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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

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Biography

Socialism-good enough for Jesus Christ, Jeremy Corbyn, Ken Loach; good enough for me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I'm a poet-well, at least that's what my profile suggests-I'm certainly not a group ;-). In addition to writing about lambs gambolling around in fields, and daffodils and clouds, I have the audacity to ask questions and challenge narratives; narratives set by governments and their mendacious client so-called "journalists", and narratives set by verbocrapic academics. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- About my profile picture-why a photo of a manhole cover? I took it in 2011, on my arrival in the centre of Santiago de Compostela. I had walked the length of the river Loire, from Guérande in Brittany to its source at Gerbier de Jonc (625 miles): from there, walking to Le Puy en Velay, the start of the French Way of Saint James, the GR65 path, leading to Santiago, (very roughly 740 miles); a total of about 1365 miles. According to estimates, in 2017 300,000 pilgrims (tourists?) arrived at Santiago; I would have been just one of those people who would have trodden on or around it. A seemingly mundane object, but to me, almost a work of art of cultural and religious significance. It features an image which I recognises as a chalice, traditionally containing communion wine, a host, a wafer of communion bread, and the image of a star, the light of which is said in legend to have guided a shepherd to the site of Santiago’s (Saint James’) burial site. But why on earth would those images be on a manhole cover?

