Just A Second

There's that sound again And I think it is a crime It reminds me of our life span Just ticking all the time We also have minutes and hours but they don't make a sound Passing along through day and night just looking to be found And what about weeks and months that adds up to the years When I think of all of this It brings me down to tears A second a minute, an hour a day A week a month a year It all begins with a second That ticking sound we hear Our lives stop at a certain time No matter how we've reckoned And the ticking sound will stop for us When we don't have another second

"THE BROGUES"

Once upon a time in the green, green land of Rogues There lived a clan of little people, called Brogues Brogue was a lilting language that enhanced the spoken word And brought a smile to ones face, whenever it was heard They lived within the forests, inside a ring of trees Quite content to stay that way, in a life of perfect ease They dressed in colors of the land, of course that was green Which in itself was security, they were never really seen On the toe of their shoe, hung a little bell, that only they could hear And when they heard that little tinkle, they would totally disappear Inside the ring of trees, they lived with crocks of gold They found it all beneath the earth, at least that’s what I was told A Brogue went astray one day, as he woke up from a long sleep His surroundings were unfamiliar to him and he began to weep He shook his leg in a call for help; he thought he would be found He was too far away, from the ring of trees, for them to hear his sound He was also outside the forest, unprotected from being seen That is how I met him, so tiny and clothed in green I didn’t want to scare him; I whispered and said “Hello” He looked up at me with teary eyes that seemed to say, ”Please Go” Instead I sat beside him, totally amazed at what I was seeing And I told him I wanted to help him, just like another human being He asked if I could get him back, to where you don’t grow old In return he would reward me with, one big crock of gold We rambled on through the forest, until we found the ring of trees Once he stepped inside, everything was green and I was on my knees I was all alone, he was gone and this part I have never told There in front of me just beneath a tree, was a sparkling crock of gold Michael Christopher Daly April 20,2008

WHY?

I just sat there staring In the fox hole that we shared We dug it out last night In the dark with vision impaired Mike, Joe and I wondered If the enemy was anywhere near We had lost our way in the mountains After being cut off from the rear I decided to scout around They told me to watch out for my head And when I squirmed back to the Hole Only to find my two friends dead I had not heard a sound And I must say I was scared But to think that my scouting venture Had to do with my life being spared I began to lift their heads While holding back a tear Only to see their heads fall back Necks cut from ear to ear Then the morning exploded around me As I stayed with my friends on the ground I listened to the bombs that were falling And I recognized their familiar sound After two more hours in the foxhole I was pulled out and still stared Trying to understand this happening And Why was it I that was spared. Michael Christopher Daly April 18, 2008

Stardom

Stardom, Recognition, goes together Yet, are distant in every way In years gone by, you needed talent And a life style without going astray Stardom is not a given right It is earned in the profession one chooses Through dedication and hard work They become winners and seldom losers The stars were put on pedestals Helped us forget our strife While all the time just acting Trying to portray real life That’s the way it was So many long years ago When we fell in love with them Before and after each show But today they reach Stardom Doing whatever they please While writers and producers Issue scripts so full of sleaze Many have found Recognition Through booze and drugs as well When they are pulled over They tell authority to “Go To Hell” We certainly deserve better To pass on to our youth We need those old time ethics To stand along with truth But we the fans are also at fault We pay to see their every move Maybe we should hold back somewhat Until their lives improve Michael Christopher Daly April 18, 2008

Sacred Ground

Back Clare Street is where it stands today, the Wild Geese is the name of the bar Where good people get together at night, for entertainment and a good old jar It was one of my few visits home and old friends shaking hands all night With stories galore being told, until the dimming of the lights It was then that I remembered, what was here before they sold beer When I was really a youngster, we played snooker and billiards, right here I went outside to look and confirm, that my memory was still quite sound Then faces and names took over my head, I was standing on sacred ground There was many a prank, set up in there and it was always done in a funny way But one prank I recall, outside this door, when Jer Sarsfield was caught in disarray There was an argument at the billiard table and Jer was in the midst of the brawl Until three of the guys he was arguing with, pulled him out into the hall They pulled off his shoes and socks, as well as his Sunday’s long pants Then pushed him outside the door, he answered with self thought rants Boys didn’t wear briefs or shorts, we didn’t know about things like that What do you do when your pants is gone and your shirt wouldn’t reach your lap It just happened in early afternoon, when workers came home for lunch Girls on bikes trying to get a good look, crashed into each other in a bunch Now to end this bit about the Sacred Ground, something that I never knew This was the site of a learning place, remembered by a very few I became quite attached to this site; I wouldn’t normally, as a rule This Bar was once called Broderick’s, where my dad had attended school. Michael Christopher Daly April15, 2008

