Daniel Sammon lives in Renvyle Co Galway. To date, he is the author of six books including a book of poetry.
He’s a graduate of NUIG where he received a Master’s degree in Writing in 2017. Prior to that, he received Certificates of Distinction in Legal Studies, Self-Employed Accountancy & Taxation, and Creative Writing in the Open College and Kilroy’s College in Dublin. He walked across Ireland from Renvyle to the GPO in Dublin in 2009 to celebrate the defeat of the British Army and the Black & Tans by the IRA in the War of Independence and the eventual Freedom of Ireland or at least the 26 counties.
To find out what it may have been like for St Patrick in 441 AD, he slept overnight on his own under the stars on the summit of Croagh Patrick in 2015 and wrote a book about his experiences.
Today he is a tour driver taking passengers on history, heritage, and scenic tours mainly in Connemara as well as other parts of Ireland wherever people may wish to go.


Oscar Wilde

A young fella by the name of Oscar Wilde
Did not stand out at all as a child
He was born in the centre of Dublin town
But was not known for fame or renown

Off each day to school, he went
But only because he was sent
He then discovered he had brains to burn
When he opened books and started to learn

As he got older there soon came the day
He felt different and realised he was gay
At college, he encountered many more
Who felt like him on many the score

John Douglas was just one of many
Whose way of life was similarly uncanny
Though well-advised to stay well clear
He thought he could handle it and had no fear

He then nurtured his talent at how to write
And through his pen, he showed his might
Some people traveled a very long way
To hear what he might have to say

In poems and prose and plays as well
If they didn’t like they could go to hell
He was the king of the written word
To disagree was almost absurd

Then came the day when Douglas’ dad
Said I’ve enough of you and your writing pad
With someone else, you can have your fun
But stay far away from my young son

He chose not to take this advice
And to continue to play the dice
But that was his big downfall
He lost his wife, two sons and all

Two years hard labour in the slammer
With time to write in shining grammar
When he was done he went to France
With his spirits broken in a trance

In a cheap hotel alone he died
With no wife or kids by his side
But now he’s accepted with wide acclaim
Known far and wide for his writing fame