Bristles shed resemble
Trembling shade
Mirrors facing one another

A lot of rain
Just as well
We don’t control the waters
     surrounding our borders
Or the ones inside us when
They break
​             and spill forth
​​                                  in regret

But at least we have Kodaline.

The thirsty fall
The swelling fret
They can mean worlds
Kathryn Crowley May 2018
This poem is now a song on

Soft day in general
some went off to pray at the cathedral
In our way we gave thanks
Sunset end of day temple riverbank.

Your eyes shone full of life
Living the dream in the west
where you believed that you had a choice

gentle vibes forever flowing wild.

So how many more must Ireland lose?
How many more before stopping the abuse?
Don’t follow blindly crazy preachers
Healthcare  basic feature.

Remembering Savita
Oh gentle vibes
Forever flowing wild.

Lack of true compassion must be a virus
Cults and politicians just desire us
But today the cure is here
Light will replace
Light will replace the fear
For every woman
Future generations.
For a free download of my song, go to my Soundcloud page or send me a message if you'd like me to E-mail you a copy.
Dark n Beautiful May 2017
May the roof above us never fall in?
and may we friends gathered below never fall out.
May the good saints protect us
And bless us today
And may troubles ignore you
Each step of the way:  quote from an Irish blessing**

When the living pretend to don’t care
About Obamacare, or this new healthcare
in this year of two thousand and seventeen  

His legacy is Washington new vanishing act
They daunting faces, as they smirked in triumph
The poor man burden, once again is left out in the dark
Washington DC is becoming the number one soap opera
An uncaring state of mind for the men in black

Who hold the magic key, who hired the pied piper?
Will pay the price:  the cry that will get us the most
is the cry of the children, in the final hours?

The wine bottle glugging sound effect as they praise
Cork popping, family bawling, and once again
We march for justice, when the living pretend to don’t care

Delay and Repeal:

I have not the power to stop them in the tracks,
All I can do is to write lousy poetry
reconsidered this bill: You have won
Now think of last man in the race:
Sophie H Mar 2017
Little hands, fingernails, unblinking eyes,
No songs of sleep and peace.
A muffled voice, a deepened frown,
They watched your heartbeat as it drowned.
Two birds one stone
Two lives gone
"A Catholic country," she claimed.
But what's that worth
When thousands flee
And never return the same?
Eight hundred buried without care,
Four thousand more rotting away,
No homes to go to,
Not a Christian prayer,
For the unborn, they are saved.
This poem is for the 12 women who every day make the journey from Ireland to England in an attempt to take control of their own bodies. It is also for the 796 corpses found in the septic tank in a mother and baby home in Tuam, whose ages ranged from days old to 7 years.

— The End —