Sit Down on this Couch (With a Shrink)

To sit down on this couch, I never thought

I’d be here, yet this strange life has brought

Me to this place, where I’ve become wrought

With these anxieties that have me caught

In the mousetrap of crippling past vocations

Haunting my mind and stilting aspirations

So here I find myself sharing my vexations

With a stranger, a long way off from elation

I sit down on this couch, not to think

But to carve open my head to a shrink

And let him see inside, how I just sink

Sometimes under life’s weight, the brink

Of fragility and battened up tears

Vulnerability and fattened up fears

That I try to hide but truth always rears

When nerves are fried, breakdown nears

To sit down on this couch, I now believe

Is the beginning of the long path to retrieve

The sense of balance and peace to conceive

Medicine for the silence and keys to relieve

The pressure that’s been building up inside

Gets less, the more I’m willing to confide

The more I’m willing to swallow my old pride

And learn the lessons that need to be applied



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





“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

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
Copyright of Ken Hume 2015


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




It’s hard to take

This type of heartbreak

Unfair & unnecessary

And bitter to taste

It doesn’t seem right

This cruel twist of fate

Where is the mercy?

Where is the grace?



I know that ye were sick

And I know ye weren’t well

Yet I feel like I’ve been tricked

By this double death knell

I just wasn’t prepared

For this loss

This week of pure hell

This type of heartbreak

Casts a dizzying spell


These 2 pieces of my heart

Whose shoes I once laced

2 cornerstones of my life

Snapped up by the angels

Departed in such haste

Just over a week

The longest 8 days

Of my life. I weep



I know that ye were sick

And I know ye weren’t well

Yet I feel like I’ve been tricked

By this double death knell

I just wasn’t prepared

For this loss

This week of pure hell

This type of heartbreak

Casts a dizzying spell


I’m punched in the guts

All over the place

Knocked out to the canvas

I’m lost and I’m dazed

At a complete loss

Now I’m left to chase

Around in circles

Before they are erased



I know that ye were sick

And I know ye weren’t well

Yet I feel like I’ve been tricked

By this double death knell

I just wasn’t prepared

For this loss

This week of pure hell

This type of heartbreak

Casts a dizzying spell


My battered heart

And my tear stained face

Are left behind to recover

Refresh and retrace

A lifetime of memories

And a happier place

Mum & Dad, how I’ll miss you

Ye have now run ye’re race.


Written by 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



In the Name of


In the name of the Father,

Son and Holy Spirit

I baptise you

Water poured

On baby’s head

3 times

To sanctify her

Immortal soul

To ensure her

Eternal safety

To embark her

On her spiritual journey

Welcome her

Into the Catholic Church

Is she aware of what’s going on?

Is she completely oblivious?

Does it guarantee any of the above?

I don’t know.

I am torn.

I am conflicted

Between 2 faiths

Long evicted

From my thinking



Therein lies the rub

For I do not want her

To be faithless

Or without belief

Either in a higher power

Or herself.

For I know how empty

And hopeless

This can be.



Ken Hume

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


View original post 50 more words

Blog at

Up ↑