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St. Patrick’s Day 2024
for an Ireland suffering terribly under
the weight of forced migration
Where is the one who rid the Emerald Isle
Of snakes? Nostalgia hears the hell-bent tread
Of gallant feet that trekked the extra mile
To free Éire‘s bogs and cobbled streets from dread.
As Irish eyes ignite and nectar flows
In ebon rivers topped with clouds of cream;
As memories jig to fiddles in the throes
Of merriment, the restless banshees scream
From shadows where the vipers hiss and spit.
The harp strings shiver in the shamrock hour
As pesky leprechauns of puckish wit
Revel in the marvel of past power.
Today the wistful nod and raise a toast
To Ireland’s patron saint… a fading ghost.
.
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Susan Jarvis Bryant has poetry published on Lighten Up Online, Snakeskin, Light, Sparks of Calliope, and Expansive Poetry Online. She also has poetry published in TRINACRIA, Beth Houston’s Extreme Formal Poems anthology, and in Openings (anthologies of poems by Open University Poets in the UK). Susan is the winner of the 2020 International SCP Poetry Competition, and has been nominated for the 2022 Pushcart Prize.
That is such a sad state of affairs. This is a great brooding poem calling attention to the plight and the loss of historical memories and perspective as so many nations are suffering today.
Roy, thank you! Ireland (like the rest of the Western world) is living through tough times. I wanted to capture Ireland’s wonder and the weight the Irish are under in my poem. In spite of their problems, still they celebrate… and may those celebrations continue on into the wee hours and beyond.
I’m amazed that the Irish fought 900 years to free themselves from English rule, and are now gutlessly supine as they allow their nation to be overrun with Third-World vermin.
Joe, your words sadden me greatly. Knowing how the British were betrayed by a duplicitous government after the Brexit referendum (they have Brexit in name only) and knowing how the voting system has failed the Americans in plain sight, I believe the people aren’t entirely to blame for their current plight.
But now the people know they’ve been played. The word is out, and it’s everywhere. One would have to live under a rock not to see that the scamdemic was a redistribution of the-little-wealth-we-had-left ploy. We are being robbed of our money and our identity. I only hope it’s not too late to turn back, but I fear too many people are dependent on the government (by design) … that is why they won’t stand up and speak out.
The Canadian truck drivers, the Dutch and French farmers, the French gilets jaunes, the Brexit voters of Great Britain, and the Irish in Dublin (after the recent stabbings) have all stood up, and I am sure there are many more. But not enough will join them to make a meaningful difference… and even if there were enough, the armed citizens of America have already been warned by a brain-addled puppet that gun owners would need F-15s and nukes to take on the tyrants.
At least we’re still celebrating St. Patrick… to my mind, that’s a good thing.
Where indeed is St Patrick now that he is really needed? Nowadays there are snakes everywhere in Europe, but almost no saints. Any saint that tried to preserve the heritage and national identity of any nation would probably be excommunicated. Gotta go — my corned beef awaits.
C.B., where is he indeed! We can’t see the saints for the snakes these days… sadly. Still, the attributes of a saint are still celebrated by all those corned beef and colcannon eaters who are raising a pint of Guinness or a fine malt whisky as I type. Slainté!
Wow, Susan, this poem starts with a bang — the strong metaphor involving snakes — and ends with such a poignant heartbreak— the “fading ghost” of a great saint. In our society, the memory of many saints, even saints as a category, has very sadly faded, and your poem echoes that tragedy.
Cynthia, thank you so very much for your astute and encouraging comment. In today’s society our history and our heritage are being cast aside for the new normal… that’s why I’m glad we’re still celebrating St. Patrick… albeit with a black cloud hanging over his future.
Your poems beg to be read out loud, Susan.
Another one joins the crowd. I am going to
print this one and give it to an Irish friend (with your permission) who just gave us a loaf of homemade Irish Soda Bread.
jd, thank you very much indeed. Your words have made me smile. I love Irish soda bread… what a treat on this celebratory day. And yes, of course you can print out my poem… I am honored it is going to an Irish friend who is an excellent baker!
Susan, I will be performing at an Irish session tomorrow and I hope to read this beautiful saintly tribute to the gathered musicians. If anything sums up today , it is this wonderful poem. Thank you for a lovely gift of words today.
Jeff, thank you so very much… and thank you too for your beautiful music. What a St. Patrick’s Day treat! I know you’re going to have plenty of fun tomorrow night, and I am over the moon my words are going to be part of the celebrations… celebrations I hope will be observed for many years to come. Don’t tell a soul, Jeff… but I kissed the Blarney Stone before writing this poem.
