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Catherine Brogan's Poetic Works
Embers
Scatterings of famine
cottages Red dirt of abandoned villages
Lazy beds creep up the mountain
Trying to escape the potato famine
Children play on the graves of the black death
Its easy tto see there's little left
But the hand slapping, frisky dancing, The songs, the music, the craic,
Won't bring the dead back
The immigrants neither, but give the living
Something to live for,
Bring them higher and higher,
The best burn in a fire,
But the embers remain to rebuild again
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Limited or No Connectivity
You just talk, don’t
listen
Filled with superstition
Give your prejudice
Sealed with a kiss
The nuance I can’t miss
You’re speaking with a hiss
Stop spitting in my face
Its not about race
Your venom I taste
My time you waste
Looking for a cure
For treating the poor
Its not about ego
The world must grow
Dance to higher beat
Themselves don’t cheat
With lies and deceit
Come on, let’s meet
Somewhere in the middle,
Be clear, don’t riddle,
Let’s kick off our shoes
Listen to our daily news
Hear the live broadcast
Let us drop the mask
Deconstruct the joint past
Identify the present task
Break free of the fear
The hurt brought us here
Its not about the cheer
Approval of the crowd
It’s the gathering cloud
About to rain on our heads
We can’t stay in our beds
Cause we’ll all get wet
On that you can bet
Onward still try to go
Not using the fast flow
Not trying to connect
Just trying to detect
Where it might lurk
The wireless network
Limited, no connectivity
Is making us jittery
There is no connection
That you can mention
That is not second-hand
Electronically planned,
My face is a .com
My space is logged on
My preference stored
My details they hoard
The western human race
Lost in a user interface
Quartering their half life
Play out trouble and strife
Stimulating love, sex
Breaking up by text
Adding to the basket
Cases more clothes
Buying a new nose
But what need of a body
When every commodity
Only needs Mastercard
Don’t worry about lard
But you can buy this diet
No wait, deep fry it
You can just deny
Or try, and then buy
Craft is a war on the world
Your halo is blurred
By the loose connection
Taped with disaffection
Oh wait now, I’m on line
So everything’s fine
The time I can kill
I can just chill
But the server’s not found
The servant is down
Reducing our town
To a set of machines
Only fit for the teens
Can’t talk to a person
The sale would worsen
I wanna avoid screens
Chip and pin scenes
Touch before I buy it
Taste and then try it
Poke and then prod
Sniff spice and cod
No canned or frozen
Want fruit I’ve chosen
No plastic, help the ozone
Bread I can squeeze
Pepper make me sneeze
Smelling the cheese
I’m weak at the knees
Hello, thank you, please
I’m greeted with ease
By the friendly owner
Their name on the door
Asking if I want more
As if its not a chore
Rounding prices down
Cause I smile as a clown
Cause we’ve connected
We’ve just elected
To speak face to face
See through the rat race.
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Copyrights @ Catherine Brogan 2008
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Catherine Brogan's Poetic Works
Granddad
My granddad was to play in,
In the first film,
Of Titanic, it would have been sick,
To see him riding the Atlantic,
Some random mick.
But he had the farm to tend,
Fences to mend,
Backs to bend.
While great Aunt Tessies making buns
The fighten Darcy’s are hiding guns,
In among the little ones,
Weeins as we say
When I was a weein I used to play,
All day, in among the hay,
Never knew my mothers dad,
Died when she was 15, fairly sad.
But no one talks of the sadness,
Grandmother’s madness,
The grinding poverty,
The longing to be free,
It wasn’t easy,
To get a job you see,
So they went to Amerikee.
In Ireland, everything must rhyme,
To pass the time,
Or you turn to drink so you don’t think.
Cause my brain and my granddad’s.
Couldn’t understand the grand plans,
Of the written language,
Never could gauge,
The subtle interplays,
The nuance, the nonchalance.
I want to explain my behaviour,
Jesus is not my personal saviour,
In my country if you have a problem – shout,
Speak out,
You got to be louder and bolder and colder.
You get respect for the terms of your abuse,
Full marks for good word use.
Its about the drama, the palava,
The poetry, the story,
The tin whistle, the prayer missal,
The oral tradition,
The big drums, screaming mums,
The Gaelic football, so stand tall, proud of it all.
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Grinny
Take you to strange
new places
No familiar faces
Song of summer sun
Coke and rum
No work to be done
Its all about fun
Sitting in the paddock
Lazin in the hammock
Playing in the fields
Finding sun shields
Chasing butterflies
Starin for miles
At the wide open spaces
Inter-mingling of races
It’s a silly rhyme
To pass the time
Fill in the gaps
Hide mishaps
Come on then chaps
Lets get the maps
And explore,
The inner core
Of our self
Not by stealth
But toking
Yeah smoking
Lots of pot
Somewhere hot
Let’s do Asia
You know it would amaze ya
What about Australia
You’re not a failure
If you run away
To enjoy your day
Away from grey skies
Wont miss pork pies,
Congestion charges
Narrow barges
Traffic jams
Souped up prams
The White lies
Shirt and ties
Everyone flies
Forget about the air miles,
Just get ready
To enjoy your bevy
On the beach
You could teach
Then date your student
You know its prudent
Or learn diving
And spend your life hiding
On some island
In Thailand
With a mushroom shake
In the sun you bake
Opium you take
Late you wake,
Sell your passport
then consort
with the ladies of the night
you know they do it right
or volunteer,
to look good over here,
help your career
so you can steer, clear
of the hobo,
that you don’t know
on go slow,
Can’t get motivated
in a country that’s hated?
Go where your accent is rated
As a novelty,
That sets you free,
Sets you apart
You don’t have to chart
This expedition
your personal mission
get an agency,
pay a big fee,
cause nothing is free
not even the sea
belongs to the hotel
they own the surf swell
the sea breeze
even palm leaves
if you stare your thieves
Tourism cleaves
The heart out
Its replaced by stout,
An English lout,
Fish and chips
And salsa dips
Swimming pools
Electrical tools
Sleep in a grass hut
If you’re a culture nut
Don’t be lame,
Just play the game.
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Copyrights @ Catherine Brogan 2008
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