GAELTACHT

Driving left of logic
on that mean, misty roundabout
leftover pubs of our roots
four-corpse fried full breakfast to boot
no way to cheat the grave.

It’s one regular Celt cult over here
splashed Eire green, beaches of pebbled priorities
milk skin, freckles and blue eyes.
Ages of breaths held, taken
then released along the boreen.

Blood relatives rolling chimes off lips
famine ships a plenty
brandished by the paths of armies
and mythologies dispatched
by vigilant moss, cutting sea breezes.

Harbor in tears, crashing waves
judged too soon by Cranberry Druids
Risings gone down to deceit.
Land of emigrant departures
Fenian convicts on the Celtic Sea.

James Connolly murdered, May 12th, 1916
said Rosie Hackett
“Changed, changed utterly –
The Terrible Beauty”
The Brotherhood, The Volunteers.

Endless red cavalry stopped
in its tracks by angry fir
with only 1798 pikes against artillery
potato stars and mad mornings.
Easter Monday coming down.

And the lough came into the sitting room
for scones and afternoon tea.

Boatloads of vanquished Blasket Islanders
victims of a fishless ocean
drift toward the rocky An Daingean
Refugees from Europe’s most westerly isles
on to the pretty lanes of Ballyferiter

Paddy’s last name is O’Flaherty
It’s been spoken for time
on the salty, sea lips of liberty.
His whiskey pot still
his days a crisp parity.

Proud angry gods demand their revenge
Kilts and pipes and the rifles of Banna Strand
The blood of Connelly, Padriac and Casement.
The soul of Yeats festering for 800 years…
Brave men hanging dead in London and Kilmainham.

England, you cruel hearted monster
you seek a peasant multitude
but none came forth
but a tri-colored ribbon emerged
cutting your sammy code of colonization

Out west here in the rocks
where they still speak it,
in out of the rain
telling the tale to their children
in careful ancient words.

– Kevin Haley

– Centennial Commemoration of the Easter Rising, 1916