WHO  FALL  FOR  IRELAND  NEVER  DIE

( BALLAD OF BILLY REID )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON  © 1971

 

Come gather ‘round, good people true ,

Sad is the word I bring to you .

In Belfast city ‘tis said ,

For Ireland’s cause brave Reid is dead .

 

( CHORUS )

Who fall for Ireland never die –

Within our hearts they ever lie .

Who give their lives their land to free –

Live on for e’er in memory

 

In Belfast by the Lagan side ,

There’s many cry this eventide .

They weep for him who gave his all ,

To free his land from foreign thrall .

 

In that last fray, how well he fought ;

He stood his ground as soldier ought .

With gun in hand against the foe ,

He struggled on until laid low .

 

Good people true, remember well ,

Brave Billy Reid and why he fell .

No finer son a mother hath ,

Than he who treads the martyr’s path .

*                       *                     *

 

 

Back to song index

 

---

 

 

 

 

MAIRE

( For Maire Drumm, republican activist, murdered by pro-British

forces whilst a patient in the Mater Hospital, Belfast, Oct-28-1976. )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   ©  1976

 

(1)                      

When the age-old fight is done,

And we put away the gun –

When Ireland’s freedom’s won –

We’ll remember Maire Drumm.

 

( chorus )

We’ll remember – we’ll remember,

And in our heart we’ll love them ever –

Those Ireland calls to martyrdom –

Bless them all and Maire Drumm.

 

(2)

When our foes are all around,

And they try to put us down –

We’ll stand firm and will not run –

We’ll remember Maire Drumm.

 

(repeat chorus )

 

When we man the Bearna Bhaoil,

Or we lie in tyrant’s gaol –

Waiting for our day to come –

We’ll remember Maire Drumm.

( chorus twice )

 

back to song index

 

---

 

MARAÍODH  SEÁN  SABHAT  ARÉIR

le

SEAMUS  ROBINSON  ( aka S. MAC ROIBÍN )  © 1961

 

 

Maraíodh Seán Sabhat aréir ;

Fé spéir a’ Tuaiscirt a thit sé ,

Ag troid ar son Saoirse a bhí sé –

Maraíodh Seán Sabhat aréir .

 

Mór brón Luimnígh inniú ;

‘S ar ghach croí ‘ta néall dubh ,

‘S a mac óg, Seán Sabhat, ‘tá marbh –

Mór brón Luimnigh inniú .

 

Is uaigneach an saol ‘gus é faoi’n bhfód ;

Ní chluinfear a ghlór a choíche go deo ,

‘S ní fhéicfear arís é ‘siúl a’ slí go beo –

Is uaigneach an saol ‘gus é faoi’n bhfód .

 

Maraíodh Seán Sabhat aréir ;

Fé spéir a’ Tuaiscirt a thit sé ,

Ag troid ar son Saoirse a bhí sé –

Maraíodh Seán Sabhat aréir .

 

   *                *                *

 

 

 

BACK TO SONG INDEX

 

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MICKEY MARLEY’S ROUNDABOUT

  By  SEAMUS  ROBINSON (C) 1976                                                                   

                                                   

Mickey Marley had a wee horse –                                                                                                                             Mickey Marley toured the streets of Belfast ( and further afield ) with his   

Kept it at the back of the house of course.                                                                                                              horse-drawn roundabout ( carousel ) for over forty years. During the dark

It wouldn’t eat grass and it wouldn’t eat hay –                                                                                   days of the "troubles", he brought joy and light to the lives of countless

But it would eat sugar lumps all the day.                                                                                                                 children. Mickey died 28 April 2005, leaving the world a poorer place.

Mickey got some wood and wheels for a start –                                                              

And then he sat down and made a wee cart.                                                                                     

He hammered and he hammered and he footered about –       

Until he’d built a Roundabout.

 

( chorus )

Round and round and up and down,

Through the streets of Belfast town –

All the children laugh and shout,

Here comes Mickey’s Roundabout.

 

Mickey goes from street to street –

A penny a time and take your seat.

A hobby-horse or a motor car –

Just jump on and hold the bar.

The children’s faces shine with glee –

That’s what Mickey loves to see.

If you haven’t got a penny and your Ma’s gone out –

You’ll still get on his Roundabout

( repeat chorus )

 

Then alas to his dismay –                                                                                              

The Roundabout was burnt one day.

Mickey lost everything he had –                                                                                                               For many years Mickey had a regular "stand" at High Street.

