Mikey Cullen is a Dublin Poet,secondary school teacher, actor,activist, lyricist and spoken word Artist. He regularly performs at shows and festivals across Ireland including Electric Picnic, Feile Belfast, All Together Now and many more. Videos of his spoken word have amassed well over a million views in total online. His poetry has been published in print in ‘Totally Dublin’, ‘The Wall Street Journal’, ‘Dlúthpháirtíocht’ and ‘Void’ amongst others and has been performed on National radio on many occasions including various RTE programmes and Newstalks Pat Kenny show.

Plato’s Rave

I sit on the bus
This liminal space,
Another cog in the wheel
Another rat in the race
Solitary rats in a solitary cage with no water just soma,
No trees, no seas, no greens, only boulders
That we push up hills as we swallow pills
Nothing to sustain so we chase the cheap thrills,
Commuting, traffic Waiting, static,
Red to Green
Green to Red,
No amber-
Don’t pause or be stillbut Grind! Grind! Grind against the dying of the sun,
Forlorn footpath dwellers filled with existential dread of another day ahead
Flocking to our pens and sheds And cubicles-
Brightly lit soulless spaces,
Flurry of activity,
Suits and ties and passivity,
Suits that lie for monetary-
Growth; Now repeat after me the Oath-
‘I pledge allegiance to the flag of the free market, the dollar is my symbol and sign,productivity my lifeline
I will work, spend ,consume and die
I will work, spend, consume and die,’
The monopoly man’s my master and by his edicts I will abide
My soul cries out in the void and is eaten up by
Tik tok, Smith, Apple, Influencers and the vapid noise,
I get the itch,
I need to break free,
I was not born for the lines and the arbitrary
For systems, spreadsheets and the bureaucracy
I was not born for this rigidity,
I want hills and open spaces to let my mind wander over and set my soul free,
I want space and the only time dictated by the sun and moon,
I wanna hear my hearts tune and have the space to just be,
I want uneven, rugged wild, not the lines, boxes, measured and precise symmetry,
I’d rather chill in a field with the breeze and smoke weed
I’d rather follow my heart and let the day start
In unison with the sun as my creed,
I’d rather work with hands And in communities
Not a globalist system of mass hypocrisies- Kafkaesque, nightmarish,
Let chaos reign supreme!
But it’s chained by mundanities,
The old world is dying,
The new world unborn,
Now’s the age of wankers
Of stems with no roses just thorns,
Here the unimaginative thrive
While those who feel die,
So is it any wonder why we crave this?
When I need to break free, When my body starts to twitch,
Thats my soul slowly dying upon my introspection
Cause we humans need purpose, love and connection
But these primordial needs don’t come easily in this hallow charade
So, in lieu of any real or true-
I’ll take a great big dirty fucking rave;
Hold it in Plato’s cave and watch the shadows come alive as we get out of the brain,
We’ll unshackle and break free,
No expectations here just come and just be
And i’ll throw my arms around my mates and confess sentiments that i’ve been thinking of late, but, couldn’t say, cause males cant express their love in the cold light of day,
So dim the lights and hire the noise and gather round all of you boys,
And girls and shake, unshackle and twirl and pray to the cosmic and dance with your spirit-
Sometimes anaesthetised is the best way to hear it,
And see we’re not stuck in a cave of ignorance;
We’ve ventured outside and seen true form,
But while the elders of the world won’t acknowledge the cave The world cannot be reborn.
Our knowledge is a burden and leaves the soul torn,
We see existence sands slip through the hourglass like the first drops of water before the dams burst,
Us deprived of water, we’re hungry ghosts with divine thirsts that we act out in a carnal urge,
When the very sun that illuminates and sustains life
They’ve condemned and sentenced it to die with
Their numbers, their values and their profit market worship,
They’ve unleashed devils to the oasis and our subjugation their purpose,
So if this be the last of days in this factory we call society,
No god for hope hes dead, well then fuck it lads
Well nullify our existential dread by sweating off the grey and getting off the head
Beneath loud noise and in dark rooms, we return, with repressed souls now exhumed,
Before the end that looms on us soon
I wanna feel the sublime, I wanna feel togetherness and like in flock I wanna fly,
So i’ll make like a bird and before the sun burns I’ll feel something, anything, i wanna feel it all
So let’s go and get high
And dance with the shapes
Now etched in writing on the wall.

