April 24

“Their Blood, My Blood” by Adam Bourke – Winner of Junior category

Stones mark Irish which lowly lay, 

away from the fields and streets 

where blood is shed on rebellion day 

rest now quietly, never knowing 



 I pass stones in Boneyard roadside, 

my heart flows their blood, my own! 

To them debt owed, deed swelled pride. 

My family name, carved upon stone. 


For freedom, for liberty, no cost too high, 

wide fields and streets red with desire, 

rage of all Ireland once trembled the sky 

to control our own destiny, all we require! 


I am an Irishman, able to make choices, 

no distant entity to make life hateful. 

Forever and all time, I will hear Irish voices,  

the sacrifice immortal, green coloured grateful.


April 24

“Master of All” by Dylan Schweitnitz – Winner Senior Category

Silent as the grave,

Deadly as sin

I prey from above,

While I spy from within.


I wage war with the weak,

Seek peace with the strong

Finding art in the air,

Filling your ears with song.


I twist with sorrow,

I bend with grief

I break with regret,

I shatter in disbelief.


I kill your fond memories,

I make real your fears

I take away happiness,

And replace it with tears.


I am body, I am soul,

I am not generous, nor kind

Do you know who I am yet?

I am Master, I am Mind.

Category: Poetry | LEAVE A COMMENT
April 24

“Freedom” by Dan Ryan



Since the dawn of man, freedom was there,

Giving man the right to live and dare.

As man progressed, his freedoms grew,

He could talk with God, myself, and you.


While his endeavours became more costly,

Man enjoyed the right to speak softly.

As trees, bees, and many seas, felt the impact of his being,

Man kept profiting, not overseeing.


The luxurious existence of one’s life,

Did impact the planet with quite some strife.

Man did not think, but to ask:

“What is this ‘nature’, I continue to task?

And all of its people, the animals so bold,

To not let me chop down the houses they hold.

But only interminably to think of myself,

And to give myself luxuries exorbitant in wealth.”


You see, man has enjoyed the privilege to rule,

The right to be free but also cruel.

Not once did he think: “This place looks nice,

Let’s keep it here and not pay the price.”


Taking too much, has its issues,

Not paying back, for making tissues,

Trees, so tall must be regrown,

Not forgotten about over new iPhones.


When man is given freedom, he can go crazy,

Unless a pandemic shock him hazy.

When a vaccine is finally found,

All can rejoice and travel outbound.

Masks can flee, we can smile,

Groom ourselves with a sense of style.


We have been liberated; people rejoiced,

Just don’t forget the ice, which continues to moist.

A challenge overcame, was that virus,

Our science fast proven, very desirous.

A planet so magnificent, replete in its beauty,

To protect it and its people, our only duty.

April 20

“The Place” By Abigail Bourne

Weeks and days slowly go,

Wasting away, in a place, no one truly knows.


There is no food, there is no life,

Screams of the innocent fill the day and the night.


The blood of children stains the road,

In the places far too dangerous to go.


A place where civilians are forced to flee,

From the hellish roar of artillery.


The men left behind to fight for their country true,

The rest of it is up to you.


Please donate what you can,

To stop that war criminal of a man!


So, NATO, what do you say?

Let’s bring troops to help Ukraine!!

Category: Poetry | LEAVE A COMMENT
April 20

“BLACKS AND WHYS” – By Sinethemba Masina (Written for Performance)

Looking for what it means to be alive,

is a search that must start early, right?

On the search in this world of blacks and whys,

shining light, we use these flashless lights.


*expressions like you can’t find the fitting word*


not really light but these things that light our world up

make colors bloom like neon lights.

*relief, you found the word*

Glowsticks! exactly, right…

they’re fun in the black and somewhat bright,

till you realize you need to use them to search for that answer about life.


On the ground barely seeing,

you could only find

from the way you see people live their lives,

what they do,

how they’re getting by,

You conclude:

It’s happiness

*with a joyous smile*

That we should all be on a quest to find

what makes us glad and merry,

feeling happy inside.


In those little things that the glowstick is able to shine its light

along with the multitude of people who carry the same things to find

keep searching your life to light it up.


*leave the stage and act like it’s over*

*whisper audibly*


*then come back*


Something is still missing inside,


I have all the happiness and all those merry feelings inside,

but it doesn’t scrape the surface of the kind of answer I’m looking for,

So, I dropped it

& grew to love what I found to be around me,


But still,

I sought that little light

So I could find this answer,

I’m dying to know


So I picked up a telescope & gazed at the stars

The glitter that never falls off the surface of the sky,

(Or so I thought)

& the one who smiles, who is the smallest among them,

But looks big to me

shone a little light on some faces including mine,

Knocked off my socks & out of my mind.

