SEVEN HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX


Seven hundred and ninety-six

Barely born, young innocent souls

Never given a chance at life

Born out of wedlock,

Born out of luck

Considered nothing more than livestock

To be buried ‘neath sewerage; bricks & muck

By the cornerstone & bedrock

Of Ireland, the Catholic Church, stuck

Still in the dark ages

Who heaped shame upon unmarried mothers then

For “living in sin” as they say

Mothers

‘Give up your baby

Pay your penance in the laundries’

Never told of their fate

Treated them as dirty whores

Social lepers;

Religious outcasts

Thrown out of the Kingdom

Children

Malnourished; neglected

Emaciated & rejected

By the church and state

Complicit with them

Paying money to the run the institutions

Wash their hands

And clean the slate

Society complicit with them

By watching on;

Allowing it to happen

Indifferent to the massacre

Going on behind closed walls

Out of sight, out mind

 

Their voices now crying out

From beneath the grave

The echoes of which

Now reverberate loudly

Through the once locked up corridors

Of Ireland’s minds

Clearing the closets of all the skeletons

Lifting up the bulging dusty carpets

Under which years of dirty secrets lie

 

Written by Ken Hume

March 2017

Published in: on March 25, 2017 at 1:30 pm  Leave a Comment  

All about Saint Patrick


patrickislingtonpoetry

All about Saint Patrick

Across the green, the drummer’s drum
and as children cheer the engine’s hum
as floats row-in, they all have come,
to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade.

While flags they wave, a sea of green
beyond these eye’s, horizon’s screen,
uncovered corners, diaspora’s keen
to colour this charade.

Beyond what was, once simple lore
defined our culture and so much more
times knock upon a different door,
and I a riled-up renegade.

Now far away on different soil
my heart’s mistrust still on the boil,
you made me so, I learned to toil
for riches to be made.

And still it burns within my soul;
How keepers watched our empty goal,
Did nothing for us on the dole,
more cuts from sceptic’s blade.

Saint Patrick! Snakes’ still slither here
massaging figures over beer,
It’s time for change, I smell it near,
our dues are overpaid.

No more…

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Published in: Uncategorized on March 13, 2017 at 9:17 am  Leave a Comment  

Head Up in the Clouds


I’ve my head way up in the clouds

Eyes fixed upon the stars

Lost in my own little world

But my heart lies in your hands

My heart lies in your hands

 

I stand apart from all the crowds

Losing count of all the cars

My arms around me curled

But my heart lies in your hands

My heart lies in your hands

 

Inside my brain, I talk out loud

My thoughts in covered jars

How they dance and they twirl

But my heart lies in your hands

My heart lies in your hands

 

Though the blues do sometimes shroud

Handcuff me behind prison bars

Your playfulness doth a smile unfurl

Because my heart lies in your hands

My heart lies in your hands

 

Written by and

Copyrighted to

Ken Hume 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published in: Uncategorized on March 4, 2017 at 11:49 am  Comments (2)  

Ashes Upon their Foreheads


Penance for the public’s eye

To cover up a private lie

In the prelude to

40 days of lenten sacrifice

40 days of wanton artifice

Deprive yourself of sugar based induldgences

Yet indulging in this divine comedy

Of spiritual apology

Of confession without progression

Of tradition without perdition

Of spirituality without the reality

 

We’re just wondering around in the desert

Like Christ.

With sand on our feet

And no appetite

The hypocrisy of our theocracy

Has led to mediocrity

Sincere Insincerity

Insincere Sincerity

To cover up the severity

The ingrained temerity

Of the every day Irishman

 

Our Father who art in heaven

Must get to mass by half eleven

For their lenten obligation

Ashes without the sackcloth

Marked upon the foreheads

Of the “faithful”….

