Friday, 24 June 2011

Motes and Planks

The trouble with badness
In these parts:
There's just too much of it
To go around.
Bitterness squeezed out,
Around these shapely hills
But never quite drained
The excess pooling, stagnating
Soaked into your neighbours
Who, fair play to them
Would never see you stuck
If your Massey broke down,
Or if, misjudging the weather
You needed the silage in quick
But who,
When push came to shove here, long ago
Turned a blind eye
(Maybe bruised shut)
To  the causes and effect
Of  townland assassination
To the covert decisions
On life and death
Your kin were subject to
For merely staying put
The busy mandate of peace
Intruding on these parts
Where much was observed
But nothing altered
Would well be cautious -
Stepping lightly over sacred ground
Looking for a hand to grasp
To make things right again.
You'd maybe take it just to square things
With the man upstairs
But the man next door?
That's another story.

1 comment:

  1. How true. As recent events in Short Strand have shown we have a way to go yet. My sister was up at Stormont on Tues and said she'd never seem the politicians so united (because of it) so maybe there's hope yet?

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