Shocker that I never got cold feet

When I knew this was of the nature of darkness

Blacks and whys

So I concluded:


That life means to know yourself

& follow what you discover you are for yourself

And stand by it

Follow your heart

Shun anyone who stands in the way & be proud


*then walk off the stage frowning*


*then shake your head & come back*


You knew I’d be back right,


although it seems that the answer was received,

Can’t shake the gut that tells me that I’m being deceived.

By the world and how I feel.


I’m not the only?

Elon Musk,

The richest rich can be,

With everything he wants at the flex of an apple,

Asks the same question.


How dare I be satisfied?

When I know I’m missing something deep inside?

Or how can I be, how will I be,

No longer asking how I could be,

But deep down,

Seeing from the way I still breathe,

You know for sure

I’m still searching.


Although I see faces,

Something I was born having.

And some of what they say is true about me.

I wonder,

Is that what I’m really meant to be?

Self-centered, self-seeking, evil.

Then cover it up with the good things I do so I won’t have to suffer the screams of my conscience to be free from me.

Although I try, she keeps …

Her voice

It’s not silent,

But you and I can’t hear

So it’s not a sound

It’s screaming, but it’s not my mind

It’s in anguish

But it’s not my heart,

Have you heard it?

That same concerning person

is the one who keeps asking all the time,



It’s like at the dinner table,

Everything is set,

Everyone there,

But someone missing.

Who’s name, you don’t know.

The most important member at the table.

Although I’m present,

It seems that maybe it’s me.



Or the best version of myself!

But I’ve been there,

Or where the world things that to be:

Gorgeous, adored, beloved, on it, that thang 💅👁👄👁

You know,

It all seems good.

But that voice knows that,

That’s not me

and it never lies.

Many times I seek ways to deny

But I can’t bare the pain to run and hide

Who am I?

Why is life?

Blacks and whys?


*open a window or switch on the light*




I remembered the only other that never lies,

Indeed, I’ve always been afraid to be exposed.

All along the best light was there,

I just wanted to create my own way to be alright.

That light always called my name,

But in my pride, I looked away.

Because it was the kind of light that would reveal all that I intend to hide


Sick of all my efforts to try and find the answers and invent them for me.


Have you ever heard the phrases:

Make your own truth & follow your heart.


Anything you’d have to make up is a lie.


More good feelings were not what I was missing in life.

I’ve known what I thought to be everything about me and all those who surrounded me,

But man that’s foolish.

Who looks into the mirror for assurance under the light of the distant stars

And believes all they see is all there is to know?



I was missing Jesus.

April 20

“An Angel I Met at 11:11” by Kaitlyn Kennedy

Smile, once, twice, three times.
Embracing her like a child, holding her favourite teddy bear.
Try to take it, you can’t.

Her ocean eyes, pull me further and further away.
Now, floating, the angel has me.
She lits a flame within me like the Devil’s breathe.

Following the sound of the waves, leading me to the gates of her heart.
Our veins, injected with nectar, turn black.

Abstract Fantasy Angel Wings Black And White Modern image 1

Category: Poetry | LEAVE A COMMENT
May 1

Short Story – “Rooftops” by Ruairí O’Brolchain (TY)

He raced across the dusty rooftops, painfully aware that the sandstorm had already started. The cloudy sky gave little indication where the buildings stopped and the night began. The pale moon occasionally emerged from behind a cloud above him, distorted by the swirling sand and suddenly disappearing without warning. He guessed this was a good thing, as the fog gave him a cloak of darkness to hide in. Wind was bringing the sand into the city in waves. If you stood still, you could almost see individual grains of sand whipping around in the air. The sand particles flew around him as he raced through the night. He cursed as his shin crashed against something, and winced as he sent a well looked-after potted plant to the ground, feeling sorry for the family who had spent hours tending to it. The dry dirt tumbled out as he stumbled on.

He skidded to a stop as he sent some sand flying out to the abyss that he had narrowly avoided, to join the rest of the storm, which was beginning to pick up. He quickly chose left, and dropped down to the roof below. He rolled with the impact, cushioning his fall, and ran on. He glanced back over his shoulder and couldn’t see anything, but there was no way he was stopping after what had just happened. He could still hear the alarms blaring into the night. He glanced down as he leapt between two closely packed buildings, and the street, four stories below, was deserted. The wind was really starting to pick up, and the sand was really beginning to sting against his exposed face and hands. He clambered up a pole, then scaled down the other side of the wall, jumping down the last section. He landed awkwardly, but staggered forwards, and went on.

