By a scribbled name

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.

The hand that signed the paper felled the city
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

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Pepe Blessings

May you always have walls for the winds,
a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,
laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,
and all your heart might desire.

May St. Patrick guard you wherever you go,
and guide you in whatever you do--
and may his loving protection be a blessing to you always.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

May you have love that never ends,
lots of money, and lots of friends.
Health be yours, whatever you do,
and may God send many blessings to you!

May the sun shine, all day long,
everything go right, and nothing wrong.
May those you love bring love back to you,
and may all the wishes you wish come true!

May you have:
A world of wishes at your command.
God and his angels close to hand.
Friends and family their love impart,
and Irish blessings in your heart!

May you alway walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May angels rest their wings right beside your door.

May God grant you many years to live,
For sure he must be knowing.
The earth has angels all too few.
And heaven is overflowing.

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been
the foresight to know where you're going
and the insight to know when you're going too far.

May God grant you always...
A sunbeam to warm you,
A moonbeam to charm you,
A sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you.

May you have warm words on a cold evening,
a full moon on a dark night,
and the road downhill all the way to your door.

May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light.
May good luck pursue you each morning and night.

For each petal on the shamrock.
This brings a wish your way
Good health, good luck, and happiness
For today and every day.

May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

May peace and plenty be the first,
To lift the latch to your door.
And happiness be guided to your home,
By the candle of Christmas.

May the embers from the open hearth warm your hands,
May the sun's rays from the Irish sky warm your face,
May the children's bright smiles warm your heart,
May the everlasting love I give you warm your soul.

May you always have work for your hands to do.
May your pockets hold always a coin or two.
May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.
May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

May your thoughts be as glad as the shamrocks,
May your heart be as light as a song,
May each day bring you bright, happy hours,
That stay with you all the year long.

Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter.
Lullabies, dreams and love ever after.
A thousand welcomes when anyone comes...
That's the Irish for You!

May the good saints protect you,
And bless you today.
And may troubles ignore you,
Each step of the way.

May joy and peace surround you,
Contentment latch your door,
And happiness be with you now,
And bless you evermore.

May the saint protect ye-
An' sorrow neglect ye, 
An' bad luck to the one
That doesn't respect ye
t' all that belong to ye, 
An long life t' yer honor-
That's the end of my song t' ye!

May good luck be your friend
IN whatever you do.
And may trouble be always
A stranger to you.

May your blessings outnumber
The Shamrocks that grow.
And may trouble avoid you
Wherever you go.

These things, I warmly wish for you-
Someone to love, some work to do,
A bit of o' sun, a bit o' cheer.
And a guardian angel always near.

Whenever there is happiness
Hope you'll be there too,
Wherever there are friendly smiles
Hope they'll smile on you,
Whenever there is sunshine,
Hope it shine especially for you to make each day
for you as bright as it can be.

May your troubles be less,
And your blessing be more.
And nothing but happiness,
Come through your door.

May brooks and trees and singing hills
Join in the chorus too,
And every gentle wind that blows
Send happiness to you.

Lucky stars above you,
Sunshine on your way,
Many friends to love you,
Joy in work and play-
Laughter to outweigh each care,
In your heart a song-
And gladness waiting everywhere
All your whole life long!

When the first light of sun-
Bless you.
When the long day is done-
Bless you.
In your smiles and your tears-
Bless you.
Through each day of your years-
Bless you.

May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow.
May the soft winds freshen your spirit.
May the sunshine brighten your heart
May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you.
And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love.

He who loses money, loses much;
He who loses a friend, loses more;
He who loses faith, loses all.

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The Catcher in Rye

“She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands
with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have
to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they'd
bore you or something. Jane was different. We'd get into a goddam
movie or something, and right away we'd start holding hands, and we
wouldn't quit till the movie was over. And without changing the
position or making a big deal out of it. You never even worried, with
Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were
happy. You really were.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

All Along

The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.”
― Rumi

The Light Within The Dark

he who circumscribes the diameter of your thinking,
controls the circumference of your living......

check yourself,
Are you satisfied and the life your living
you sure tis God you're serving?

who made ol these rules,
wats the purpose of ol these schools?

now they say we need mo lawyers and doctors,
true
but we also need more sons like Walter Rodney
too
mo revolutionist and revolutions whatever their form,
soon

water the dreams of our sons, let them believe wat we preach,
lest they figure we can't teach them manhood so they take to the streets,
find their piece through raising the heat....
we will rest them in peace
as we bury them six feet deep

and the wine press shall be empty, none to serve
and the grinder shall be still, the wheel none to swerve
the silver cord shall break at half
and the cloaked man shall read his verse
for we shall have seen the black hearse
and the bloodied sky shall wet the earth
and every breathe we take shall be one closer to our last
then we will know time has come to pass

and we shall awaken,
our transgressions shaken,
and the sons shall be raised
and the generation praised,
not for not being broken,
but rising above it, towards the word that was spoken,
a great word born to last,
for bringing back the wisdom of the past
for being the continents greatest art,
for being the light that is within the dark.

heich.