The Brothers of Sexton Street

Innocent times growing up, when the bird was on the wing
I always thought that wrong because the wing was on the bird
School was all about learning, they pounded it in every day
Those Christian Brothers on Sexton Street, believed it was the only way

They wore the cleric outfit with the pockets down to their knees
In there they kept thick leather straps and it wasn’t for swatting bees
Those leather straps were shaped at the top, to easily fit in their hand
Two leather pieces sewn together, they really should have been banned

I do not know if our parents were aware, the brothers had this learning tool
And they used it without hesitation, apparently approved by the school
Now the brothers had problems of their own and at times were angry men
They got rid of their rage and anger, while using their straps on us, Amen

During the early to mid forties, us young ones let our sideburns grow
It was just a youthful rebellious thing, a way for us to crow
We knew it annoyed the brothers; our parents didn’t seem to mind
So we continued to flaunt it, without any thoughts of being unkind

It felt good going into class, knowing we had found redemption
Until one particular brother, found a way to get our attention
He would sneak up behind your bench, grab hold of that growing hair
Then yank you out of your seat, as the pain had nothing to compare

Today they have better methods, leather straps are gone as a tool
Students and teachers get together, helping each other through school
Well, I certainly remember their teaching, back when the leather was in
It is a part of my life’s foundation, though I didn’t think so back then

Michael Christopher Daly
April 2, 2008

Many Years Ago

Many years ago, in the Celtic land of Ireland Limerick was my City and I called it My Land Alive was what we were in every sport we played They kept us fit and busy, not many of us strayed It was parish against parish and the lines were drawn On the day of a game, fans were ready at dawn Songs about the parish, could be heard for miles around And those that had passed on could feel the shaking ground There were plenty of characters, who told their stories well But kept them clean and funny, not wanting to go to hell With a lot of wait to game time, they would meet for a jar In the home away from home, in the local public bar Hurling and Gaelic football were the recognized national games Rugby and Soccer were foreign and had the GAA in flames But to the fans, all was right and they loved all sports indeed Each game was discussed in the bar, no matter what the creed There was a Rugby match played one day, held in Thomond Park A team from Limerick was pitted against, a team from down in Cork It was a hard fought battle, as the fans kept up their cheer One player from the Cork side left the field, with only one ear Bandaged up quite nicely, He went looking for the telegram place To let the home town know who won, he didn’t want to loose face He formed the worded message, so they would understand the ravage So he penned: “We won the match, but I was eaten by a savage” So the home team lost, but the bars were still open They became filled up again with many signs of emotion Closing time at the bar, just created that extra strife Married fans homeward bound, must now meet the wife There was Mary Ann’s store, on Old Clare Street Where lots of pig’s heads were sold and also pig’s feet Many a marriage was saved, by the sign on her window aglow With a few simple words that read: “Take Her Home a Toe” Michael Christopher Daly April 10th,2008

The Ice Creram Carts

The Ice Cream Carts

“Oh,” to be that young again, especially in the spring
When the bee’s awakened early, ready to test their sting
The world seemed so happy and the sun began to shine
Greetings were offered all around and that was just fine

The ice cream carts were ready and we began to race
To where jingled bells were heard in their parking space
We crowded round the cart, with the white clad man inside
We ogled at all he had to offer and we wouldn’t be denied

Young voices could be heard, shouting up into the air
Calling to their mothers, for whatever they could spare
The mothers searched the coffee cans for enough to fill a cone
It was a time long ago when dad worked and mom stayed at home

We savored each lick around the cone and up its ice cream hill
Trying to prolong the tasty feast with all of our youthful skill
We spoke very little to one another as our taste buds were on high
We tried to shelter our precious gift from the sun up in the sky