And all the children were so sad.                                                                                                                                        He can be seen centre of colour photo wearing blue cap.

But Mickey’s friends all gathered ‘round –

From every part of Belfast town.                                                                                                                      

They hammered and they hammered and they footered about –

And built him a brand new Roundabout.

( repeat chorus twice )

 

 )

 back to song index

 

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MR.  X      © 1972

by

PÁDRAIG (DRUMMER) ROBINSON

and

SEAMUS  ROBINSON

 

( At inquests or enquiries into the deaths

of Irish people caused by the British Army,

British soldiers would be referred to by                   

letters such as Mr.A, Mr.B, and so forth. )

 

(1)

Who are you, Mr.X – why hide your father’s name ?

Sham judges and dark glasses can’t hide your awful shame .

You’ve killed a little child and now he’s laid to rest –

Well does that hero’s medal hang heavy on your chest .

 

( chorus )

      Well damn you British soldier – what’s your bloody name ?

      Murder is your business and torture is your game .

      Your country gives you medals and says that you are brave –

      But over here in Ireland we curse you from the grave .

 

(2)

Who are you Mr.X – there is no cause for fear ,

Back home you’ll be a hero – they’ll greet you with a cheer .

Just tell how you defeated the enemy alone –

And never mind the youngster who dared to throw a stone .

 

(3)

Who are you Mr.X – what kind of man are ye ?

You look along your gunsights yet truth refuse to see .

The Irish thirst for Justice – to fight us you’re a fool –

We’ll beat your British Army and end your bloody rule .

                       *                      *                      * 

 

back to song index

 

---

 

 

MY  WEE  MILK-BOY

( Desmond Healey, a young Belfast milk-boy, was murdered by the

British Army on Internment Day, August 9^th 1971. )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1973

 

New days will come and old days go,

Some bringing joy, some bringing woe;

But in my heart will ever lie,

The memory of my wee milk-boy.

 

I still can see his cheerful face,

And hear his voice about the place;

O who will blame me if I cry,

When I recall my wee milk-boy.

 

Young Dessie Healey was his name,

Upon his clan he brought no shame;

He loved his land and vowed to try,

To break her chains, my wee milk-boy.

 

Then came that awful August day,

The British came to have their way;

They raised their guns, said some must die,

The first to fall, my wee milk-boy.

 

New days will come and old days go,

Some bringing joy, some bringing woe;

But in my heart will ever lie,

The memory of my wee milk-boy.

 

 

 

Back to song index

---

 

 

*          *          *

 

 

 

NÍ  FADA  ANOIS, RÚN

( FONN:  SHE MOVED THROUGH THE FAIR )

le

SEAMUS ROBINSON ( aka S.MAC ROIBIN )  © 1999

 

Sé dúirt mo bhean óg liom :

Níl mo mhathair ag caoi,

‘S ní chainfidh m’athair,

Ós gan taisce tú.

Ansin chuaigh sí uaimse,

Agus dúirt sí go sámh :

Ní fada anois, Rún,

Go dtiocfaidh ár lá .

 

Agus d’iompaigh sí uaimse,

Frid an aonach ‘bhóg sí;

Agus dhearcaigh mé uirthí,

Gach slí a shiúil sí ;

Go dtí chrom sí abhaile,

Le réaltóg sa spéir ,

Mar a thrasnaíonn eala 

An loch deireadh an lae .

 

Aréir i mo chodladh ,

Nocht mo rún marbh chugam ;

Chomh bogach ‘s a shiúil sí ,

Nach ndearna sí fuaim .

Agus chuir sí lámh orm ,

Agus dúirt sí go sámh :

Ní fada anois , Rún ,

Go dtiocfaidh ár lá .

 

*          *          *

 

 

back to song index

 

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 OLD  CLONOE

( For IRA  volunteers, Kevin Barry O’Donnell, Sean O’Farrell, Peter Clancy, and Daniel Vincent,

ambushed and murdered by the British Army at Clonoe, near Coalisland, February 16 1992.)

By

SEAMUS  ROBINSON  © 2000

 

Soft blows the breeze in old Clonoe,

Mid trembling leaves songbirds sing low;

And deep blood-red wild roses grow,

For my true love in old Clonoe.

 

( chorus )

 

Ah Love, sweet Love, my heart is sore –

Oh will I see you nevermore ?

But I’ll be true, come weal or woe –

I’ll love you still, in old Clonoe.

