Great People of the Irish Famine
At first you made blood cakes by bleeding calves,
Gobbled berries, nettles, then the family dog.
Sometimes the cleverer dogs
Were seen eating bodies in the fields.
Infants gnawed at dry breasts;
To Thee do we cry poor famished children of Eve
And the politicians mocked,
Let the detongued speak.
But no words came – just a watery mess
Around mouths green from the bile and the seaweed,
To be carried out in a coffin,
Like the old wooden pencil cases we used in school
With the sliding lid, only upside down,
And your pencil thin bodies were thrown into a common grave
Now I pencil you in
Great people of the Irish Famine.
Highly Commended and Published in ‘Vision On’ Anthology – Ver Poets. Judge Katherine Pierpoint 2005
The Going Nowhere Road….
There is a road that leads to nowhere
Nobody knows where it goes
But the west of Ireland people
Call it the Famine Road
I dreamt of a green-eyed woman
Burnished hair, green shawl
She glared at me accusingly
Her palm outstretched
At first I thought she meant money
So I handed her my purse
She thrust it in the air
And spat an ancient curse
What good are your coins to us
On this going nowhere road
Too late for your charity money
What I want from you is a poem
Write about my eyes
The same shape and colour as yours
Write of my fleshless bones
And my bloodless heart
Tell them you saw my ghost
Among thousands of swarming souls
Wandering into the mist
On the Going Nowhere Road
Twin Trails of Tears
Pipe tomahawks swinging from their wagons
They set out
Barefoot or in moccasins
Dignity in weathered faces
Hair black and strong
Plaited or hanging loosely
Wearing buckskin dresses or leggings
Plaid blankets wrapped around shoulders
Choctaw must follow the Trail of Tears
Says the Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek
Clutching a ten-dollar bill and a rifle each
They steer towards their future
But the rains come and the blizzard stings and
The Arkansas River and people freeze up
Or die of pneumonia
Sixteen years on in Louisburgh Mayo, Ireland, 1847.
The starving beg help from an Officer
Apply to the Board of Guardians – they meet at Delphi Lodge tomorrow
So they sleep under the stars until dawn when
Ragged and barefoot they walk fifteen miles to that place
But the Board are at lunch and are not to be disturbed
At last the meeting is held
But they are offered no help
Many die on the return journey
It’s not the potato but a pearl of great price that’s dug up in their field
When the surviving Choctaw hear of their plight
And collect seven hundred and ten dollars for the deserving Irish
Poem, ‘Twin Tales of Tears’ was published in anthology, ‘On The Road’, Volume 2, compiled by Robin Barratt, 2020.