“Oh,” to be that young again, especially in the spring
When the bee’s awakened early, ready to test their sting
Yes, mom was always only a shout away, when we played in the street
And seemed to be able to have the scents to give us this ice cream treat

Michael Christopher Daly
April 7th, 2008

An Invitation

Come visit me by the ocean Enjoy the sounds that belong there With the sun on guard o’er the waters And the birds whistling songs in the air It is here that you cannot be moody Your troubles are best left behind Our faces are mapped by our smiles And our friendship is easy to find You don’t have to be rich to enjoy it All you need is the time it requires To stretch out underneath an umbrella Relax and review your desires It is then that you will hear the sounds As it ebbs and recedes in its motion Orchestrated by the Maestro’s hand The music that belongs to the Ocean Come visit with me by the Ocean Obtain the cures for the mind You, will be amazed at the outcome Going home in a refreshed state of mind Michael Christopher Daly April 4th, 2008

An Ode To The Feet

It appears that we needed more speed As we wanted to get everywhere real fast I never could understand the reasoning Except maybe nobody wanted to be last There were few cars on the road back then Bicycles were the mode of transportation The horse and cart was also there And could get you to your destination But most of us didn’t have these things And we really didn’t need all that speed Our legs were our cheapest transportation They cost nothing and fulfilled our need They carried us through all kinds of weather Walking over mountains and streams Only asking that we sit down for a few moments And let the mind take their place in our dreams They came in many different shapes That helped us walk in all different ways And in the night their only request Was to rest them for the following day So now the reason for a poem like this To make us think well, of our feet To be kind to them that carries our weight And stop stamping them out on the street Michael Christopher Daly April 3rd, 2008

Do Not Forget Him

How dare I ask for God to help me I who has forgotten him in life I who has lost the road toward his house Now looking for help in my strife Where else can one turn to When all their friends are gone When all life’s music has stopped And all the songs went along Alone is where one is Left with a struggling mind With memories popping in and out And the good ones pretty hard to find How dare I ask God to help me When I remember all the promises I made For all the good things he gave me And he asked for nothing in trade The knife is still in my hand It appears to be the best thing to do And I hope that you can forgive me If ever I get the chance to see you A sudden shock hits my body I awake filled with sweat and steam I see in the mirror I’m still alive I have survived this terrible dream Michael Christopher Daly March 30, 2008

MEMORY OF A FRIENDSHIP

The morning had that fresh crisp feeling; the eyelids forced open the eyes I just didn't know where I was and the birds sang without any noise There was peace all around, which kept me from rising too fast It was a calm that covered the body, which was perfect to recall the past My mind hurtled back in time, when I went on an Irish vacation It had been ten years since the last one and twenty since my Emigration There had been many modern changes, for the better it was easy to see But no changes could be seen here, In Gods haven, the town called "KillKee" I am fully awakened at last after driving here the day before To find my old childhood friend, to hang around with once more We walked the Strand that morning, Cyril Downes and I by the sea Recalling so many old friends, who used to come here, "Killkee" Last night we went to his pub, t'was after a swim in the ocean We left footprints on the sand along with some tears of emotion We were welcomed by the crowd, Cyril sang " An Old Cowpoke"and "Raw Hide" He became the MC for the evening and I went along for the ride I had to leave the next day; our time together had run out As we waved at each other in silence, that's what friendship is all about Times like this, are etched in my memory; I look back on them with glee Thank God for giving me this one, My friend Cyril, Killkee and Me

"I Will Never Count Sheep"

