There are…

Fathers who should never have been

They simply weren’t designed

Nor had they desired

The responsibility which comes

With the title that they craved

They’ll never be called dad.

And as a result, have maligned

The holy sacrament of fatherhood

By their wilful abuse or neglect

Of their progeny, their seed

The way they defile and reject

Put their own needs

Ahead of their offspring

And fail to protect

As a result,


There are…

Mothers who are fathers too

Who get on with the business

Of parenting quietly, out of view

Without complaint

Who nurture and provide

For their child

Doing the work of two

In place of an absent father

Absent without leave.

Too many absences

Not enough time to retrieve

Lost moments because

You were scared or unready

Such mothers deserve

Special praise.


There are…

Fathers who have yet to be

Predestined if you will

Fantastic and naturally inclined

To fatherhood

Who would have been

Protective, caring, loving,

Patient and hands on

Always there.

But they could never find

The right partner

Or nature let them down

Playing tricks with

Their masculinity

Leaving them with a low count

And high emptiness

Doesn’t seem right.


Copyright of and

Written by Ken Hume



A Man from Mars

A man from Mars
A tortured soul
An alien

Fallen from the stars

Far from home

Separated from his Venus

Now destined to roam

As a restless wanderer
Lost and alone
Cast out of the heavens

To atone

For some ancient sin
You can see the scars

You can see the wrong


He walks amongst us

From time to time

Only when he must

Only when he tries

To kill the loneliness

To uncover the rhyme

And reason for this test


He gazes towards the skies

Amidst the crowds

For a glimpse

Of the divine

To push through the clouds

And restore his sight


Then a light appears

And the spaceship descends

To take him back home

To bring his time on earth to an end


We are all aliens in a play

Strangers from distant planets

Looking for a way

To connect with other strangers

To make our stay

A little less lonely

More than okay.

To bring a little light

To bring a little ray

Of the supernatural

Into our everyday


Written by and copyrighted to Ken Hume




Consumed By Grace

Grace Anne Mary Hume

You are a gift from God

A new flower bloomed

From just a seed in the womb

Of your adoring mother

You have me smitten with your

Mischievous smile and inquisitive gaze

How your tiny hands firmly grasp the flimsy fabric of my grey jumper

As I walk around the floor singing nursery rhymes

Rubbing your back, patting it to wind you

Your head draped across my left shoulder

Eyes darting round the room, taking everything in

Smiling. Babbling. Cooing.

Then suddenly. Burp. Puck, Bleurgh

All over my shoulder. All over my jeans

All over Mammy’s PJ’s. The couch.


Evidence of you.

Eau de Puck, your mum’s new fragrance

A relieved smile. A grateful sigh

Now adorn your face.

Or how your deep blue eyes beseech me

Study me. Question me. And know me,

All at once

Whilst you play with your mum

Or tear into your milk with a ravenous hunger

As if it was the last bottle that you’d ever have

Fingers tightly wrapped around mine

In case I dare try to take the bottle away from you again


You consume us Grace

With the cuteness of your face

We are overcome by love

And wonderment for you.

Our present from above


Copyright of Ken Hume




Not so sure


Hyper critical

You cover your tracks

With verbal attacks

That are unnecessary


That alienate and hurt

That delineate your curt

Words and true attitude

Your absurd views

Insulting platitudes

A bundle of contradictions.

So you place restrictions

On family access to your kids

Their nieces)

You make an ass of yourself trying to keep a lid

Trying to pass yourself as knowing it all.

Who are you trying to kid?

You’re a control freak

Because you don’t allow them to speak

Kind words of encouragement

To your children

as you sit in judgement

Your disparaging remarks

Have cut through to the bone

And left their mark

Upon the hearts of people who care

Who have always been there

But no, you’re the Queen Bee

You reject their help

Because you don’t respect the wealth

Of their experience

You’re afraid of love

Of happiness

You don’t understand how close

A family can be

You can’t stand

Jealous of the love

Your children receive

Of the natural instincts

That make them so distinct


Written by Ken Hume




Her piercing; searching eyes

Penetrate my mental fortress

Burning; prising open a hole

She sees straight through me

Right into the gaping depths

The outlines of my dusty soul

I avert my gaze from hers

So she won’t see the total mess

Inside. Until I regain control

For if she gets inside my mind

I will be forced to confess

That’s it. I’m done. I’m sold.

I’ll be hers completely

For a lifetime, more or less

My heart, she’s gone & stole













I Never Knew

I never knew what what Love was

Until the day that I met you

Cut open; excavated and lifted up

Out of your mother’s bloodied womb

Eyes wide open, sucking

your thumb, into the Theater room

Your curly hair, matted wet

With your amniotic cocoon

Not a cry out of you

It’d be safe to assume

That you had been around before

This place, it wasn’t new.

An old soul reincarnated

As a newborn baby whom

Was gifted to us

This love.

It grows deeper.

Every day

The more that you grow

The more that you play

With your fingers

And kick your feet

With a smile that lingers

And a look that keeps

Surprising & entertaining

Intriguing us too

How could we be complaining

When we’ve dreamed of you

Since conception

You’re everything we’ve hoped for

And more besides

Surpassing our expectations

With your inquisitive eyes

And your sensitive nature

Giggling at the ceiling

For no particular reason

Pushing yourself up

On your developing legs

Crying out for your bottle

Nearly holding it in your hands

Our Princess


We gladly submit to your commands

For this is your Kingdom

And we, your loyal subjects






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


‘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


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



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


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





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.”

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