Paint you pink

What we is ,
        Not what we not,
What we see ,
         Not what we thought,
Cruel reality,
         Swindling what we bought,

What we give,
        Suffices what we receive,
The air we breath,
        In gloom we sink,
A cancerous need,
        I paint you pink,
And to think,
What I see,  ain’t what it be
Tha purple haze…….,
Destined to carry me away

                        heich

Ballad to Soul

What we is, what we be
Secrets shared between you and me
Dreamy future, what we used to see,
Better if, we’d stuck to reality.

What we thought,
For thirty talents, sold n bought,
Our soul’s n minds, confusion lost
From cruel reality, lessons taught
You and me,
Rebels without a cause,
Battles fought
What we fought for,
Up until now,
For what? we know not
But I guess in this battle fields, tis we, we sought
In pursuit of what we are and what we are not.

Back then,
All we had, we had to give,
Free spirits still, regardless of what we receive
But now see,
Every action conceived,
Like your every action is out to deceive,
With every action I come closer to being bereaved.
Benefit of hindsight, this I didn’t perceive,
That you would be to me, a cancerous need,
A need from which I yearn to be free,
A victim or an advocate, of vanity n greed?
You see it all started with a single seed
A rolling turmoil ever since,
A single vice never suffice,
Hollows the inside before raising the surface.

Gone with half a life, the rest so cold,
True story hushly told
This a ballad to my soul

heich
knowledge of self be the first castle.......

Symptoms za Freedom

The
world

 is hollow yet it's full of crap, prepare to gamble.
I give you a handful of chips
tips on what's to come.
av cried a ton of tears,
drunk a tons of beer.
It's fun and fears
but learn to persevere throughout the years,
kept my ears open, eyes looking mouth locked.
Don't rock the boat- if you can't swim,
nobody may be there with a limb to lend,
a truth painful; yet unbend
too much church got them saying we need a modern day Moses.
new testament in hand, written in the blood of coming generations

But the leaders are scheemers and posers
what we need us is some soldiers
It's a post coloial generation.
the anger in a nation,
got the writing on the wall so clear that I can taste it.
Like a kid sniffin' glue somewhere tryin' escape it,
cause we vulnerable and naked got to show them
we can
we will make it

The Need for Rastafari

Fifty years ago, Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie I visited Jamaica, one of the most memorable and frenzied events to have taken place here. It's not that all Jamaica was enamoured by the Rastafarians' claim that God had visited Jamaica. It was just that we dared not ignore Rastafari. Then.
Today, his grandson has come to visit on the 50th anniversary, and there is no such national excitement over his visit. Rastafari holds neither the threat nor the promise it did 50 years ago. It has largely been conquered by Babylon, enjoying greater influence and support in exile than at home. Rastafari has been eclipsed by the forces of globalisation or, more properly, by cultural imperialism.
As a cultural resistance, Rastafari is a largely spent force. Or perhaps one could say, at best, that what we are witnessing is not so much its decline as evidence of its success: The things it fought for are now taken for granted. It has been so successful, its influence now so mainstreamed that we are tempted to say it has outlived its usefulness.

The Rastafarians have given us a lot. They forced black consciousness on many Christian churches which had a Eurocentric Gospel and which could not entertain a black representation of Christ.
Today, it is no longer radical for Christians to talk about a cultural identity as part of Christian identity. Even Evangelical Christians are now saying that black consciousness and Black Power can be taught alongside going to Heaven and accepting the Lord Jesus. Church liturgy and music have been significantly impacted by Rastafari acceptance of our cultural expressions and forms. We must never underestimate the positive impact Rastafari has made on us as a society, and how much we are indebted to this despised, oppressed and formerly marginalised group.

When we could only see God through the eyes of our colonisers and oppressors, Rastafari taught us to see a God in our own image. And what we were taught as the unvarnished, unadulterated Gospel, we later discovered, not least of which through Rastafari-influenced perspectives, were simply Western cultural baggage under the guise of universality. We must pay homage to Rastafari for opening our eyes to the deception foisted on us by Babylon.

Our youth need something beyond just grasping for prosperity. Prosperity has to have a philosophical foundation. If it is driven by sheer narcissism and an obsession with wealth and glory - what Rasses call vanity - then can't sustain a nation. Our social-media generation is hooked on the hip, the trendy, the cool things as defined by an American culture of hedonism and atomism. The medium is the message. Our youth are committed to nothing beyond themselves and their narrow dreams.

Read More _Ian Boyle