Treasure Island

Sean Joyce

(17 April Everyear / Galway, Ireland)

An Irish Mile


In my dream I walk in the times gone by
On the western edge of a heartbreak shore
Where sleep’s dark fears are howling ‘round
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

Near the edge of a cliff there’s an angry
crowd with hungry faces crowding around
’fear in their eyes when they hear the drum
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

The troops come on with bayonets fixed
Pushing the people to the mountain’s lip
A cry goes out as the first goes down
in the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

The troops move off in single file.
The Empire grows by an Irish mile.
A voice cries out from the rocks below in
the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

In my dream I walk in the times gone by
As close to the edge as my fears allow
in the air there's a prayer for pity and revenge
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

Submitted: Thursday, January 31, 2008
Edited: Sunday, March 09, 2008

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Comments about this poem (An Irish Mile by Sean Joyce )

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  • Adeline Foster (6/24/2009 3:59:00 PM)

    This is as near to a classic as any poem can get. That is, of course, if you ignore those unfortunate typos. Correct them and 'wow' this is good.
    Adeline (Report) Reply

  • Greenwolfe 1962 (3/28/2008 6:42:00 PM)

    Behold! An Irishman who remains true to his ancestry.
    In his dreams, if not in his grievance.

    GW62 (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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