Departed

Long since departed

From faith of any sort

 

 

 

 

Published in: Uncategorized on February 23, 2017 at 6:02 pm  Leave a Comment  

WALKING A TIGHTROPE


 

The baby they yearned for

That new life for which they hoped

The expectation, the promise

Fragile; silent & cautious

For fear they won’t cope

With yet more disappointment

Heartbreak & despair

Another dream hanging by a rope

Fate’s random gallows

Executioner’s fickle whim

It doesn’t seem fair

Deciding our fate

Leaving us to grope

About in the darkness

Walking a tightrope

Of faded longing

Teetering

Struggling to balance

Our barely contained grief

And tears. Absolute loss.

With our desire for contentment

For Motherhood.

The longing to be a father

Heightened by the loss of his own.

But we put on a brave face

Smile through the strain

For our family’s sake

We walk through the rain

We pick each other up

Dust off the shame

Our mutual love

Sustaining us

Steadying us

Through the pain

Bringing us closer,

Strengthening our bond.

We’ll always have each other

We’ll always walk

This tightrope of life

Together.

 

 

 

Published in: on November 29, 2016 at 3:36 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Shadow Cast


On account of it being the 1st anniversary of my father’s death, I felt compelled to repost this poem I wrote shortly after his passing.

Ken Hume

“Are you John Hume’s son?”

They would inquire,
Once they had caught wind of my surname
“I am”
Came the immediate; proud reply.
“Nothing to do with his namesake John Hume up in the North by any chance”
They would pursue.
Both men of peace. Both much respected.

“I worked with your father when he was Hospital Administrator”
“I was in the Civil Defence with your dad”
“I used to work with him in the court house”
“Ah, I remember working with John in Kilroy’s”
“Didn’t he do the Mater Hospital Pools?”
“He was a good man. A kind man. Always had time for everybody.
Was an absolute gent. Always got things done. Always had a smile
On his face.”

“Who is this man?” I thought to myself
This man they call John Hume
The man with a plan
This man of whom they speak
With such fondness and high…

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Published in: Uncategorized on September 27, 2016 at 3:13 pm  Leave a Comment  

Easter Rising of My Heart


“EASTER RISING OF MY HEART
(Rebellion of Love)

On 29th April 1916,
After 6 days of ferocious fighting
Heavy losses; bloodied pavements
Battered ideals
Padraig Pearse agreed
To the unconditional surrender of arms
To the British Army.
They had made their statement
To the world.
Fiercely they had fought their fight,
Shed their blood
Then bravely laid down their lives
In the hope for a new; liberated Ireland.

100 years later
(Tired of waging constant war with myself
Of battling the darker side of me
Rebelling against the intimacy I craved
Keeping everybody at arm’s length
For fear of getting hurt)
On 29th of April, 2016, I Ken Hume
Agree to the unconditional surrender
Of my arms… my legs, my mind,
Heart, body and soul
To the ruler of my Island
President of my Republic
To the Queen of my Empire.
Anne-Marie Stones.

Royal, Unbowed
I will gladly bow to the knee to her.
My very own Countess Markievicz
Fiery; principled; headstrong
Courageous and compassionate
Willing to sacrifice herself
For the greater good of others
Willing to die for her beliefs
Willing to stand up
For the rights and liberties
Of those less fortunate than herself

This is the Easter Rising of my Heart
For this Easter Rising I will start
A Rebellion of Love
A Rebellion that will shove
Back all the foreign forces
That have invaded my soul
And sought to take control
A Rebellion
That will break down the walls
I’ve built around my heart

I will now gladly surrender
I will now gladly empty my guns
And lay down my arms
I will stop fighting
I will wave the white flag
And embrace the very thing
Of which I’ve lived in fear
The vulnerability of loving completely
And of being loved.

In the Easter Rising of my Heart,
I was shot.
Fatally wounded by her unconditional love
For me.
A bullet of undying affection forever lodged in my heart
A new; liberated me emerged from the rubble
Dead to self.
Alive to love.

This is the Easter Rising of my Heart
For this Easter Rising I will start
A Rebellion of Love.”

A Shadow Cast


“Are you John Hume’s son?”

They would inquire,
Once they had caught wind of my surname
“I am”
Came the immediate; proud reply.
“Nothing to do with his namesake John Hume up in the North by any chance”
They would pursue.
Both men of peace. Both much respected.

