By Lorcán Murray

Mixed IV’s


Let cold winds howl

And soft rain speak

Oft mutters quiet

Dare not repeat

To quest for such

A glory’s peak

To fly once more

Instead of sleep

Act I


For all our parts combined

Bear fruits as succulent in mind

As Greek ambrosia, or Roman summer wine.

So beg from our groggy confusion define

Where an acceptable space to find,

Or flying body toe a line?

So in sinking pirates we have freed

Our own armada to sail the seas

In daring crest we conceive

To ride the wave of opportunity.

Act II

Killing Mercutio

Is it a quick mercy to lay down

Forever the hopes of such upstart youths,

Whose crime but a smile in the way

Of a Limerick armies marching boots?

Well our spirits warmed upon their pyre

Our progress played to snapping bones,

A future gazed back in the flames

Of precise throws and tightening zones.


The Old Enemy

Fire forges the finest steel

That time tempered to its will

So hardened it is drawn to feel

The strength amidst a Maynooth chill.

But weapons do not a warrior make

Rather muscle, nerve and sinew

A unity that will not shake

And faith in time to see things through.

No greater sound to the divine

Than heretic cry or traitor sneer,

Still better yet when friends combine

To lay to rest an ancient fear.

 And so we turn to face the final test,

Which in glory reach and history rest.

Act IV

A Tragic End

The Promised Land would seem absent,

Without the guards at the gate

But heroes do not destiny lament

Nor do we bow in the face of fate

We are nothing if not insolent

Even on the edge of a growing gulf.

They had pride, skill, experience,

And a silver bullet to kill the wolf.


With bitter defeat

We padded home

The day deplete

We still condone

The daring reach

Over cowards moan

For while dogs sleep

They dream in bone.



By Editor

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