here is one of my poems marcella hope you like it.martin mc gearailt here.

In the dark days of oppression
I the still of the night
A brave Irish rebel showed me the shining light,
He did it not for glory `he did it not for fame
He died for all of us in naked suffering shame.

The monsters of Britannia who would not give him his rights!
Robed Ireland of his sweetness and starved him day and night
O bobby I can hear you in my dreams and in my heart
I always tried to be fateful and to play my humble part,
But things have got so fogy and people that were one friends

Have betrayed what you died for, for there own selfish ends.
O from your last breath a dove did fly
Over the Belfast mountains and on words to the sky


your soul was moulded form a tear drop in gods eye.
In the most beautiful of dreams I walked along the falls
With the writing on the Belfast streets and on the city walls
I could feel you there in gods sweet air but sadly heaven called, .

thank so much martin. it's very sad. the dove reminds me of the 'Legacy' painting where all the doves are flying out of the 'H'.

thank you for posting this,

micheailin

..............my hero.............................
he did not join the cause for his own selfish needs,
freedom was his desire in the midsts of the wars machine,
not a drop of red or blue,but wild and green.

bobby was a normal lad with love hate and fears,
he came from the working class with sadness pain and tears,
bobbys name is in every rebels ears!.

he walked with his comrades into death and gods sweet arms,
even god could not resist bobbys gentle charms,
his intentions were always honorable and never out to harm.

his sisters were always in his mind,
He spoke of them often and he spoke of them in kind.

I’m sure all of the people who new him well,
Could say that he was the glowing light
even in that dark cell.

I will always think of him to me he was the one,
His mother was so lucky to have such a son.

poem-2this is knot your typical poem but its some of my bobby stuff......
..................our golden son.............................
The gentle wind blows through the grass on the of bobby’s end,
The people walked around with tear filled eyes,
such a young boy to go it was most terrible to see.

His mother is strong she has to keep her pain form the crowed,
But it’s the crowed that cant keep its pain,
The loss of this great lad was the loss of the golden sun,
Nine more fallowed and the sadness came over the sky again.

Young men are angry old men are wan,
Young women are crying old women cross themselves.
The brits make there self’s known! God forbid anyone should forget why this all happened.
My god! They have killed this man, a man the calibre of Emmet!!.






martin mc gearailt..to marcella sands

Thank you for that Martin. Have you considered making a journal yourself where you could post all your poetry? I'm going to send you an email to the address you posted above. :)