“I worked with your father when he was Hospital Administrator”
“I was in the Civil Defence with your dad”
“I used to work with him in the court house”
“Ah, I remember working with John in Kilroy’s”
“Didn’t he do the Mater Hospital Pools?”
“He was a good man. A kind man. Always had time for everybody.
Was an absolute gent. Always got things done. Always had a smile
On his face.”

“Who is this man?” I thought to myself
This man they call John Hume
The man with a plan
This man of whom they speak
With such fondness and high regard.
With veneration almost
As though he were a saint
To be revered.
A giant among men
Chosen to walk among us mere mortals
Without equal.
Yet treating everyone equally
Such high standards
Such lofty heights
Such charm and charisma.
I did not really know this man
Nor he me.
He was a stranger to me.
And I to him.
A mystery wrapped in an enigma.
Not a patch on him
Yet cut from his cloth
So something of him
Must have rubbed off on me
Right?!

Yet he loved me unconditionally
Encouraged my talents
Embraced the path I chose to walk,
Even though it wasn’t pensionable
Nor secure
Walking the extra mile with us all
Bending over backwards to support
Always expressed his pride in me,
Via our mutual translator:
My mum. His wife.
He said to her
“I wish I had Ken’s way with words”
I said to her
“I wish I had my dad’s way with people”

You cast a large shadow over us all dad
Spreading far back into a time before I began
Before I was a twinkle in my mother’s eye
Comforting and warm as a thick blanket
Suffocating and inspiring in equal measure.
Your name carried so much substance
And character. Had a gravity to it
So loaded with expectation and history
That I sometimes stumbled under its weight
A weight that I’m only now learning to carry
And embrace.

A rich tapestry of experiences
Sewn together by the same name
By the same man. Bound
Together forever by
The same man’s sorrow
Which made one family, two.
One family’s loss
Became another families birth
Multiplying his legacy
And casting his shadow
Way beyond what he could
Have ever imagined.

Written by Ken Hume
09/10/2015
Copyright of Ken Hume 2015

The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man’s determination.


Don Charisma


«The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man’s determination.»

— Tommy Lasorda


DonCharisma.com-logo-4 Charisma quotes are sponsored by DonCharisma.com – you dream it we built it … because – “anything is possible with Charisma”

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Published in: Uncategorized on May 6, 2015 at 10:58 am  Leave a Comment  

Social Networking Soap Opera


Another “private” family matter
Played out in public
On Facebook’s cluttered wall
A social-networking soap opera
With more drama in a day
Than a week of Eastenders
One couple’s nasty break-up
Someone else’s attention seeking bender
It’s an hourly episode
24 hours a day
Where you can watch people’s lives implode
While they strive to play
Out their laptop characters
For the Hollyoaks generation
Facebook pokes; procreation
Beginning & ending of
Relationships
On a small screen scale
Binning & rending of
Hearts
Where friendships
Are for sale
A pretty pose
A silly face
Take off your clothes
Happy disgrace
All to find & compose
A profile pic
A clever status
That folk will click
Like on
Maybe share
Comment on
Or just stare
At all your photos
Breathing ground for stalkers
Feeding ground for mockers
Saying whatever they want
Without regard for font
Proper spelling or punctuation
Selling their PlayStation
And losing their souls
While confusing their roles
Between real life
And imaginary
Inventing strife
With defamatory
Statements & comments
It’s all too common
Collecting friends
Like stamps
Rejecting friends
To revamp
Your social circle
Slag off
Angela Merkle
21st century definition
Of being ‘cool’
You need a revision
Get off your stool
Or the high-horse
That is Facebook
More like erase-book
Because you’re erasing
Your old self
And embracing
Your no-self
From a big fish
In a small pond
You got your wish
Your identity absconds
You’re now a small fish
Swallowed up by
The internet sharks
The twitter set smarks
Is it everything you hoped for
Is it what you eloped for?

Written by Ken Hume