 

Remember how we used to play,

In summer fields the livelong day;

And how each Sunday we would go,

To pledge our love in old Clonoe.

 

( repeat chorus )

 

‘Tis well I mind that awful day,

When Freedom called you to the fray;

You made your stand ‘gainst Ireland’s foe,

Alas to fall in old Clonoe.

 

( chorus twice )

 

 

 

 back to song index

 

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OLD  COALISLAND

( For Hugh Gerard Coney, shot dead by British

soldiers, whilst attempting to escape from Long

Kesh concentration camp November 6^th 1974. )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1974

 

I wish I was in old Coalisland,

That’s where the sweet whin bushes grow;

Playing in the sand of old Coalisland –

Ah now it seems so long, long ago.

For here am I in cold Long Kesh,

Condemned to be an internee;

But soon I’ll be in old Coalisland –

For on this day I know I shall be free.

 

The soldiers came to old Coalisland,

And to their prison they brought me;

Because I said that this was my land –

It seems that I must be an internee.

But Freedom lives in every man,

And does not die so easily;

And soon I’ll be in old Coalisland –

For on this day I know I shall be free.

 

We made a tunnel from our compound,

To take us out to Liberty;

And soon we stood near to the safe ground –

A few more steps and free men we would be.

I never saw the soldiers waiting,

Nor heard the shots they fired at me.

Now soon I’ll be in old Coalisland –

For on this day I knew I would be free.

 

I wish I was in old Coalisland,

That’s where the sweet whin bushes grow;

Playing in the sand of old Coalisland –

Ah now it seems so long, long ago.

*          *          *

 

 

  back to song index

 

 

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SA  TIGH  SEO  LIOM  FÉIN

le

SEAMUS  ROBINSON

(1)

Is folamh mo chroí ,

Ó d’imigh tú uaim ,

‘S folamh an áit i do dhiaidh ;

Is uaigneach mo shaol ,

Gan tú a bhéith liom ,

Agus mise sa tigh seo liom féin .

 

( curfá )

‘Nois níl grian sa spéir ,

Nó sult san aer ,

Nó ceol ar bith ó éan ;

Dá fhuaire an ghaoth –

Is fuaire mo chroí ,

Agus mise sa tigh seo liom féin .

(2)

Is briste mo chroí ,

Ó tógadh uaim thú ,

‘S briste mo dhomhan i do dhiaidh ;

Gan chiall mo bhrí ,

Gan suaimhneas ‘mo luí ,

Agus mise sa tigh seo liom féin .

 

( curfá )

 

( ceol uirlise do véarsa )

( curfá arís )

*          *          *

 

back to song index

 

---

 

 

 

 

SEAN  Mc CAUGHEY

( died in Portlaoise prison, 11-May-1946, on

the 23rd day of hunger and thirst strike )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1973

 

 

In Portlaoise Jail Sean Mc Caughey has died;

So is ended his long night.

By hunger strike he fought and tried

To win for Ireland Liberty’s light.

 

For five long years in that place he had lain,

Waiting for the coming dawn;

His body burned and tortured with pain,

‘Til death gave Freedom to gentle Sean.

 

In Aughnacloy and Belfast too,

Heavy hearts cry out for Sean –

O he is dead that loved Roisin Dubh,

But in our memory he shall live on.

 

Oh Erin weep – oh Erin cry –

Strike thy breast at his name.

A curse on those who let him die –

Cruel their hearts – great is their shame.

 

I n Milltown now our hero lies –

Flowers bloom around his grave;

O’er Divis hill the wild wind sighs –

For Sean who scorned to live a slave.

 

                                                                   *                       *                     *

 

 

 back to song index

 

---

 

 

SÍ  AN  GHRÁ

le

SEAMUS ROBINSON (aka S.MAC ROIBIN )  © 1996

 

(1)

Leoithne úr an earraigh mé ,

‘S bheirim liom d’athbheochan –

Siolta grá a chuirfidh mé –

Fasfaidh siad i do cheann .

 

( curfá )

Sí an Ghrá mé, Sí an Ghrá –

Séadfaidh mé go deo go brách .

 

(2)

Leoithne bhog an tsamhraidh mé ,

Fuaraím go dílis thú –

Tiocfaidh mé le tadhall shéimh –

Muirniú chaoin m’análú .

 

(3)

Leoithne óir an fhómhair mé ,

Coisricim do stóras lán –

Mo bheannacht ar ghach úll do chléibh –

Torthaí grá atá i ndán .

