Paddy O’Flynn and his sidekick called Dunne
Decided to rob the bank with a gun
But sorry to say their planning would fail
And end with these buckos lounging in jail
The day that they walked in through the bank door
And told all the people to lay on the floor
Was an open day for the brave local Garda
Which made their task a little bit harder
They both left the bank in a great deal of haste
Deciding on flight as a preference to waste
The Garda then followed them onto the street
But fright had given them wings on their feet
Down the back alleys and over the walls
Desperately running and ignoring the calls
Of Garda and public annoyed at their plan
To steal the cash of hardworking man
Before very long they were cornered at last
Their confidence gone–the die had been cast
When finally their eyes could see through the gloom
There was something familiar about this dark room
The door they’d run into led into the cellar
Of a pub they both knew–the Hearty Goodfella
Resigned to their fate of life in a jail
They started to sup from a stainless steel pail
The stand-off was long the lads drank their fill
So drunk they put cash in an old rusty till
The report from the Garda was said to declare
They’d never arrested a happier pair
Their raid on the bank was not a success
In fact you could say it was all just a mess
The firearm they carried was just a toy gun
A total disaster for Paddy and Dunne
By Don Holmes
My head is spinning
The world seems surreal,
I can’t explain it
It’s just how I feel,
For every footprint
Left in the sand,
For every person
Walking hand in hand,
I feel their love
But is it true,
Do their feelings run deep
Like mine do for you?
Do they smile, just because,
Will it be forever
Like it is for us?
I sometimes sit and wonder why
Why do you love me,
Why do you try?
I know we will last
I know our love is pure,
We will never be
A lost print on the shore.
By Abbe Cutforth
Our eyes are closed to many things,
We look and don’t always find,
For things that are important,
To our eyes are blind.
Like natures wonderful creation,
It was created for all to see,
For all the things he did create,
Were meant for you and me.
Open your eyes to suffering,
Open your eyes to pain,
Open your eyes to understanding,
So that you may see again.
We only see what we want to see,
The rest is hidden from view,
Seek out the truth and you will find,
Clear vision will come to you.
For your eyes that once were blinded,
Are now open so wide and clear,
So don’t be blinded by deception,
Jealousy or fear.
We are all Gods children,
Equal in every way,
Only man has failed,
That is why we have problems today.
So don’t be short sighted,
Thoughtless and blind,
Just open your eyes and be honest,
Be truthful, loving and kind.
And remember as you go through life,
Your eyes are there to survey,
Do not stumble in the darkness,
Don’t let problems get in the way.
Just ask for help,
And you will find,
Those that now see clearly,
Were the ones who once were blind
By Malcolm Bradshaw
Entered for 6th competition
On 06.07.2010
My wife has weakness for pallate,
for sweet things she overly cares
sometimes I think she would rather
be married to a chocolate eclair
or giant sweet toffee apple
or a silky smooth galaxy bar
or a big bag of popcorn
or a wrapped-chocolate assortment jar
Does she know how stupid she looks,
does her stomach not say to the brain
‘look here! stop trying to explode me
Its too much, are you insane?’
She cheats on me all day long
lusting for american cookies
Its honestly plainly absurd
like an addict always at the bookies
One night I came home from work
I found her alone by the bed
she was guilty by this fact
when I turned on the light, she was red.
Red with passion in the form of jam
smeared all over her face
and the filthy clothes
of jam donuts disposed
by the door,
where they had first embrace
I could smell the scent of sugar
lingering gross in the air
and I found him at last
by the involved milk glass
I warned him, ‘you’d better beware’
‘I’d finish you off in a second
and sweet my revenge it will taste
To think a mere donut
could take captive my woman
well villain, your hope is misplaced!’
And with that I threw him asunder
into the waste paper bin
He bled to death there all over
corpses of past lovers therein
She ran over to me and she cried
‘Oh Darling, please don’t be cross
He tried to force himself on me
I told him I did, to get lost
But he wore some toxic perfume
That sent me quite into a trance
And I was not myself my love
when I succumbed to him temptuous glance’
‘There there my dear I forgive you
but please, you’re breaking my heart
I can offer much more
than any donut or bar
what d’you say, lets make a new start.’