Last night I lay in bed and had difficulty trying to sleep I allowed my mind to wonder, I would not count sheep I felt myself floating in the air in a time machine And memories of long ago came back, Oh So Pristine The beginning was lightning fast and I could hardly breathe Faces and places shot by, with names that I could not read Then I felt a slow down, through the window I saw a sign The machine had glided to a stop, as my feelings became benign A flashing number caught my eye, that number was sixteen Above the door of a house I knew, where I had many a dream Why was I back here, at the house where I was born? On Lelia Street, in Limerick on this dewy refreshing morn There wasn’t a soul in sight and no sounds that one could hear So I let the beautiful memories interact, before I shed a tear I see myself in bed upstairs, near the window to Lelia Street I listened to the strangest sounds of peoples walking feet I heard a sneeze brought on by a breeze, with the sound of a walking cane Sure it had to be, Bob McConkey who lived next door to the lane Again a sound, metal striking the ground from a boot with a metal heel That was the Doyle’s from Powleen; their boots had heels made of steel There was old Mrs. Shinners from Moore’s lane, just shuffling along her way And the strong beat of Sgt. Byrnes feet, coming home from a very long day Once again I’m inside that time machine and everything is flashing by Thoughts of things forgotten will stay with me, until the day I die It is amazing what the mind can do, how it can take you back in time And I’m thankful to have had this moment to put it into rhyme I never had to go to the window; these sounds always put me to sleep And as long as people wear shoes, I will never, no never count sheep Michael Christopher Daly March 11, 2008

St. Patricks Day (Limerick)

St Patrick was extremely bright

Came to Ireland to teach what was right

To show he's no fake

He got rid of the snake

Now we all sleep much better at night

Blessings

While it’s older I am getting My mind is still quite young It is there I hope to keep it Fresh and alive, not stung I have no conception of age Though sometimes, the body gets rattled But that’s a part of life Get it settled and on with the battle I have never been on a diet I have worked out so very little I have eaten everything on my plate And I am anything but brittle Yes, I’ve had a few setbacks But not enough to break the rock Thank God for all his blessings And I come from great auld stock Then what keeps it all together When attacked from around the bends It’s the strength and love of family And connection with dear old friends Michael Christopher Daly March 1, 2008

"ALL SOULS NIGHT"

T’was “All Souls Night in Limerick City long ago
When Franklin and myself, decided where we’d go
As Catholics, we would visit all the churches we could find
Say a prayer in all of them, for the souls we had in mind
As the evening passed to night, St. Mary’s our last Church
We said some extra prayers, leaving no one in the lurch

We walked on out to Corbally, from there we’d turn back home
Knowing we had done our bit, for the souls that were forlorn
Beyond ‘Dago O’Driscolls, so well famous for the jar
We stopped at Corbally Bridge, happy we had walked this far
The road back to town, was well lit at for all to see
But halfway over the bridge all lights ceased to be

Just then we heard a baby’s cry, from under the bridge it felt
We both jumped down the steps to offer the baby our help
The crying stopped, we looked around and silence met our ears
So back we climbed to the bridge, in each of us a little fear
I looked across the span, saw a man walking in alone
Franklin saw him too, just then the baby’s moan

We hit the steps again, running faster this time
The moaning stopped, so did we, then began our second climb
A look across the bridge, the man had left no trace
He didn’t pass; he didn’t go back, just disappeared in space
The moaning came and away we ran, all aglow with fright
With a memory, we have rarely told about our “All Souls Night

Michael Christopher Daly
Sept 10th, 2005

"A Limerick 2"

There once was a man from the Nile Who wore nothing else but a smile He was caught in the buff By a cop with a cuff Now, he is gone away for a while

"A Limerick"

There was a young man from Clonmel Who made love with every Belle Till a voice from a cloud spoke out quite loud With directions to a place called "HELL''

Did You Do It?

Did it ever happen to you

Strolling streets where you were born

Strangers getting your attention

By blowing on their horn

Asking for directions

Of a street you did not know

So you gave instructions

On which way that they should go

They thanked you for your help

And drove away content

Because the Village idiot

Couldn’t stand embarrassment

You could have said “I’m sorry,

I don’t recognize that street ”

But you had to look intelligent

And hide your indiscreet

Many years has past since then

Yet it has always crossed my mind

How could I have done such a thing

It was Oh so very unkind

To put them on a merry go round

And act just like a fool

It might be just the reason why

Later on, I returned to school

m.c.d6,2006

"Beliefs"

How do we get the fighting to stop
with the threat of death all around
There must be a way or someone out there
with a plan that is basically sound

Is religion the answer? or is it the cause
For the hate that prevents the cure
For each to his own, in what he believes
As he is sure it's the only one pure

But is seems to be true, that we fight for beliefs
And not for the home or the sod
Only one man is free from all of this grief
As he says "I'm An Atheist"....."Thank God"

Michael Christopher Daly
1993