SAMPLES

What Period Poverty? She Said How do you fancy ripping tents up, Angie, instead of nipping to the corner shop? Here in the town of Stockport, Lancashire, when sirens sounded, townsfolk gratefully fled to shelter under arches stout and strong; but now, the stench of death pervades the air, the body politic is now corrupt; no air raid shelters for the innocents of Gaza under rubble, three months gone; death of compassion’s in her vacant stare, who, from hard times escaped, but soon forgot; her silence bought, her conscience is untroubled, as a grieving son’s manhandled from her gaze, “I want to show you photos of my mother”; but law and order’s jackboot takes him out; no feminist is she; no dignity for Palestinian women, who shred tents to tend to their most basic human needs; but money’s to be made from misery, British bombs and planes have greater clout. ---------------------------------------------- Vent your anger on people in small boats, on long-haired gorgeous blokes, who like to wear skirts; forget the yachts sailed by millionaire thieving scrotes, forget who welcomed to the UK, Nazis and Blackshirts, facts indeed are sacred, as someone said, but only facts which the sewer chooses to reveal, yes, no news is good news, what nearly thirty thousand dead? targetted journalists? they’d make the blood bath too real! so, what of the undeserving poor in far away places, how fare they, those phosphor-bombed cenerentole, brown folks, (not billionaires with rictus of botox-filled faces) will you read of them, whilst sipping your café au lait? At the top of the page, click News, then UK, Climate crisis, Ukraine and Football, oh yes, don’t forget that big Business profitting from murder, from hunger, from thirst and from pain, what a surprise! there’s no tab for Bombs, Genocide or Gaza, thank God, there’s calls for a ceasefire from honourable Spain, here, Christians say grace at their blood-laden tabula rasa. --------------------------- Sunday Prayers Yesterday was Sunday; which was our Sabbath; a walk in the park in the autumn sun. That was the day right after Shabbat, and that was the day after their Jumu’ah; Three days of prayer, of reflection and quiet. We walked in the park with family and friends in the autumn sun, then sat in the riotous children’s playground, which wasn’t so quiet for they were reciting at top decibels the age-old song, the ode to pure joy straight from pure hearts. Gran and I sat down right next to a couple with a babe in a pram whose brother and daddy were wearing a kippah. I’d a lump in my throat, a mind full of bad news, and I thought to myself: should I just say “hello, it’s a nice day isn’t it!”, but didn’t. Was it me not being British, -for once? So I held my tongue, perhaps through fear of saying something stupid such as: “isn’t it awful what’s happening over there”. There was a hole in my heart then where joy should have been; so I filled it with love, and saved it for them, and anyone else, who needed a hug. ---------------------------------------------------------- Not In My Name The evil they once did lives after them; Once more, the monster they created, strikes. But ever-strident hypocrites demand that I condemn out loud those evil deeds. They browbeat me, a great granddad who sees fresh hell before me, each and every day, in far-flung corners of this grieving world, with tears that well up in my ageing eyes, at images of newly orphaned babes, too conscious that some poor family’s pain, but for the grace of God could all be mine! The po-faced posturing is de rigeur, I see it in their searching made-up eyes, as glancing nervously at cameras, they bully loudly that I must condemn the hell of which we warned, time after time. Oh Jesus wept, the utter arrogance! Those foul and stinking whited sepulchres, who strut and smirk upon the screen and stage, in hope that all the world will cheer and praise the hollow extent of their faux outrage. Yes, I’ll condemn them – loudly – here - in spades: those decades worth of crimes, of blind eyes turned, those murderous bullets, aimed at journalists, at terrorised women, boys and little girls. The condemnation you demand’s for show, to salve the guilty consciences of those whose outright lies hid heinous bloody crimes. You’re a parliamentary foul-mouthed slanderer, who insist that I condemn before the world, all that which you for decades have condoned. Amen to that then-I’ll condemn you all: each bloody crime against humanity, without exception, your atrocities. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sonnet (On the sad news of the demise of the Siden House in the Black Country) Oh, would it were the happy truth: consigned Unto the flames of hell, THAT Crooked House, Where Mammon’s ermined scarlet whores decide Which trough they’ll dig with snuffling filthy snouts! Those arsonists so proudly pose in food Pantries, yet loudly praise the firefight; Rapacious brutes, they Gaîa do denude Of hope; they’re criminals, who firelight. Rich Croesus, his accusing finger wags, Whilst swag he thieves from "undeserving poor"; And Parliamentary bitter and twisted hags Dog-whistle again, the xenophobic boor. Who’ll spare the fuel, wherewith to torch this gruel Britannia’s grade one listing ship of fools? -------------------------------------------------------------------- In Praise of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (Written August 1st 2023) (Whose courageous personel have recently been subjected to racially motivated verbal and physical abuse) The words in German are from a revised version of Schiller’s Poem "An die Freude" Ode to Joy. I’ve paraphrased them in English to form the first four lines of my poem. Part of Schilller’s poem formed the basis of the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, an extract of which, was adopted by the European Union, on the grounds that it expresses the ideals of freedom, peace and solidarity. Following my poem is Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 with Vasily Petrenko & the European Union Youth Orchestra. (The bit relevant to my poem is to be found at aprox. 43:13.) Was die Mode streng geteilt, Let not prejudice’s sword divide us, Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Let all people now be brothers, A vision of beauty here does thrive Amongst these Britons of four nations, Where noble volunteers now strive, To protect us all from life’s privations; Humanity’s our common wealth, Storm Force-flat calm, no matter what, They serve our needs before themselves; Within our shores, some shelter sought, They to their plight compassion brought. -------------------------------------------- Modus Operandi-Conscious Cruelty National Emergency; declare a General Strike; Are we Hearts of Oak, or timid wee mice? Stop kissing their boots, tell ‘em to take a hike, I for one, am itching to get rid of these lice; Let’s call time on the bastards, and ring the bell, No more Mr. Nice Guy; the party’s over; If we don’t stop them now, we’re off to hell In a handcart over the white cliffs of Dover. Sick and hungry are suffering for greedy sods, Don’t forget Pinocchio’s “Let the bodies pile high”, “Don’t be a Granny-Killer”, that’s a Tory’s job; If they killed yours, make them eat humble pie; They’ve fucked Britain up, those total scum, Pissed down our backs, and said it was rain, Trashed public services for fun, For their private profit and public pain; We need a General Election now, Use your votes to kick out these scrotes, To your righteous anger make them bow, Don’t be at one another’s throats, On the instructions of the Daily Heil; We’re paying the price of offshore scams, Whilst vital public services fail; Frankly my dears, we need to make them give a damn! ----------------------------------------------------- Bread and Roses for All One swallow will not our glorious summer make, Nor red-tied frauds, true friends of labouring folk: No friend of mine can love Apartheid’s yolk, More swallowed lies, our nation’s heart will break: Britannia’s future guard, for our Children’s sake, Compassion’s spirit we must now invoke, Let zeal for justice fill our Hearts of Oak, Lest fate make any of us a Daniel Blake. Hail, men and women brave, North of the Tyne, “Homes fit for Heroes” once were within sight, Now Poverty’s a-knocking on your doors, Whilst craven Cowardice abets the creep of slime. Rise, march against the lies which our lives blight: Proclaim: “Bread and Roses for All” within our shores. Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh 16th June,2023 ------------------------------------------------------------ https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/18087e716a96d14ab69c0cd3ba2859fa4c1d6cdf/0_0_3377_2047/master/3377.jpg?width=1920&quality=85&auto=format&fit=max&s=791b549a51e406486060f56a8f727dbe Citizen Not Subject I Citizen, can let no king be mine, I will not swear an oath in your god’s name. You do not reign by any right divine, To my loyalty you have no right, no claim. I swear I’ll pay to these my true allegiance: The teacher, paramedic, railway worker, I’ll fight for their protection from malfeasance, “For all, not for the few” must be our charter. Our British Nurses have not bread enough, Our claps have not sufficed to pay their bills. Whilst royal snouts are snuffling in the trough, Our Sick and Carers swallow bitter pills. There’s something rotten in the state of Britain, Compassion’s now been flung upon the midden. ---------------------------------------------------- Thanksgiving for Sunday 23rd April 2023 It was an ordinary Sunday, ‘Til you turned up, then it was Fuuunday! We took along bread for feeding the birds, God’s creatures need love, both feathered and furred, We settled for the path with the steepest rake, Which leads directly down to the lake, Exercise for the legs, the heart and the mind, But to granddads’s old knees, not quite so kind! With your tiny hands, you held us both tight, Your right in gran’s left, and your left in my right, Gladly I paid for ice creams all round, I’d promised your mum, I was duty bound! We fed Canada Geese and ducks and swans, Sauntering and smiling, amongst the birdsong, Our blessings recieved in nature’s kingdom, Pure joy that we shared with our little Cherry Blossom! ---------------------------------------------------------- On Brexit (I paraphrase Rudyard Kipling's "Epitaph") We could not work; nor in broad daylight rob: Therefore we lied to please the Brexit mob. Now all our lies are proved to be untrue Our youth will never live the dreams we slew. What excuses now shall serve us among These defrauded angry old and young?