Let us peasants Burn all but the Keep

This town is burning
And some can’t see it
From atop their castle turrets ,
Those in the fire can’t see the light
And those in high sky light don’t see the fire –
Though they flan the flames in many ways
It’s others that they blame ,
The right do their bidding
To keep the towers intact,
Strawmen used to deflect
Bogeymen used to distract ,
Men of impure ideology
With their avaricious and duplicitous and
Their agendas of hypocrisy Whip impressionable minds into frenzy,
-‘those lads there , that’s your enemy!
He wants your house , he covets your wife ,
He’s the reason for all of your strife’ ,
Forget your housing , healthcare , social welfare He’s going to take it all ,
While those up in the castle untouched laugh at your conclusions ,
Accumulating gold while you grow old
– And point the finger elsewhere
They laugh, as the other side of the same coin
The one they all cherish above life itself
Do their dirty work to distract us from their plundering ,
They laugh at us the plebs bellow forgotten long ago
Yet their castle of cards kept stacked by our tax ,
The root causes forgotten as many now begotten
To the hatred of another,
Who’s struggles , cares ,dreams and love are the same as ours , We burn ourselves,
and the memory of those who died in vain
With ideals incompatible with the current system
Though, their memories are used
By both the right and the government
How they manipulate and twist them
-See it suits the suits who have the power
For us to Blame those coming from outside the walls,
It keeps the heat of the flames
From burning down
-the banks ,
-Brokers,
-and the Dail,
See it’s not about wings , left or right
It takes both for birds to take air and flight.
Don’t let them distract us
And burn ourselves while the castle stands tall ,
Migrants aren’t the problem ,
They’re the problems deflection of the problem ,
It’s easy to view things in black or white
But, life is far more often grey and complex than can be seen with sight,
Beware solutions that are Convenient and expedient ,
Don’t adopt American and British culture wars
To our vastly different historical and cultural shores ,
The anger is justified but don’t let them conquer by divide just like the British done here before
And crown agents attempting to do again;
A lot of these so called ‘patriots’ are nothing more
Than MI5 in disguise ,they’re modern day g men ,
The housing crisis ,
Homeless crisis,
Cost of living crisis ,
Healthcare crisis
Are the problems.
We’re one of the wealthiest countries in the world but that wealth , those at the top, the 1% hoard,
It’s not right our youth can’t see a future in their home city and country
And that people litter the doorways and alleyways long ignored ,
Greed is the problem.
Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael are the problem.
Capitalism is the problem.
Fight the real enemy !

Stifled

My room from crib to double bed ,
From Thomas the tank engine wallpaper to Cheryl Cole scantily clothed inducing teenage dreams onto crusty socks ,
Now, tasteful prints hung on walls alongside funky tapestries with pot plants on the desk to absorb
‘negative energies’ ,
Buzz lightyear lamp to neon hugging skirting boards,
Now, an array of flickering candles for ambience and low light to read with,
Crawl
First steps
Walk
Run
Climb trees
Ride a bike
Learn to drive
Buy a car
Constantly moving as I grew,
Everywhere;
– Except out of my box room,.
Crush to kiss to sex to love,
Pay taxes
Go to college
Do a masters
Find a good career,
Child to Boy to young man to …..?
In my job as a teacher I’m responsible for hundreds of teenagers,
Until I go home and then I am one again ,
When I was 16 my Mam would wait up until I got home before she would sleep and now I’m 30 and she still does the same ,
Any Intimacy bound to car back seats ,
Adulthood in limbo and actualisation out of reach ,
I’ve outgrown much of what I used to like
But here, I can’t fully outgrow who it was I used to be,
In my box room , the dynamics of youth played out in eternity ,
I love my parents and my home, but, at this big age the nest I’ve outgrown ,
Us a generation of birds without wings
– Only vultures fly in these skies,
My growth stifled I wish to resume
But I fear it’s here I’ll live and die,
My entire life in these four walls Of my childhood box room.