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Author Archives: The Crazymad Writer
Ireland is (sadly) a Cesspit
Ireland is a cesspit,
Mired by bankers’ waste,
Brought down by their corruption,
Destroyed – and with such haste.
*
Where, oh where is the justice,
To punish these men of shame,
To make THEM pay for what they did,
Why aren’t THEY held to blame?
*
Why is it us, the average man,
And woman who takes the pain?
What did WE do, to be punished so,
We are CERTAINLY not to blame.
*
I think it’s all a part of some,
Big plan by those up high,
To take control of the world’s affairs,
To enslave us until we die.
*
You might laugh me, and say I’m mad,
Thinking such things – and how,
But the day will come; you’ll see that I’m right,
I only wish you’d see it now.
*
I say remove those jerks, those men in suits,
Each and every one,
Politicians too; they are just as bad,
Don’t rest until they are all gone.
*
Let’s start a New World Order, I say,
In which we, the people, soar high,
Where we can live in peace and wealth,
Unchained from corrupt men’s lies.
*
This day will come, make no mistake,
Men in suits, bereft of sense,
You will be punished, held accountable,
You’ll get your comeuppance!
*******************
Here we go Round the Mulberry Bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning
*
This is the way jump out of bed, jump out of bed, jump out of bed
This is the way jump out of bed on a cold and frosty morning
*
Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning
*
This is the way we run downstairs, run downstairs, run downstairs
This is the way we run downstairs on a cold and frosty morning
*
Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning
*
This is the way we mitch from school, mitch from school, mitch from school
This is the way we mitch from school on a cold and frosty morning
*
Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning
*
Here we go gathering nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts in May
Here we go gathering nuts in May away from school this morning
*
‘Oh, those naughty, naughty children!’
Mary had a ‘Little’ Lamb
Mary had a ‘little’ lamb so round, so fat and plump,
It tried to follow her everywhere but it couldn’t even jump.
*
One day when Mary was not at home it set off in a trot,
Searching all about the place to see just where she’d got.
*
Despite it searching everywhere the poor lamb could not see,
That Mary had eloped and gone with Jill’s young Jack, hee, hee.
The Crazymad Writer is alive and well and living in….
Somewhere on earth, I think
Stories for children and young at heart adults
What goes around comes around
What goes around comes around
When the minister responsible for intruding these abominations announced their arrival, he told us, he promised us, that they were going to be operating OVERTLY.
What he didn’t tell us, though, was that it was only for six months.
After that they have been operating covertly as was the plan
from the outset.
Is there such a thing as a politician who can actually tell the TRUTH, the WHOLE TRUTH, and nothing but the TRUTH, without misleading the populace in the process?
It was no April Fool’s Day yesterday — but it might well have been, watching the shenanigans going on. And it was certainly no joke for the driver of a clamped mobile speed-camera van. The van was clamped on Dublin’s Pembroke Road and the driver had to stump up €80. Dublin City Council confirmed that the van was owned by GoSafe, the private company that operates the mobile speed-camera service around the country for the gardai. It is understood that the van was clamped because it did not have a valid permit. The gardai would not comment yesterday.
Is this Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia?
Is this Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia,
The one he drove so carelessly,
The car he almost destroyed,
In an evil, swirling tree?
*
Or is it another Ford Anglia,
Protected, cosseted, well cared,
A car, discreet and so boring,
An entirely different affair?
*
Look at its gleaming paintwork,
And chrome so shiny and new,
No, this is not Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia,
Though, I wish it were mine – I certainly do!
*****
Buried Treasure
When I am asked the most memorable thing that I can remember
from my childhood days, I am always in no doubt as to what this
actually is. I was ten years of age-I can still remember it so clearly –
and we were on holiday in Ireland, out walking, taking a stroll on a
wonderful stretch of deserted coastline. As I walked along, ahead
of my parents and brother and sister, the view beneath my feet
absolutely enthralled me. I marveled at the rocks, the pools, the
seaweed, in fact everything.