 

(4)

Leoithne fhiáin an gheimhridh mé ,

Téím thú le grá tintrí –

‘S déanfaidh mé draíocht ar leith –

Go dtárlóidh gach mhian do chroí .

 

*          *          *

 

back to song index

 

---

 

 

 

 

SWEET  SAILORTOWN  SUE

by SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 2002

( chorus )

Sweet Sailortown Sue , where are you today ?

They’ve filled in the docks around the oul Quay –

And knocked down the streets where we used to play –

Ah, Sailortown Sue, where are you today ?

 

(1)

‘Tis well I recall those long ago times –

Our hearts were so young and songs still had rhymes –

We thought that the joy would last all our days –

But fate had us set  to go different ways .

 

(2)

I travelled the world and left you behind –

I worked on the land – I worked down the mine –

Worked all of my life – come sunshine or rain –

But now I’m worn out and back home again .

 

(3)

The news that I heard , you’d left Sailortown –

To the bright lights you’d gone in search of a pound –

And somebody saw you working the street –

Selling your love to each guy you’d meet .

 

(4)

I’m old and I’m grey – my time’s nearly done –

The curtain must fall – the last race is run –

I’ve lived my life long – I’ve lived my life true –

Sweet Sailortown Sue – I’m lonely for you .

 

back to song index

 

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TAKE ME HOME TO MAYO (MICHAEL GAUGHAN)

( for Vol. Michael Gaughan, IRA, who died on hunger strike in a British prison

 at 7.20pm on the 3rd of June 1974. ) 

By

SEAMUS  ROBINSON  © 1974

 

( CHORUS )

 

           Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;

           Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.        

           Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie;

           Home at last in Mayo, ‘neath an Irish sky.

 

1.          My name is Michael Gaughan, from Ballina I came;

       I saw my people suffering and swore to break their chain –

       I raised the flag in England, prepared to fight or die –

         Far away from Mayo, ‘neath an Irish sky.

 

( repeat chorus )

 

 2.    My body cold and hungry, in Parkhurst Gaol I lie;

        For loving of my country, on hunger strike I die -- 

        I have just one last longing, I pray you’ll not deny –

        Bury me in Mayo, ‘neath an Irish sky.

 

( chorus twice )

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

BACK TO SONG INDEX

 

 

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THE  GATES  OF  PORTLAOISE

Air: Five Miles From Bangor To Donaghadee

( 19 IRA prisoners escaped when the gates of

Portlaoise Prison were blasted open on August 18^th 1974. )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1974

 

On the 18^th of August in seventy-four,

In Portlaoise Prison some Provies felt sore;

So they held a big meeting and made up their mind,

To be out of that prison before closing time.

Closing time – closing time,

To be out of that prison before closing time

 

Up spoke a brave Provie:  now here’s what we’ll do,

We’ll get us some gelly and blast our way through.

Leave word for the Governor and say we can’t wait,

For we’ve unfinished business outside of the gate.

Of the gate – of the gate,

For we’ve unfinished business outside of the gate.

 

Before very long the big bombs were a-fizzin’,

The explosions were heard ninety miles from the prison;

The gates of Portlaoise were blown away,

And out strolled nineteen of the bold I.R.A.

Aye-ah-ray  ---  aye-ah-ray,

And out strolled nineteen of the bold I.R.A.

 

Oh they say that in Dublin it is very sad,

There’s poor Mr. Cosgrave, he took it quite bad;

And Cooney’s going loony, he cries all the day,

‘Cause he couldn’t keep hold of the bold I.R.A.

Aye-ah-ray  ---  aye-ah-ray,

‘Cause he couldn’t keep hold of the bold I.R.A.

 

Now all Irish people wherever you be,

Salute the brave Provies who fight to be free;

And always remember that wonderful day,

When the boys blew the gates of Portlaoise away.

Ah – away  ---  ah – away,

When the boys blew the gates of Portlaoise away.

 

*          *          *

 

 back to song index

 

 

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THE  GREAT  S.A.S.

 

By

SEAMUS  ROBINSON    © 1976

 

 

(1)

Now in seventy-six, Britain at her oul tricks,

Said:  Gentlemen – here’s what to do –

Send for our best – that’s the great S.A.S.

They’ll soon show those Paddies who’s who.

 

( CHORUS )

O there’ll be such a mess of your great S.A.S.,

If ever they venture our way –

For we are the boys who will give them no joys –

We’re the boys of the bold I.R.A.

