Published Poetry

Link to a poem I wrote in 2014  published by


The Disillusioned Citizen

As I sit in my cold, cold house

Sticking bubble wrap to my single glaze,

The slap of the letter box like a slap to my face,

Cold as the air, in an unemployed haze.


Each day the horrors of my future lie in suspension

No letters of job offers, hope, and acceptance; Its beyond comprehension

Plenty of bills though, they keep rolling in,

Unwanted, unopened and thrown in the bin.

For their demands just cannot be met,

It’s a number of weeks till my house is for let.


Never have I experienced such rejection,

Something is wrong with this country, a malaise; no, an infection.

A glitch in the system, an error of ways,

The dismissal of citizens through their ivory tower gaze.


A hidden tax that wasn’t part of this IMF deal,

The sanity and wellbeing of our citizens they covertly did steal.

For this is the tax with the human cost,

A generation of proud and confident citizens, long gone, now lost.


Not to mention our youth who have fled like sheep,

A drain on society, we cannot afford to keep.

To far-flung places they must seek,

For a future in Ireland is pitiful and bleak.


This assault on individuals has a ripple effect,

The stigma, the shame and stifling disconnect.

Amongst families and communities that struggle alike,

It spreads and contaminates, a thorn, a spike,

That pricks and torments the psyche of a nation

And for this we must all stand in condemnation.


We are lead to believe that terrorism is real,

An external force, internationally concealed.

I tell you fear not the elusive, the intangible, and the mythical.

But look closer to home at something much more political.

The real terror of this nation lies interior,

A circus of sorts, nothing less than inferior.


A political system that represents façade

And political incompetence demonstrates the ridiculous charade.

The murkiest of places, a filthy regime!

And citizens just cogs in this rancid machine.


So! What can we do? Accept defeat? Or take to the street?

And demand our rights from the greedy elite.

No give and take they dare share,

With their pillage and plunder, it’s unjust and unfair.


My friends and family I’m sure would agree,

That there is nothing particularly “sinister” about me.

Like salt to a wound this government digress,

From the hardship, the reality and sheer bloody stress.


One can prod a beast so much,

Before it starts to roar, but you’ve prodded too much,

You goons, you fools,

The people say no more.


And so I ask in the name of democracy,

For each and all to not accept this hypocrisy,

Of State that bludgeons and thwarts at our rights and humanity,

And put a stop to this nastiness, this chaos, this maddening insanity.