Partition Poem by Brian James Caffrey

“Rebel” Ireland
A strong man whispers his final prayer,
His battered body dragged to a chair,
Too weak to stand,
Too sore to care.

Blackness brought by the blindfold brings comfort,
The order for arms raised, Pierces his Peace.
He feels no fear,
He sits quiet, no comrades near.

His blood has been spilled for this country,
This chair now his throne.
His life he will lose for this country,
His final fight for freedom. He fights alone.

Rifles cocked and ready,
Our silent hero sits, motionless, steady.
He knows his reward awaits,
Soon he’ll join his fallen friends, through heavens pearly gates.

Shots ring out,
Birds take flight,
Carrying the message of a rebel’s plight,
Revolt! Resist! Fight!

T’was the call of Ireland,
T’was the call of the oppressed,
To rid this island of an empire,
Near 800 years possessed.


“Modern” Ireland
Today we are more “civilized”,
And have forgotten our “barbaric” roots,
We live in “modern” Ireland,
And reject “rebel” Ireland, like muck from our boots.

We allow ourselves to be trod on,
From neighbours near and far,
For what reason?
Because they are bigger than we are?

This island of saints and scholars,
This Ireland of old,
Take pride in our fighting spirit,
Instead of always doing what we’re told.

Near 5 score years since James lost his life,
Would he be proud of the fruits of his strife?
Remember those lives lost,
At the edge of the oppressors knife.

Freedom doesn’t come cheap,
As our Ancestors learned,
You have to give your all,
For true freedom to be earned.

Don’t take too lightly,
Our lives in this land,
Freedom will fall,
Without rebels prepared to take a stand.