 

(2)

Soon your great supermen on their knees will be prayin’,

And wishing back home they could be –

Just watch how they’ll run from an armalite gun –

Sure, we’ll beat them right into the sea.

 

(3)

We sent your Green Jackets back home in wee packets,

Until we could send you no more –

And we posted your Paras across in wheel-barrows –

And left them all feeling quite sore.

 

(4)

Britannia, my dear, won’t you please listen here,

Attention you really must pay –

You can do what you want, you can rave, you can rant –

But you can’t beat the bold  I.R.A.

 

 

*          *          * 

 

back to song index

 

 

 

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THE  H-BLOCK BLANKETEER

( Kieran Nugent ( IRA ) was imprisoned in September 1976.

He refused to wear prison uniform saying that they would have to nail

it to his back. Instead he wore a blanket and thus was born the blanket

protest. Kieran Nugent died May 5^th 2000. )

 

by

PÁDRAIG (DRUMMER) ROBINSON   © 1977

 

They said I was a criminal for fighting Ireland’s foes,

They said I was a criminal and gave me prison clothes.

I said I was a soldier – I’d wear no convict gear,

And so today I am, my lads, a H-Block Blanketeer.

 

( chorus )

      Oh they may break my body but I will show no fear,

      For they’ll never break the spirit of the H-Block Blanketeer.

 

 

My country in bondage, my heart it was so sad,

So I joined up with my comrades when I was just a lad.

But Freedom is a precious thing – the price to pay is dear,

And so today I am, my lads, a H-Block Blanketeer.

 

 

The “screws” are my tormentors but they’ll be made to pay,

When they’re face to face and gun to gun with the I.R.A.

For Ireland’s day is coming – yes Ireland’s day is near,

And justice will be done, my lads, for the H-Block Blanketeer.

 

                                 *           *           *  

 

BACK TO SONG INDEX

 

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THE  PROVIE  BIRDIE

( AIR:  THE HUMOUR IS ON ME NOW )

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1973

 

On the last day of October in the year of seventy-three,

In Mountjoy Jail three rebels were longing to be free;

When from the sky – surprise, surprise – an iron bird did fall –

It lifted up the Provies and took them over the wall.

( chorus )

And it’s up and up and higher the helicopter flew,

High over the Dublin spires and over the Liffey too;

The length and breadth of Ireland – no finer sight to see –

The day the Provie Birdie released the Mountjoy Three.

 

The guards were all astounded, they knew not what to do,

They just stood there dumbfounded as off the rebels flew;

And in the Dail the traitors were shocked and quite aghast –

When they looked up and noticed the Provies flying past.

( repeat chorus )

 

O’Hagan, Twomey, Mallon – God bless those gallant three –

Cruel Britain she is furious to see our rebels free;

But everywhere in Ireland whene’er the news is heard –

The people cheer the Provies and their marvellous flying bird.

( chorus twice )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BACK TO SONG INDEX

 

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REMEMBER  BUCKSY

( BUCKSY DRUMMOND WAS A BELFAST CHARACTER

WHO BRIGHTENED LIFE IN THE CARRICK HILL AREA  WITH HIS DANCING

AND SINGING.  HE ALWAYS WORE A HOMBURG HAT.

HE DANCED HIS LAST TANGO IN THE SUMMER OF ’73 )

BY

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   ©  1973

 

Remember Bucksy – the one with the hat –

Played the fool and danced a lot;

Always the same, night or day,

Never did harm – it wasn’t his way.

 

Remember Bucksy – the one with the hat –

There’s the old wall where he often sat;

Joking with kids, he always had time,

Everyone’s friend – friend of mine.

 

Remember Bucksy – the one with the hat –

Played the fool and danced a lot;

Remember Bucksy – heart of gold,

Remember Bucksy – pray for his soul.

 

*            *           * 

                                         

 

 

 

BACK TO POEMS

 

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SMITHFIELD  SQUARE , BELFAST                          Roddy McCorley was born and reared in Arnon Street, Carrick

                                                                                                                                                                    Hill, Belfast. He was badly injured in the UVF bombing of   

                                                                                                                                                                    McGurk's Bar  4th Dec 1971. His right leg had to be amputated.  

by SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1988                                                                     He spent the next 17 years drifting between Carrick House and the

                                                                                                                                                                    Morning Star hostel before dying in late 1988.                              

 “Give us a fag” – the ragged dexter twitches to life                                                                                                          

At the sound of my feet on the city street ;

The scarecrow-tattered bag of bones

Hangs from a crutch and slumps on a leg

At a corner of Smithfield  Square .

