Ireland 2006 Poem by Seán O Muiríosa

Don’t believe the rhetoric
The sea of soundbites
Honouring our ‘heroes’.
In this Celtic Tiger
It’s wealth by stealth
While boys still drink
Cider on street corners.
And then a week for Becket
For idle snobs to divulge:
‘He was the greatest writer ever.’
His grave trembles whitely…
The slick tongue of high office
Bellows out,
‘Drive safely this weekend.’
The busiest weekend of the year
As he speeds away
In his Mercedes Benz.
Bring in a reserve force!
Build walls around sheds.
Oh, heroes of 1916…
The rhetoric, the rhetoric.
They were slated
While they were here.
Now they’re gone,
‘how precious they were.’
Deluded rhetoric
In the land of ‘welcomes’,
Land of craic, land of drink.
This place will eat your soul,
Topple warriors,
Chase them to foreign lands
Or hang them gently.
Hot knife in the heart!
Until mourning comes and
In a distant removed time
A government’s need
Will pray for their revival
And lay a beautiful wreath.