Another classic. I really enjoyed this, even with the somber ending.
Warren, thank you very much indeed. I am glad you enjoyed it. I wanted to write an enjoyable poem, but my Muse compelled me to inject it with honesty. I’m glad the sad truth of the plight of the Emerald Isle didn’t wholly detract from the fun.
The governments of once great countries are committing suicide by migration. I have to wonder if our men that died in World War II to free Europe from Nazi rule are turning over in their graves.
Phil, you are spot on with your comment. My late grandfather fought in WWII, and I know for certain he is turning over in his grave. We took our gifts of peace and free speech (paid for by countless lives) for granted… and not until they’re completely eradicated will we know their worth. Phil, thank you.
A serious message, cloaked behind Irish myth and legend.
I came across these headlines after a brief search: welfare payments in Ireland are expected to triple; they’re offering tents because they took in more migrants than the country can accommodate; and there’s an outbreak of disease due to migrants sleeping on the streets.
Sound familiar? It’s similar to what’s happening here. Just recently the CDC rushed to Chicago where there’s been a measles outbreak at a migrant shelter. We can’t take in the whole world. Thanks a lot, Bi-dumb.
Cheryl, thank you for reading and for your informative comments. Sadly, this is the story all across the Western world. Britain is straining beneath the weight of constant migration. The city hotels are full. Army barracks are housing military aged men and paying to bus them into town. Crime is rife, all while the police force has been taken off the streets to scour the net for hate crime. We are living in a wild and wicked world… it seems to me, History insists it is repeated and never learned from.
A wonderful piece, Susan: those pesky leprechauns indeed. But like others, I am myself amazed after all their struggles to be ‘free’, how they have tied themselves up in knots – which is worse, their mass immigration or their assault on free speech with their ‘hate’ crime directive? Jeez! What a mess.
Thank you, James… and jeez, what a mess indeed! And how quickly all this appears to have happened. I believe all of us in the Western world have tied ourselves in knots with our struggles to remain free… all at our own expense.
This is a wonderful if sobering poem for St. Patrick’s Day, Susan — You manage to convey a certain amount of nostalgic fun in a piece that is in actuality elegaic. To paraphrase Villon, “where are the proud Irish of yesteryear?” St. Patrick’s legacy has been thrown away with both hands by a nation that paid dearly for its independence and yet is now being woked out of existence. Yes, the vipers are back. Does no one see that open borders is tantamount to a national suicide pact? Still, St. Patrick is only a fading ghost if the people let that happen. Maybe they’ll wake up. Maybe we will, too.
Brian, as ever your laser eye for the finer details homes in on the poem’s grave message without losing sight of the fun in the piece. I just love the term “woked out of existence” – in just four words you explain (with in-your-face clarity) the reason behind the ruination of Ireland… and the rest of the Western world. I’m with you on the waking-up front. Let’s hope there’s a lot of it going on… now! Brian, thank you very much indeed!
Susan, this is great, as usual.
It’s sad how every Western country is killing itself by open borders, but sadder still to realize that all our countries have become so corrupt that even if we had secure borders, anyone could win a war against us with barely a shot, and that it takes quite a bit of patriotism to root for the West anymore.
I’ve heard it said that America (and by extension, the West in general) is a corpse eaten by maggots, liberals are rooting for the maggots, and conservatives are rooting for the corpse. More and more, I find it difficult to find fault with this assessment.
Josh, it’s great to hear from you, although I must say the corpse-and-maggot scenario has caused me to break out in goosebumps… not because of the image, but because of the message. The stark reality of our current situation is the stuff of nightmares… nightmares that are in plain sight in the stark light of day. I still have hope… but it’s diminished to a glimmer. Josh, thank you!
So much said already. Let me just add that it reminded me of the book, “How the Irish Saved Civilization.”
Pockets of renaissances surrounded by an apparently impending dark age.
At times it feels like a Pusan perimeter, looking for that Inchon run…
Daniel, thank you for our thoughtful and thought-provoking comment. I have heard of the book you mention but have never read it. Perhaps it’s time to do just that… after I’ve finished Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago and Stephen Meyer’s God Hypothesis. At the age of 44 I stopped reading fiction and focused on facts, many of which took and still take my breath away. I fear I will not be alive long enough to satisfy my curiosity… burning since birth.
“Pockets of renaissances surrounded by an apparently impending dark age” is an amazing observation. One I want to explore… creatively, of course. Daniel, thank you!