By Maolsheachlann O’Ceallaigh

Photo “Floating” By Aurora Santoro

When I have drawn my dying breath
There will be wailing all around:
“He kept his madness unto death 
And by his stubborn pride was bound;
Until the day his eyes were shut
In endless sleep, with tears and groans
We begged and pleaded with him; but
He never looked at Game of Thrones.”

The priest will sermonize me thus:
“Now brother Mal will never see 
The rhapsody of blood and guts 
That marks the end of Season Three;
Alas, alas, he now must lie
Where worms will leave him naught but bones
And– yes, my friends, you well may cry– He
never looked at Game of Thrones!”

There are no flowers upon the grave
The headstone stands without a name;
The world has thought it best to save
His memory from such ill-fame;
But still, some passer by will stretch
A finger, and in whispered tones 
Say to a friend: “There lies the wretch
Who would not look at Game of

Maolsheachlann O’Ceallaigh

Maolsheachlann O’Ceallaigh grew up in Ballymun and has worked as a library assistant in UCD since 2001. He has been writing poetry for about thirty years. His book, Inspiration from the Saints, was published by Angelico Press in 2017 and he has written for magazines such as Ireland’s Own, The Irish Catholic, and St. Martin’s Magazine. He’s had poems published in Books Ireland and Spirituality magazine, and won ITV Teletext’s Millennium poem competition, judged by Roger McGough. His main poetic influences are Yeats, Larkin, Housman, MacNeice, and Tennyson. He lives in Dublin with his wife.

CategoriesIssue VI