Posts By Anne Irwin

bogco

The Blue Moon Women

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Sing bog cotton carols, speak
in soft whisperings,
blow cool wind  to calm summer’s  heat,
clawing gloopy smells of faded day.
 f
Their suitcases laughing,
filled with cruciform spinning tops
songs and incantations
a flock of giggling  goats.
 f
They frighten  indoctrinated bombosities
shiny political pomposities
yellow beasts wandering
whose  paws choke the night
 f
To de-indoctrinate them
from that cronied  sycophant in them
they’re impaled on Celtic Crosses
and left swirling on the bog.
 f
The Blue Moon Women sing to them
soft and sweet they sing to them
and the goats circle round
nibbling at their toes.
 f
Till they squeal out all their vanity
return to normal sanity
and serve the people properly
walking humbly down the roads

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irishwaterprotest1Nov_t

That Day has Come

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Dawn rises grey and slow

over Hill Side

reflecting silver shadows

on the black water of  Lough  Atailia.

s

A metronome ticks in drips

as civil war fades

washed down the drain

with Irish water.

s

Those who try to sell our story,

a story shaping

our ancestral genes,

a story held in

the molecules  of water

of river,  lake,  stream

of Lough Derravaragh,

where Lir’s cursed children  dwelt

of Lough Gur, through whose secret portal

Oisin followed  Niamh.

of rivers Corrib, Lagan, Liffy and Lee

the umbilical cords of our cities.

s

Those who would sell our life source,

to untamed corporations

have them steal our dreams                                     

reign us in like sheep

metering  out  our water

to serve their  greed.

s

Those same men, whose fathers

fought for our freedom,  land

our dignity, .

want to turn our water into

commodity

and sell it back to us

at fetished market whim.

s

Dawn spreads gently

over the city, Spanish Arch

St Nicholas,  the Claddagh,

and night returns subdued

to it’s underworld.

That day has come

 

s

 

Anne Irwin

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