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by Paddy Hugh
This free verse poem outlines the current struggle at Drumcree, Northern Ireland where residents resist an march through their home street. The marchers from the Orange Order, an organisation refusing Catholic membership, represents centuries of occupation and oppression of the state and the rich over the Irish. (PH)
PADDY’s DREAM
We sat there
On the edge
Joseph and I
Arms linked
Brolly extended
Hundreds of good local people joined
on the street in the deep rain and cold
We live here and have
firm looks shouted
it’s enough, no more
blare of bugles and your deadening war drums
without brandishing your orange bandolier and yips and yells
It wasn’t 12th July nor Paisley’s birthday
Why did they come to our town
to come here, again, again
to waken our babies and piss on our lawns?
With their hope to thumb us under again
They as overlords
took our best fields
tyrants leave little
the plantations
abandoned to swamps to fish for crops
made jobless, bruised, damaged outsiders
hungry without and within
First night rights with our women,
men crunched, fodder.
While they sauntered and smirked
Pockets filled, meals on their tables
To their suburbs
… which we were excluded …
always having favours from courts and troops
Your hopes raised – No
Never again
So, we’ll stand here and block our little pieced land
Garavaghy Road
from their iron heels
Till they rust!
Then the prolonged live transmission stopped
BBC as unpredictable jerry as it is
was had
We closed our laptop and brolly
Got up and
off to our hot breakfasts
Stunned
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