After a while he came to a halt, and nestled in between two walls to catch his breath. After about five minutes, he saw two familiar looking shapes stroll by. He stood quickly, wondering what two policemen were doing up on the rooftops and proceeded to follow them from a distance. They arrived at what appeared to be a wall, but then one of them reached forwards and knocked three times on it. It slid back to show a grimy and dimly lit corridor. They went in, and the door started to close. Just before it did, he jumped forward and managed to slip into the gap. The men had turned around a corner up ahead and were out of sight.

Slowly, he crept forward, hugging the wall. As he went around the corner, he found himself at the top of a staircase. He crept down, but when he got to the bottom, he found himself in a large room with four entrances. While he was deciding which to take, he heard a noise. It sounded like footsteps. As the noise got louder, he realised it wasn’t one set of footsteps, it was dozens, and they were coming from all entrances. All but one. It seemed as though the choice was made for him. He dashed down the poorly lit tunnel.

“Daniel! It’s bedtime!” His mother’s voice rang out. Daniel sighed. His mum had impeccable timing when it came to ruining his games.

“Is your room tidy?” she asked from the kitchen. Daniel looked around at his policemen teddies, his pillow roofs, and his pillow fort.

“Pretty much!” he yelled back.

“Good!” she replied, and he sighed again as he started to clean up. It could get pretty boring during isolation.

November 6

Horror Short Story – Eoin Tracy (2nd Year) – “Ding Dong”

“Ding dong,” goes my doorbell. “Ding dong,” it goes again. I quickly scramble into my dressing gown. I clumsily make my way to the door. I unlock the door only to find a parcel. I bring the parcel inside and put it on the kitchen table. I hastily grab some milk from the fridge and some cereal from the cupboard. The house telephone starts to ring. I recognise the voice, it’s Peter O’Sullivan.“ There is something I have to tell you,” he stuttered. “A very close friend of mine passed away, a few hours ago.” “Who was it?” I reply. “ It was Tom Larken,” ( he then rang up). But I am Tom Larken I think to myself. I start to eat my cereal when I notice there is now a note on the parcel. The note reads “I am sorry for your loss, I hear he was very close to you.” I think to myself again, I am Tom Larkin this makes no sense. I turn around and look in the mirror, only to see an unfamiliar face. I stood still gazing into the mirror and the face started to move. It made a grin so unlike anything I have ever seen. It was then that I hear the sounds “Ding Dong”.

The sound repeats in my head until I finally realise I am back in my bed. I get out of bed and open the door. There is a package outside the door and I pick it up. I vaguely remember the past incident of which ‘ I died’. The anger rushed through my veins and I tore open the package. Inside the package was there was a peculiar piece of paper. After analyzing it for ages I now saw what it was. The picture horrified me and I started to hear screaming inside my head. The screaming got louder until I couldn’t take it anymore. And then again I hear the sounds “ ding dong”.

November 6

Horror Short Story – Michael Reddan (6th Year) – “The Clickity-Clack Woman”

This Urban Legend is one that has been lost to generations and has been passed through so many hands that the one real true story of what actually happened on that faithful night are lost to through the murky depths of false tales. Many people tell stories of Werewolves, Witches Vampires and the occasional Goblin, things that go bump in the night and crawl from their dark corners of the world to feast on the one or two innocent bystanders. This story, even though a legend, is one of the most looked into the story as the police records show that in fact a family was mauled to death by, what only could be described as, an animal attack. So get a blanket, lock your door, barricade the window and for god’s sakes turn on a light, we wouldn’t want any nasty surprises!

In a small town of Jericho, 90 miles from Wichita, there lived a young boy by the name of Jason. Jason was a normal seven-year old that loved to play in the outdoors and had a lovely family who lived beside the lovely old couple, Jenkins and the other couple, Richardson’s. The community was tight and Jason knew all the boys in the area, he didn’t care about girls then. Halloween was fast approaching and being in second grade was truly excited for the holiday, all the candy and fun his friends would have, my god!

Jason was never afraid of anything, films about vampires made him laugh, werewolves made him cry because he saw them as big fluffy dogs and witches were just mean cranky old ladies. The one thing he couldn’t look at though was the lady with the fingernails, she was horrible. His parents used to tell him stories about her but after Jenkins’s death, there were no more stories to be told. The Woman in question was known as Mary Harkins to her family, but to everyone else, she was known as the Clickitty Clack Woman. The reason for her abnormally long nails was due to the loss of her legs in a car accident and she figured out that her fingernails were so strong she could walk on them, the sound they made resonated with everyone that heard them.

