A group of pedophile Priests

 

 

A group of pedophile priests had a secret conference in Clare,

Dedicated to preserving the present church status quo there,

Many of them looked out the window at the playground next-door,

Some of them may have wondered how they could score.

 

The bishop came and blessed them dressed up in vestment clothes,

Bright red like a long ladies dress all the way down to the floor,

Then they talked about their agenda and praised one another,

They had faith in Cannon law – not common law or big brother.

 

All these priests were concerned about their priestly rights,

As they exchanged their many stories much to their own delights,

And the bishop didn’t think that any of this was uncouth,

Because priests listened to confessions and knew the truth.

 

They want no new church rules and certainly no female priests,

But they would like same-sex marriage but as yet no press release,

If the Anglicans could do it, then Catholics could do it too,

These same-sex church changes they said were long over due.

 

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

 

 

 

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

The aboriginal Indians have had it rough, true enough.

Lost language, lost culture and all that other Indian stuff,

But politicians have always bent over backwards for them,

By being politically correct so no one could condemn.

 

So now the Indians have the government over a barrel?

Could our closed-down highways and railroads put us in peril?

Will these daily traffic blockades knock us off our guilt trip?

Claiming history short-changed them so Ottawa should flip.

 

Then the Indians claimed Toronto Island and maybe more,

They shut down the ferry while our gutless politicians snored,

Could this soon lead to displacing people from their homes?

No leadership, no guts, no houses and no island aerodrome.

 

And then they went up and closed down the main highway four o one,

Do-nothing politicians said it was peaceful so nothing was done,

Then they closed down the Toronto- Montreal railroad Via Rail,

And all this for their Indian day of action, this huge blockade.

 

They want to raise awareness of their so called native distress,

They want more welfare, money and lots more land they don’t possess,

This despite the billions of dollars in aid they get each year,

It’s not pampered Indians but pompous politicians I fear.

 

At what point can we fix up all this Indian stuff?

Is the billions plus free university education not enough?

Or are we forever lost in an Ottawa bureaucratic haze?

Will this go on forever or is this just another phase?

 

 

 

Sunday, July 01, 2007

 

Religion

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

All religions are more or less the same except in name,

As their imams, priests, rabbis, ministers and others proclaim,

That only they know the way to truth, love, god and eternal life,

But many wars and hatred are the result of their strife.

 

Most religions despite common sense say we will live forever,

But we have to be faithful and religious in our endeavor,

And those other religions should realize that they are wrong,

We are the only ones who know the truth so sing out our song.

 

Therefore our main human frailty is organized religions,

As we the people gather there like a large flock of pigeons,

And if you ask them why, they will quote from some bible or book,

Proof that only they are right and know god so come and take a look.

 

Thursday, June 28, 2007

 

 

The Next Governor General of Canada

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

The next governor general should be Irish through and true,

I think I’ll nominate myself because I know we’re overdue,

We’ve had Quebec, China and Haiti represented there,

Time we had some real Irish – not descendants -- in on this affair.

 

Unfortunately they say that French is a requirement there,

I once spoke Gaelic fluently and I’m keenly aware,

And in these days of instant translation I could pretend,

And nobody would know as I go through the motions and defend.

 

I sometimes watch French TV stations and understand a few words,

I could be as good as some of those previous appointed nerds,

I could sign papers and smile and go to various meetings,

And if necessary I could extend greetings or give beatings.

 

Monday, June 25, 2007

 

 

 

McTaggart

 

 

A real horse of a man McTaggart

Called him nineteen hands high

With shoulders like a barn door

Townland Champion, miser and horse doctor

 

Focus of all the neighborhood shallow gossip

Uncle Eddy strode Brucha’s rushy acres

Alone for eighty years

To outlive them all

 

Unschooled and illiterate

A product of lean times

He bought his first suit

With rabbits snared on the loch shore

He could guide a team of Clydesdales at twelve

At fifteen a man

 

Rebuffed a sullen parish admired his feats from a safe distance

Fearing the hard honesty, the cold stare,

As when he mowed all night in the wet meadow,

Lifted a trap across his bare shoulders, broke stallions

Or drove a herd of bullocks to the Moy fair alone

 

Well able for pestering clergy

Friendless and womanless all his life

He christened the great bays, Tom and Ned.

Laid out two policemen at Finigan’s republican funeral

That’s McTaggart they said

 

Finally as lawyers and priests came to count his money

And the whole parish waited triumphantly for his final feat

He chased doctors and priest from his death bed

Wanting only that the workman bring the horses to the

Window so that he could see them.

 

If you know this poem or who wrote it, please contact me at lisycasey@hotmail.com