MICHAEL WALSH has been putting pen to paper for over 60 years during which time he has earned awards and international recognition for his media columns, news stories – and his poetry. Until his poetry – and other literary works were banned by Amazon and LULU online publishers, and snubbed by palace publishing houses, he was said to be Britain and Ireland’s most prolific poet.

The rebel bard, born into a literary family, is thought to have created nearly 2,000 poems, soliloquies and sonnets – all are banned. Only the freer internet gives readers, novices and fans from all over the world the chance to make their minds up as to the value of his verse.

THE EMBERS OF EUROPE ARE DYING.

The Embers of Europe are dying,

But no rest for the peoples of Europe,

The nations that bankers must fleece;

No peace from political traitors,

There’s never respite from their wars;

Now the Embers of Europe are dying,

Invaders are kicking its doors.

.

The flickering flames of revival,

Snuffed out by the treacherous few,

Curtains are falling in Europe,

Poisoned by media’s brew,

Snared by the tricks of the plotter,

Corrupted by men bearing gold,

As the darkness descends upon Europe,

The embers are fast-growing cold.

.

The Embers of Europe are dying,

Now who shall breathe life to the flame?

The beacons once lit by its saviour,

Who mustn’t be mentioned by name?

His beacon is still shining brightly,

A signal that shows us the way,

The Embers of Europe will flicker,

If true men will enter the fray.

.

WHO WILL SPEAK FOR EUROPE.

Will no one speak for Europe,

We are a special breed,

There’s many stoop to denigrate,

Pour scorn upon our seed,

But who will stand and speak for us,

Before we’re trampled in the dust,

Oh, such a tragic fate.

.

There’s just one sin upon the earth,

Now others hold the sway,

To stand and say the White man,

Is yet to have his day,

Offend religion, slur belief,

In Europe you will come to grief,

If you but speak the truth.

.

WILL STARS CONTINUE SHINING

Will stars continue shining,

When Europe is no more,

Will sunsets and the sunrise,

Be as they were before?

Those stars shone down on Europe’s Rome,

On Greece, the Parthenon;

But will they still be shining,

Once the Europeans are gone?

.

The stars stand silent witness,

To the legends over time;

The men who built our empires,

Till order ran in rhyme

In harmony with ancient lore,

Change will be but as before,

Europe lives for evermore,

Was that but just our dream?

.

I scarce can bring myself to think,

The pain and degradation,

To see the remnants of our folk,

Confined to reservation,

Like native others in past time,

For us the stars no longer shine,

Will this be drunk as bitter wine,

What cenotaph for us?

.

THE WHITE MAN’S SIN.

Oh, what of me, it seems I sin,

My body is wrapped in White man’s skin,

These times some Whites wish they were black,

Unlike me they never lack,

The bending of the traitor’s knee,

For Europe’s folk, what is to be?

.

Traitors worship other creeds,

Their colour is their grace,

But I am White, is this impure,

Much less than other race?

.

Perhaps if I were Asian-tanned,

Then folk like me be never banned,

From speaking up to bless our creed,

They claim there’s poison in my seed.

But I don’t envy ethnic throne,

Or traitors who would spurn their own.

.

WE’RE EIGHT PER CENT

We’re eight per cent, there’s nothing more,

That Europe has to give,

It’s five-to-midnight for our race,

We only wish to live;

Upon this earth as others do,

We’ve given much, we are but few,

If we’re to die then you must too,

There’s not much else to do.

.

We’re eight percent, you’re many,

Ours is the stricken realm,

You stand to kill the golden goose,

Your numbers overwhelm,

If we’re to die then what of you,

Night will fall if dark winds blew,

O’er folk who gave their all.

.

Every soul of other race,

You reaped what we have sown,

Why take away your Europe folk,

Through whom our world has grown,

There’s not a single one of you,

Who never reaped our corn;

If Europe’s folk should disappear,

The world must know no dawn.

.If you like Michael’s verse why not click The Forbidden Poetry of Michael Walsh on our Europe Renaissance website.

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