trees are wearing death,
or sport a bowler hat,
four-leaf clover in my teeth
as if I understand a people
I have never seen through more
than leprechaun theatrics,
jigs and Jameson Irish Whiskey
drunken for an Irish breakfast,
toasted to a Catholic saint
in make believe. History’s,
a bloodless dance when seen
through a parade. If only
bullets pinched instead
of tore. But blood spills red
and stains the green.
This sounds like a profound piece Ben, a statement on Irish rebellion (IRA)maybe or something personal, let me know if I am off base...
ReplyDeleteThank you for the words on my post friend, I hope your St Patty's day is GOOD!
Wander
I hope yours was too my Irish friend!
DeleteWow, Ben, I'm speechless. Fabulous writing, goes straight to my heart. xo
ReplyDeleteReally glad it did, Marion :-)
DeleteAre you part Irish?
This is great..such a powerful take on St. Patrick's Day
ReplyDeleteThank you, Susie. Have you done a St. Patrick's day poem? :-)
DeleteExcellent poem,Ben. Thoughtful and timely with compassion.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Shauna :-)
DeleteI also did not wear green.
ReplyDeleteOo what did you wear? ;-)
DeleteBlue, I think.
ReplyDeleteGood choice!
Delete