Suddenly, my attention was drawn away from this natural wonder,
to something decidedly man-made, reflecting the suns rays back up
to me. I bent down, wondering what it could possibly be, and was
astonished to find an exquisite golden-coloured locket and chain,
half hidden in the beach debris. I picked it up, studying its detail.
I was enthralled by what I had found, and I was amazed at how
heavy, highly detailed and exquisitely crafted it was. I inspected it
further. On one side of the locket there were five small glass domes
surrounding a larger one. Beneath each of the smaller domes a lock
of human hair had been carefully inserted, while under the central,
larger dome two locks of hair had been carefully positioned.
Turning the locket over, I saw seven names carefully engraved onto
the golden coloured surface. And believe me, at ten years of age
something like that really gets your imagination going!
Was it an amulet? I wondered. Well, in my mind at that tender age
it most certainly was. Some people have even asked was it an
inspiration for The Amulet of Oxmosis that I featured in
my children’s novel Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU. The
only thing I can say to that is, “Read the story and decide for
yourself!!!”
*********************************
Aliens Landed in Ballykilduff
Aliens landed in Ballykilduff,
Aliens landed; that is a fact,
In the dark of the night it happened – it did,
At the end of my garden they landed, then hid.
*
Breda, dear Breda, wake up, will you please?
Something is happening; I am all in a tizz!
Leave me alone, she answered, because I am beat,
With those words on her lips, she fell fast asleep.
*
Donning my gown and slippers I left,
Her sleeping so soundly as into the kitchen I crept,
Searching for light; the torch, my best friend,
Then into the garden I stealthily went.
*
Down the long garden, man and torch progressed,
Then I climbed over the fence, into the field with its guests,
Pointing my torch at little grey men,
I saw Aliens a plenty around a UFO, broken.
*
What are they doing? I wondered out loud,
Signalling my place, my location – and how,
Pointing their guns, the Aliens zapped me with rays,
Blue, yellow and green, orange and grey.
*
Thinking my time was finished, all gone,
I fell to the ground, awaiting the anon,
Sorry about that, one of them said, helping me up
We thought you were a cow, wanting to gobble us up.
*
What are you doing? I asked, with curious eyes,
Seeing them cutting the grass and taking it inside,
We are refuelling our spaceship, he told me quite proud,
We get one light year per armful, he said out aloud.
*
That’s amazing, I said, can I see inside?
Sorry, he answered, it’s too small for your like,
Laughing, I asked if there was anything the need,
Yes, he told me forthrightly, can we have some tea?
*
Tea? I asked him, you drink tea way up there,
In outer space, with its atmosphere rare?
No, silly, he replied it’s to pour down our boots,
We never travel with them empty, forsooth.
*
You pour tea down your boots? I laughed out loud,
What does it do, make you fly like a bird?
It does, he told me, how did you know that?
Was your mother or father an alien, or even your cat?
*
Just then I heard something, someone calling to me,
Gerrard, wake up, its morning; here is your tea,
Opening my eyes, I saw Breda, my wife,
Offering the cup of plenty, tea, my life,
*
Where are my boots? I asked her, though still half sleep,
I want them, I need them; oh where are they please?
They are under the bed, here, she said offering them to me,
Why do you want them before drinking you tea?
*
Accepting my boots, I poured in the tea,
What on earth are you doing? she asked warily,
I don’t go anywhere, I told her, without filling them first,
Can I have another cup, I asked, because I sure have a thirst.
*
The moral of my story is this:
Don’t go anyway near Ballykilduff, GIVE IT A MISS,
For strange things are going on down that neck of the woods,
Like Aliens driving campervans – and Fiats, to boot,
*****************************
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**********
SOME PEOPLE CALL ME THE NEW ROALD DAHL.
I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU CALL ME
AS LONG AS YOU ENJOY READING MY STORIES.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 