Fast forward a year and oh bliss,
my wife is reformed from her ways
Not a sweety in sight, and I’ve searched alright
no longer the guilt in her gaze
Its true she’s addicted to cheese
and is quite the adulterer with ham
and bread crumbs I find
on the floor with the rind
but not a drop worth of jam!
for sweet things she overly cares
sometimes I think she would rather
be married to a chocolate eclair
or giant sweet toffee apple
or a silky smooth galaxy bar
or a big bag of popcorn
or a wrapped-chocolate assortment jar
Does she know how stupid she looks,
does her stomach not say to the brain
‘look here! stop trying to explode me
Its too much, are you insane?’
She cheats on me all day long
lusting for american cookies
Its honestly plainly absurd
like an addict always at the bookies
One night I came home from work
I found her alone by the bed
she was guilty by this fact
when I turned on the light, she was red.
Red with passion in the form of jam
smeared all over her face
and the filthy clothes
of jam donuts disposed
by the door,
where they had first embrace
I could smell the scent of sugar
lingering gross in the air
and I found him at last
by the involved milk glass
I warned him, ‘you’d better beware’
‘I’d finish you off in a second
and sweet my revenge it will taste
To think a mere donut
could take captive my woman
well villain, your hope is misplaced!’
And with that I threw him asunder
into the waste paper bin
He bled to death there all over
corpses of past lovers therein
She ran over to me and she cried
‘Oh Darling, please don’t be cross
He tried to force himself on me
I told him I did, to get lost
But he wore some toxic perfume
That sent me quite into a trance
And I was not myself my love
when I succumbed to him temptuous glance’
‘There there my dear I forgive you
but please, you’re breaking my heart
I can offer much more
than any donut or bar
what d’you say, lets make a new start.’
Fast forward a year and oh bliss,
my wife is reformed from her ways
Not a sweety in sight, and I’ve searched alright
no longer the guilt in her gaze
Its true she’s addicted to cheese
and is quite the adulterer with ham
and bread crumbs I find
on the floor with the rind
but not a drop worth of jam!
by Emily Nash
entered for 4th poetry competition
on 18.02.2010
Touchline shouting, that’s all I ever hear,
I’m so confused and filled with fear.
I’m only ten years old and football should be fun,
But with all this noise I don’t know which way to run.
“Get back in defence!” my manager shouts.
Dad shouts, “Get up front and deal with these louts!”
Loud mouth supporter, who knows all the rules.
(He takes the rest of us for fools)
Shouts, “What are you doing lad? Your head’s in a spin!”
Is it any surprise, with all this din?I am only a boy, so why do you all try to destroy, what I’d love to enjoy?
I’m so confused and filled with fear.
I’m only ten years old and football should be fun,
But with all this noise I don’t know which way to run.
“Get back in defence!” my manager shouts.
Dad shouts, “Get up front and deal with these louts!”
Loud mouth supporter, who knows all the rules.
(He takes the rest of us for fools)
Shouts, “What are you doing lad? Your head’s in a spin!”
Is it any surprise, with all this din?I am only a boy, so why do you all try to destroy, what I’d love to enjoy?
FOOTBALL SHOULD BE FUN
© Simon Icke 1998 Aston Clinton. UK.
As a parent and a youth team manager , this poem was written on behalf of all young boys and girls everywhere who would like to have fun whilst learning the game of football.( If only parents, adult family members and managers and coaches would let them.) This poem was first published in Aston Clinton School’s anthology of poems. ‘Poetry in Motion, Football! Football! Football!’ Published Nov 1998 by Simon Icke. Priced £2.99 plus postage. ISBN 0 9534562 0 X (now out of print).
Further football poems can be found on www.footballpoets.org
Entered in 5th competition 06.06.2010
I have never been so aware
Of one man so prone to care
Of one man so prone to care
Of another’s whereabouts
Of what you do when you are out
Who’ll act the same when they are there
And all they do if sit and stare
Who let you know you’re being watched
And always looking at the clock
Especially if you’re to dare
To talk to him with shorter hair
That really is that bit too much
You’ll make him shout and scream and fuss
And you will cry
And I will stare
And hate to see you in despair
And in a day
You’ll say you’re fine
And hide behind well rehearsed lines
You know that I can’t understand
Why you will sit
Beneath his hand
‘Cause you are scared to be alone
You sit and cry
And mope at home
You’re scared to venture out at night
In case he has some fabled fright
I’ll never fully understand
How you can sit and love the man
Who’s grasp on you is getting tighter
I’d always thought you were a fighter
by Louise Watson
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