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Monstrous Float

Hugh Doolan on February 05, 2013 22:50

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    This is a talkin' blues kind of piece, inspired by a poem I wrote in 2010 called
    In the Coming Times Anew - Monstrous Float.
    I took WB Yeats's poem TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES and forged from it this new updated version which had great resonance in the Ireland of 2010, and still has in fact! My method was to insert a new line between each of Yeats's; then contemporize the line or go with a gut reaction, then finally make a few changes after all original lines were removed.

    { Featuring Jessica Doolan (9) on backing vocals }


    The smothering lapel-sheiks discharged
    now stare at thickets of placards
    that point out Tig-irish wrongs
    as we rant through the throng.
    No stone - none to our dismay - lies full-turned;
    for such is the tint in our sunset darkened,
    that sworn oaths to winters long held and swallowed
    crave credit terms from those that fired the dirty bellows.
    Like a be-draggled mattress and jar hoarded
    we were raided, left for dumb and marauded.
    Unleavened treasures strewn about our feet
    She, Róisín Dubh is now a refactored beast.
    Cylinders fired 'neath her oversized chassis,
    not even a pilot light now for our poor lassie.
    We stand whereabouts and count the damage done
    as shores ebb with a telling tide of those now gone.

    3 unwise: 'Ahernia', 'McGravy', 'Clowen' kicked sand
    in our face. Cirque 'DUH!' Soleil Acts with a can of mace.
    We rot in wretched gullies, Ireland's pride sliced alive
    burned off the Richter-Rehn scale with sod all and lime.
    How in the hell did we let this happen?
    Was it impure neglect, civil state caught nappin'?
    A work of evil dressed for a sin-filled jubilee,
    smoke keening nightmares for you and me.
    It never quickened the fire so much in our belly
    when vents blow a fuse with Bonds and spent Lolly;
    a bingo barrel into which we daren't stray again.
    Let's not swear to decrees that scale this destruction!
    Let us not be über-wistful but let's mind crosses and nails
    lest we show red faces At The Races on the World's rails.
    Thorny roses scratch features smelling not of irony,
    but of rancid tales and cold blooded unmatrimony.

    McWilliams foresaw it all through crystal imagery,
    now a worm embedded in our worst memory.
    Catastrophe measured by a nations gout
    Floored -KO'd - Lights Out!
    All things sacred got laid with a lowing wail,
    following the stooped and genuflected trail,
    of a Famine land broiled in greasy stew
    of blind-led riders running on empty tanks of red hue.
    A ghosted land with trees made eerily bare,
    for who shall we restitute good will's fortune there:
    The old who saved and scrimped near death?
    But not you who fanned flames on each and every bet.
    You know my heart now,
    it no longer sings or rhymes a note
    with your cold rimmed treason
    around this Monstrous Float.

    "Monstrous Float" by Hugh Doolan is licensed under a Creative Commons License


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