One day when he was walking back from school he heard the noise, “clickity-clack, Clickity-clack, Clickity-clack” he ran and the sound followed him, it was getting faster as though she was running,” Clickity-Clack, Clickity- clack, Clickity –clack, Clickity-clack”. He burst through his front door in tears and shut the door. He ran upstairs and hid under the bed, he didn’t come out for the whole evening, not even for his dinner. The reason this happened was that Jason and a few of his friends had seen Mary earlier on that day. They jeered at her made faces at her and a few of the older boys joined in and had thrown rocks at her. She vowed that they wouldn’t live to see the sunrise and left with her awful fingernails clacking away. That night Jason would undo the latch on his door and go to his bathroom, the sound of clacking would be heard and then nothing. It spooked out Jason so much he ran into his parent’s room where it was strangely empty. He would go downstairs, turn the light on in the kitchen and there lying in their own blood with their throats ripped would be Jason’s parents. He would look up and there outside the window holding up a bloody hand full of razor sharp fingernails was the clickity-clack woman. Jason ran and hid in the cupboard but it was of no use. The last sound that Jason heard was Clickitty-Clack Clickity-clack, Clickity clack.

November 6

Horror Short Story – Michael Reddan (6th Year) – “Never Say No”

The forest was streaked in white moonlight and the wind howled through the trees. Although it had been his playground in his childhood, tonight it was a foreboding place. Jim had his fire on which spat and crackled every time a gust of cruel wind came whistling down the chimney, And even though it was warm inside Jim was chilled to the bone. Tonight reeked of death and only Jim knew who’s death it was going to be.

Four weeks ago Jim and his friends went to a Fair. As they wandered around the fair enjoying each other’s company, they spotted an old gypsy Barrel-Top Caravan with a disheveled sign outside saying “Madame Eliza-Fortune Teller”. The girls squealed with excitement at the sight of it and wanted instantly to go in. The boys, who didn’t believe in this nonsense, scoffed at the idea and told them it was all hocus-pocus and that there was nothing real about any of it. Then one of the girls dared any of them to enter. Jim rose to the challenge and went in, throwing a reassuring grin to the others to show he had no fear.

Two candles lit the darkness inside and there was a distinct whiff of incense. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the rag dolls on the shelves which made them appear alive and huddled behind a small table sat Madame Eliza, fortune teller. She wore a black veil, covering long white hair and her face was wrinkled with age. Her eyes were black beads in her head and they had a piercing effect on Jim. “What did you come for?” she croaked. Jim shivered and replied in a stammer, “It-It was a dare”. She looked at Jim and said, “I see……. take a seat.” She invited him to select five cards from the deck of tarot cards and told him to place them face down in front of her.

“Ah,” she said turning the first card.”You will come into a small fortune”. Jim sneered his approval. She moved onto the second card and turning it said, “Someone close to you will fall ill. Turning the third card, she smiled, “Romance, someone will make their feelings known soon. Jim hoped that at least there might be some truth behind this. He liked a girl by the name of Jenny but quickly reminded himself that this was only Hocus-pocus. Her hand slipped to the fourth card and without looking at him said “you will be going on a journey soon”. Again Jim sneered and received a glare from the black-eyed hag making his blood turn cold. On turning the last card, her voice changed into a low croaking whisper that chilled the atmosphere. ”The Grim Reaper, a symbol of death, someone is going to die”. She stretched her liver-spotted hand across the table towards Jim. “It is customary that you cross my palm with money for the reading”. James laughed out loud into the hags face.” Fat chance of that old hag, not for this rubbish!” as he rushed out the door. The hag screamed at him,” Jim O’Neill! You will not live to see the next full moon. I swear on my reading that it is you who will meet Death and he will be coming to claim what is rightfully his!”. Jim and his friends had a good laugh on their way home at the hag’s prophecies.

Tonight was the eve of the next full moon and Jim was alone and petrified still trying to convince himself that it was all Hocus-pocus. Suddenly a shape at the window revealed the Grim Reaper. Jim ran to the back door and rushed towards the nearby cemetery. He knew that it was hallowed ground and a such could protect him from all evil. As he ran towards an old oak he suddenly saw the old hag pointing to a headstone beneath it. He stood in front of it now, in disbelief, at what was written there. In bold print was “here lies Jim O’ Neill”. As he turned to run a hand grabbed his ankle and dragged him down. The last thing he saw was the laughing hag.