Whilst his pendulous trouser swings, unused ,

In the Belfast evening air .

 

But I mind’s-eye his other days

When, curly-haired and bright-eyed buck ,

He kicked a ball mid debris where

Those other bombs from other wars

Had amputated terraced streets

To fashion us a playing-pitch .

I knew him – laughing, larking, lusting life ,

Still whole, before his dream was beggared

By the bigot-bomber’s searing knife …

 

And now, he flotsams on life’s tide

From “Carrick” night to Morning Star ,

And chloroforms away the day

In dark shebeen or gutter bar ,

To keep at bay what might have been .

 

“Give us a fag” – the ragged dexter twitches me back ;

I light one up and find his mouth ,

And wedge the cork between his lips

Against a flow of slobbered thanks ,

And feel his pleasured, painful sips

As lungs drink down the nicotine …

Nearby, a chapel spire intones                                                               

A bell-tune to the dying day ,                                                      

And stirs my heart and mind to home ;                                                                      

I turn my face and walk away …

 

But up the road as I pass  Saint Paul’s ,

With statued Christ on statued cross ,

I see the man I left back there ,

His body nailed to a metal crutch

And crucified … in Smithfield Square .

    

BACK TO POEMS

 

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BALLYMONEY ‘98

( for the three Quinn boys, Richard (10), Mark (9), and Jason (8),

burned to death in a Loyalist fire-bomb attack on their Ballymoney

home on the 12th of July 1998. One of the children was heard

screaming that his feet were on fire .)

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1998

 

In the early fore-morn light,

Commando-like we crept from night,

And breached the hostiles’ line.

Unseen and silent, no word said,

Ground well scouted, plan well laid,

We reached our target in good time.

 

Weapon check, then signal – go!

We fell upon the sleeping foe,

Like wolves upon a deer.

A crash of glass – and blazing sky –

Blood for blood and eye for eye –

We revelled in their screaming fear.

 

And then the order – disengage –

We stilled our hearts ‘gainst battle’s rage,

And left without head turning.

But carried high on our victory sky,

We heard the voice of a lost child cry :

“Mammy! Mammy!  My feet are burning!”

 

Mammy! Mammy!  My feet are burning …

 

*          *          *

 

back to poems

 

 

 

 

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LIFETIMES – BELFAST  1982

by

SEAMUS  ROBINSON   © 1982

 

 

Eight a.m. and Sandy sits

Relaxed, and lights a “feg” …

Lets his stomach take its time

Digesting breakfast egg ;

Scans the paper while his ears

Absorb the early news …

“Body found” the wireless says ,

He bends to lace his shoes –

“Another one again last night,”

He tells his wife as she lifts a plate ;

She shrugs a sigh and takes his cup –

“Smarten up – you’re going to be late.”

He yawns and rises from the chair ,

And dons his policeman’s coat …

“See you, Love,” he calls from the door ,

While unsaid words clog in his throat .

Outside, the sun shines through the trees ,

Alive with warbled whistling codes …

In the car, he turns the key ,

And all the world … explodes .

 

            *             *             *

 

Four p.m. and young Anne runs

To Riley’s corner-shop …

She joins the queue while Riley talks –

“They’ve killed another cop ,

Got him as he left the house –

Blew the car sky-high.”

“He’ll shoot no more,” a woman says ,

“What price your Shepherd’s Pie?”

“And yet and all,” another speaks –

“He still was someone’s son ,

Just like that lad the Orangies killed

Last night and called it fun.”

The youngster waits until her turn ,

Then buys a chocolate bar –

At eight years old there’s better things

Than blowing-up a car …

Homewards in the shining sun ,

Then soldiers running by –

And sudden banging plastic death

Comes crashing through her eye .

 

            *               *               *

 

Ten p.m. and Sean awakes

To consciousness again …

He sucks a breath through broken lips

And shudders with the pain –

Black blinding pain that spikes throughout

The twitching residue ,

That was his body once –

God – let it not be true .

He tries to clear his eyeless slits

With a useless, handless stump ,

But the brain has lost the power to rule

His shapeless body-lump .

“The Fenian pig is still alive,”

He hears the “Butcher” say –

“I told you that we’d need to rip

The bloody throat away.”

“O my God I am heartily … “

Sean tries to say the prayer –

As again the “Butcher’s” knife descends ,

And leaves him throatless there .

 

           *                *                 *

 

 

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