An Irish Halloween Poem by David McLansky

n Irish Halloween....

Father Kelly, grim of face, ....
Called these children, ....
'A disgrace, ....
They fornicate....
On Holy Ground, ....
While we Martyrs....
Stand around; ....
They hide behind....
The graveyard wall, ....
While steers....
Come....
To our Hallowed calls, ....
Here upon this....
Sacred Isle, ....
They fornicate....
And defile; ....
Have children....
No longer fear of ghosts? ....
This an act....
Of which they'll boast, ....
When they recall....
Their sojourn, ....
A thousand years, ....
Man hasn't learned.': ....
....
Said Father Thomas, ....
'They're like the Norse, ....
Vulgar, rude, Ungodly....
Coarse, ....
We tried to hide....
In beehive huts, ....
But they stabbed....
Mid stones, ....
And poked and cut; ....
They dragged us out, ....
To steal our chains, ....
They laughed and smashed....
Our weathered brains, ....
And all for want....
Of silver crosses, ....
Attacking us....
Cost them no losses; ....
What did they lose? ....
But their souls, ....
May they burn in Hell....
Fierce as the cold.'....
....
Said Brother Andrew, ....
'Such sacrilege! ....
May they be bit....
By fly and midge; ....
They writhe and sin....
Upon our stones, ....
We who sought....
A world alone.....
We who sought....
To sing our prayers....
Far from men, ....
World unaware, ....
We're now a well plowed....
Tourist spot; ....
They roist on us, ....
We are forgot.'....
....
In shimmering air grieved Bishop Tyrone, ....
A man of brine and icy bones; ....
They seemed to favor his head stone; ....
They harmonized disparate moans; ....
'The living may think this quite diverting, ....
But I find this most disconcerting; ....
The Devil rides within the flesh; ....
Purge me with sea-salt and air that's fresh; '....
He was famous for his cold salt baths, ....
But the sea did not dilute his wrath, ....
'They be seam my bed with fetid musk; ....
They befoul my plot with oozing lust; ....
They crack my stone with surge and thrust; ....
They spawn upon my virgin dust.'....
....
Said Brother Otly....
To Brother Seamus, ....
'Ordinarily, ....
I'm not so squeamish, ....
'But the sight of naked....
Coupling flesh, ....
Distracts my eye....
I must confess; ....
Call in the cows, '....
He called quite hotly, ....
To the ghost....
Known as Otly, ....
'Call in the cows....
And make them groan; ....
Block out their thrusting....
And their moans; ....
I need peace....
And isolation; ....
They can't atone....
This desecration.'....
....
The cows did howl....
The steers did groan; ....
They stopped....
Their rutting....
On the stones; ....
The lad looked up....
And dismounted, ....
The girl looked round....
As she counted, ....
A herd of steers....
With fierce long horns, ....
Bellowed wildly....
With fulsome scorn; ....
Hastily they donned....
Their clothes, ....
Feeling naked....
And exposed; ....
They felt irked spirits....
In the air; ....
They heard their screams....
Of wild despair; ....
And picking up....
Their camping packs, ....
They ran to the beach....
As if attacked, ....
And hailed a passing....
Fishing boat....
That neared that island....
So remote; ....
And left the Spirits....
Of the Monastery....
To pray to God....
On that sad promontory.