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Audio entries by Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Walking the Streets (18/02/2024)

What Period Poverty? (29/01/2024)

Fallacies (28/01/2024)

Slaughterhouse Red (23/01/2024)

¡No Pasarán! (18/01/2024)

Tabula Rasa (11/01/2024)

It’s Christmas in the Asylum (belated version) (09/01/2024)

To a Fellow Artist (29/12/2023)

Chrismus in t’ Asylum (25/12/2023)

النكبةAl Nakba: Day 27,375 and Counting…(edited repost) (18/12/2023)

More audio from Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh…

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Comments

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Nila

Sun 18th Feb 2024 14:45

Thank you Uilleam, for reading and sharing a response on 'When the days become nights', the comments and feedback makes me strive for betterment

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Ghazala lari

Thu 15th Feb 2024 05:47

Thanks 🌷

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Ghazala lari

Sat 10th Feb 2024 11:35

Thank you for leaving your precious comment over my blog. It's indeed a part of the verse from the Holy Bible.

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Ghazala lari

Thu 18th Jan 2024 16:05

I appreciate your views on the article on hijab. Thank you for reading and leaving your valuable feedback.

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Ghazala lari

Thu 18th Jan 2024 16:00

Thank you for reading my poem and leaving your invaluable feedback.

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Tommy Carroll

Sun 22nd Oct 2023 20:40

Cheers O'C
for your generosity of spirit.
Tommy
(and well spotted)

Nitika Prabhakar

Fri 6th Oct 2023 11:37

Thank you for reading my work 'Fear Not...' and sharing your views. Really glad you liked it.

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Sat 12th Aug 2023 15:36

Thanks for your responses.

Nitika Prabhakar

Sun 2nd Jul 2023 07:13

Thanks for adding your brilliant view on my poem "FRIENDS...". Much appreciated.

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winds solar

Fri 16th Jun 2023 21:04

Uilleam thank you so much for commenting on my poem


Attainments

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Cassandra Louise

Sun 19th Feb 2023 22:57

Thank you so much for your comment on ‘Taking care of me’. I’m so happy to know it resonates well with you 😊

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Tommy Carroll

Tue 10th Jan 2023 20:20

Askance + indeed 🤔🙂

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M.C. Newberry

Fri 23rd Dec 2022 16:42

My last blog is based on personal experience. I rarely if ever
move away from that credo unless making comment is based on credible reports noted elsewhere.
Compliments of the Season.
MC

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M.C. Newberry

Wed 21st Dec 2022 15:47

Since, for some reason not explained, I find myself prevented
from further comment on the blog "Muslim Terrorist"", I'm
responding to your latest comment thereon.
If there is a government position on the "Far Right", it might
justifiably be connected with their own inadequacy and the
alarm caused thereby in respect of the position society
finds itself in. The emergence of today's "Far Right" chimes
with the changes affecting - and the attacks from within UK society by those with beliefs and attitudes previously alien
to a historically largely homogenous society. The government
via the actions of its current police management has managed
to give the impression that the danger is actually the visceral
response...a convenient cop-out for their own shortcomings
and ongoing failures to put the protection and well-being of
UK people first in recent times - and currently - with the
destabilising influence of excessive unregulated immigration
grossly underestimated and infamously ignored across the
board. NB. The communists who attacked the Mosley marches
are regarded as heroes although they were violent responders
to little more than an unwelcome presence that was ridiculed
by the majority UK population of the time.

<Deleted User> (33540)

Wed 14th Dec 2022 16:35

Thank you Uilleam for your comments on Calendrical conclusions that I accidently deleted and I will look up the meaning of Calender. Thank you.

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Tommy Carroll

Wed 30th Nov 2022 23:01

Thanks Uilleam for your comment re "Complainers Complaint".
I agree with your point🙂

<Deleted User> (9882)

Wed 16th Nov 2022 21:50

Thanks Uilleam for commenting on -Autumns last leaf- which! I bloody well deleted by accident! GRRRRR!!





Rose 💋

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Ghazala lari

Sun 13th Nov 2022 20:45

Thank you for reading my poem and leaving your comment.🌷

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Red Brick Keshner

Sat 20th Aug 2022 23:49

Thanks for your much appreciated read and response to 'the budding senescent.'

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